Chapter 5: Stock, Skin, and Strategy
Frank’s crate was lighter than when he started, but his patience hadn’t budged an inch. He sat still as the sun dipped lower behind the buildings, his shadow stretching long across the dirt. Then a voice cut through the hum of tired conversation near the gate.
"Move, move—give us space."
Four familiar figures emerged through the shimmer of the gate’s return portal, their armor scorched and shoulders slumped. Their healer limped, her staff cracked at the neck and half-dragging behind her. Blood crusted on their sleeves, dry and dark.
Frank straightened.
Tace led them, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, one shoulder sagging as if something had torn too close. He didn’t stop walking until he reached Frank’s table and dropped a crushed vial onto the wood.
Glass cracked. The label was still faintly visible: Vital Surge.
"That saved my life," Tace said, his voice low. "We need another fifty. You in?"
Frank didn’t smile; he just nodded once. "I’ve got twenty now. You’ll need to wait while I restock."
"Doesn’t matter," Tace replied. "I’ll take what you have and pay ahead for the rest."
Behind him, one of the others whistled. "Not kidding, those potions carried us. Our healer went dry halfway through. I popped two of those and didn’t feel the burn until we hit the exit."
The woman with the broken staff nodded. "Better than some of the ones Zenith hands out—and we didn’t even get the side effects."