Kyrie Ironhowl's Arc

Chapter 3 of 13

Kyrie swept the debris into piles, sorting through torn sketches and scattered notes. Her hands moved fast, checking each scrap for what the intruder might have missed. Most of the damage was surface level — meant to hide the real target. Then she found it wedged under the workbench leg: a corner of parchment, cream-colored and expensive. Not hers. She pulled it free and turned it toward the lamplight. Gold filigree bordered the edge, the kind of decoration used on official documents. Competition entry forms. She'd filled out dozens over the years, but this fragment showed something else — a signature line at the bottom, partially torn. The handwriting was careful, practiced. Below it, barely visible: a date from two weeks ago and the start of another name. Not her rival's bold script. Someone else. Someone who'd registered for this year's competition and broken into her workshop wearing gloves but forgot to check their pockets. She set the scrap on her cleanest work surface and photographed it from three angles. Her rival might have the talent and the arrogance, but he'd never been clumsy enough to hire someone this sloppy. Which meant this wasn't about him at all. Someone else in the competition wanted her design badly enough to steal it. She folded the parchment into her vest pocket and reached for her tools. The decoy blade could wait. First, she needed to visit the competition hall and match this handwriting to the registry.