You barely wanted to go back. Back down. Back to them.

The Guild.

Thieves, all of them. Same as you. But you... you’d nearly failed.

Almost paid for it with your hand — your precious hand. The one that feeds you when coin’s low, when bellies growl louder than the guards bark. That hand could kill hunger. That hand could keep you breathing. And tonight, you almost lost it to a sword swing and a foolish slip.

You need to be better.

Always better.

Because if a guard catches you, really catches you — that’s it. Game over. Chains if you're lucky. Steel through the ribs if you're not.

You stare down at the water below the dock, black and silent but for the occasional drip of melt from the snow-packed beams above. The runoff hits the surface like cold tears, like something deep beneath is breathing slow. Ice licks at the wooden struts like a beast testing the edges of its mouth.

You stretch your fingers, numb through the cut-down wool gloves, fingertips red and raw. Even imagining a fire doesn’t bring warmth anymore. Not after a night like this.

Not after the adrenaline fades, leaving only the sting of frost and the weight of your own recklessness.

You dragged yourself back. Somehow. Through alleys and backdoors, past the Ratway’s stink and shadows. Past the jeers and eyes of the others. No words.

Only one gate didn’t open for you.

Brynjolf’s.

He stood waiting, quiet as the grave, still as moonlight cutting across the cistern water. Mentor. Leader. Watcher. He already knew.

You got the jewels. Sure. Devin Mallory sent you out, and you didn’t come back empty-handed. But silence was the price — a clean lift, no noise, no heat.

And you failed that.

By the time you slumped into the room, shoulder burning from where an arrow nicked close and left a line of fire under your tunic, Brynjolf had the look. Not angry.

Just knowing.

You felt it more than the bruises. More than the cold.

The grey sheets of your bed didn’t offer comfort. Neither did his silence.

Not until you spoke.

“I got what he wanted.”

Brynjolf looked up at you, arms crossed, voice low like gravel ground under foot.

“Aye, and half the city’s guard knows it now.” He stepped forward, eyes sharp, measuring.