The guards moved to grab Pierre's arms, but he twisted away, backing toward the wall of specimen cases. His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that might serve as a weapon. The metal operating tables were bolted to the floor. The surgical instruments lay too far away. And even if he fought off the guards, the iron door remained locked.

Use me, Hardy's voice insisted. Let me out.

"No," Pierre muttered.

"No?" Valerio tilted his head. "I don't think you understand the situation. This isn't a negotiation."

"I wasn't talking to you." Pierre pressed his back against the cool glass of a specimen tank, buying seconds to think.

The scarred guard approached cautiously, hand on his weapon. "Master, should we sedate him?"

"No sedatives," Valerio snapped. "The procedure requires his system to be clean. Just restrain him."

As the guards closed in, a quiet voice spoke from the shadows behind a row of tall specimen tanks.

"I believe you have something that belongs to my captain."

Raven stepped into the light, the Master Ledger clutched in one hand. Her cat-like eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room, her expression hardening at the sight of Valerio's "art." The half-red, half-white hair that she usually kept hidden under caps or scarves was fully visible now, making her look otherworldly against the sterile white backdrop.

The guards spun toward the new threat, weapons half-drawn.

"You!" Valerio's composure cracked. "How did you get in here?"

Raven's mouth curved into a dangerous smile. "You build everything to such exacting specifications, Valerio. So predictable. Your ventilation system has access points exactly forty centimeters wide, spaced at precise intervals. The perfect size for someone who knows how to move through tight spaces."

She held up the ledger. "Fascinating reading. Particularly the parts about how you calculate interest on debts while people sleep."

Valerio's face flushed. "That's private property."

"So are people's lives," Raven countered, her voice razor-sharp. "Not that you'd understand the difference."

The scarred guard drew his sword. "Master?"

Valerio raised a hand, his eyes never leaving Raven. "Be careful with her. She has value too."

"I'm not here to be part of your collection." Raven edged around the room, putting distance between herself and the guards. "I'm here for my captain."

Pierre watched her movements, recognizing her strategy. She was drawing attention away from him, creating space for him to act. But act how? He was still cornered, still outnumbered.

"Your loyalty is admirable," Valerio said, "if misplaced. Your navigational skills would serve better in my care than wasted on piracy."

Raven laughed, the sound hollow in the tiled room. "Is that what you told these people?" She gestured to the subjects on the operating tables. "That their talents would be better used as your puppets?"

While Valerio focused on Raven, Pierre inched toward a small cart of surgical tools. If he could just reach it without being noticed...

"They are art now," Valerio insisted. "Elevated beyond their former limitations."

"They're prisoners," Pierre cut in, drawing attention back to himself. "Just like everyone in Porto Veloce."

The scarred guard moved to block Pierre from the tool cart. "Stand still."

"This city is my canvas," Valerio said, his voice rising with passion. "Every person a brushstroke in my masterpiece. I've created perfection from chaos!"

"You've created a prison from a port," Pierre countered. "These people aren't brushstrokes; they're slaves."

The darkness within Pierre pulsed stronger with each word, feeding on his anger. Hardy's essence recognized the type of man Valerio was – the kind who saw others as tools rather than people. The kind who broke spirits for personal gain.

"Enough!" Valerio snapped. "I didn't bring you here for philosophy. Guards, restrain him. And take that ledger from her."

The guards moved in unison, two closing on Pierre while the other two approached Raven. She backed away, ledger held tight against her chest.

"I wouldn't," she warned. "This book is more dangerous than you realize."

"It's paper and ink," the scarred guard scoffed.

"It's evidence," Raven replied. "And right now, copies of it are being read aloud in the plaza. Every debt, every lie, every person you've trapped in your perfect prison."

Valerio went perfectly still. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Raven's smile was cold. "Why do you think the bells rang? Your perfect city is coming apart while we speak."

A tiny muscle twitched in Valerio's jaw. "If that were true—"

"Master!" A new voice called from beyond the iron door, accompanied by pounding. "Master Valerio!"

The artificer hesitated, then moved to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. "What is it?"

"There's a situation in the plaza," the voice crackled through a speaker. "The captains have discovered their contract amendments. They're demanding answers."

Valerio's face darkened. "Handle it. I'm busy."

"Sir, they have the harbour master. And they're heading this way."

Pierre caught Raven's eye across the room. Her slight nod confirmed what he suspected – Alyssa's work. She was turning the city against its master.

"Impossible," Valerio whispered, but uncertainty crept into his voice.

The momentary distraction was all Pierre needed. He lunged for the tool cart, grabbing a heavy metal instrument – something between a mallet and a clamp – and swung it at the nearest guard's head. The man dropped like a stone.

"Stop him!" Valerio shouted, but too late.

Raven moved simultaneously, hurling the ledger at one guard while ducking under another's grasp. She slid across the polished floor, snatching a scalpel from a nearby table as she passed.

The room erupted into chaos. Pierre faced off against the scarred guard, whose sword gave him the advantage of reach. Raven danced around the remaining guard, her smaller size making her a difficult target in the cluttered lab.

"They'll kill us all!" Valerio shrieked, backing toward a cabinet on the far wall. "You don't understand what you're doing!"

"I understand perfectly," Pierre growled, dodging a sword thrust. "You're not an artist. You're a parasite."

Something in Valerio's eyes changed at those words – hardened, went cold. He reached the cabinet and pulled it open, revealing not surgical tools but weapons. His hand closed around a pistol.

"If I can't have your power," he said, aiming at Pierre, "no one will."

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