Sable Morrow stood behind the front desk of the lodge foyer and watched a big man in a fur coat shout her name like a curse. She wore her sharp blazer. Pip sat on her shoulder, tail flicking against her collar. An hour ago the man had asked her to find him a bed for the night without his wife's name on the ledger. She had done it in six minutes. Now he was refusing to pay. "Three silver," Sable said again, calm. "That was the price. You agreed." "You never said three," the man shouted. He turned toward the guests filing past the peeling directory board, arms wide. "She's a cheat. Anyone dealing with this girl is dealing with a cheat." Sable counted the room the way her mentor taught her. Four marks by the door. Two more at the stairs. Every one of them slowing down to listen. She had been working this foyer for two years, trading favors up the ladder. A silver here, a name there. She was saving toward one thing: the deed to the lodge itself. The old man who trained her had died still working the desk. She would not. She had started with a single acorn Pip fetched from the yard, and she had turned it into a coin purse. The coin purse would become a room. The room would become the manor. But only if the foyer kept trusting her. The man kept shouting. A woman by the door tucked her bag under her arm and stepped back outside. Sable felt the room tilting away from her. She did not reach for Pip. She reached under the desk instead and pulled out a small blue key drop box, the kind guests used when they checked out late. She set it on the counter with a soft clack. Then she raised her voice, clear, for the whole foyer. "Warden Ashveil asked me to hold a package for a guest who skipped his bill last week," Sable said. "I told her I'd point him out if he came back." She looked at the man in the fur coat. "You want me to open this box, or you want to pay the three silver we agreed on?" The man's face went the color of old meat. Warden Tara Ashveil controlled every road out of town. He had come in on one of them. He dug into his coat, slapped three silver coins on the desk, and walked out fast without looking at anyone. Sable swept the coins into her palm. Pip chittered once. The woman who had stepped outside came back in. Two of the marks by the door drifted toward the desk, curious now, softened. Sable smiled and asked the first one what she needed. She did not say the price. She had used the warden's name to save the room, and Ashveil had not given permission. Sooner or later, someone would tell her. Sable slid the blue box back under the desk and got to work.