The alley reeked of stale smoke and burnt sugar, the cigarillo's ember painting Cade Marrow's grin in hellish red. He leaned against the damp brick wall, boots crossed at the ankles, his voice a gravelly drawl that could've curdled milk. "Ace o' knives, Sif. Still shit at bluffin'."
Sif's hand twitched toward his sword. "Marrow. Should've guessed you'd slither out of the gutter eventually."
The Mad Dog chuckled, tipping his wide-brimmed hat—a ratty thing adorned with a tarnished silver buckle. "Aw, don't go sheathin' that pigsticker yet. Heard you gave them pointy-eared bastards a right proper thrashin' at Cannae. Real good for business, that was. Nothin' gets the blood pumpin'—or the gold flowin'—like a fresh war." He spat a wad of blackleaf into the snow. "Elves start marchin' east again, you give me a holler. I'll sell 'em your head and the ropes to hang it with. Discount for old friends."
Sif's jaw tightened. "What are you doing here, Cade? This isn't a war camp. No cards to cheat at, no colonels to fleece."
Marrow pushed off the wall, his long duster—patched with enough leather to quilt a dragon—swinging open to reveal a bandolier of throwing knives and a collapsible crossbow strapped to his thigh. "Me? Just admirin' the local architecture." He gestured grandly at the mold-streaked alley. "Skyrouth's got style. Big walls, fat guards, jewelry worth more'n this whole damn district… and a Duchess who's allergic to laughin'. Place is a smuggler's paradise."
"You're here for the necklace," Sif said flatly.
"Necklace?" Marrow's eyes widened, all mock innocence. "What necklace? I'm a legitimate businessman these days, Fox. Got a permit for my crossbow and everythin'." He patted the weapon lovingly. "'Sides, I heard some chucklehead already nabbed the shiny. Probably sittin' in a tavern right now, drinkin' himself brave enough to pawn it."
Sif stepped closer, voice low. "Cut the act. You're lying worse than a three-legged hound at a racetrack."
For a heartbeat, Marrow's grin faltered. Then he sighed, scratching the stubble on his jaw. "Alright, fine. Yeah, I planned to lift the damn thing. Job paid better'n a dragon's hoard. But see, here's the kicker—" He leaned in, whiskey-and-gunpowder breath hot in Sif's face. "One o' my own crew rats turned tail. Sold me out 'fore we even cracked the vault."
Sif raised an eyebrow. "You? Betrayed? Imagine that."
"Laugh it up, hero," Marrow grumbled. "Wasn't my fault. Vex—y'know, the one with the legs that could strangle a bear and the smile that could bankrupt a High Theurge?—she ghosted mid-heist. Took the schematics, the lockpicks, and my favorite pair of lucky socks. Left me dancin' with the Duchess's guards like a drunk at a barn wedding."
"Vex?" Sif snorted. "Thought you two were close."
"We were! Closer'n ticks on a hound! Turns out she's been cozyin' up to the Dominion—sellin' secrets, tradin' favors. Probably plannin' to pin the whole heist on me while she skips off to some elf-lord's featherbed." Marrow spat again, this time with feeling. "Women. Can't stab 'em, can't trust 'em."
Sif crossed his arms. "So you're hiding in a stinkin' alley instead of hunting her down? Since when did the Mad Dog roll over?"
Marrow's grin returned, sharp as a gutting knife. "Who says I'm hidin'? I'm recruitin'. Heard you're on the job too. How 'bout we partner up? You bag the necklace, I bag Vex's pretty head on a spike. Everybody wins 'cept the corpses."
"Partner with you?" Sif scoffed. "Last time we 'partnered,' I woke up in a pigsty with no boots and a warrant for stealing a magistrate's wig."
"That wig looked good on you!" Marrow clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him into a puddle. "C'mon, Fox. For old times? I'll even let you keep sixty percent o' the guilt."
Somewhere above them, a shutter slammed open. A half-dressed drunk hurled a ladle into the alley, screeching, "Shut yer gobs, I'm tryin' to die in peace!"
Marrow tipped his hat skyward. "Love you too, darlin'!" He turned back to Sif, smile fading. "Tick-tock, hero. Vex ain't gonna skin herself."
Sif stared at him, the ghost of card games and stolen medkits flickering between them. Finally, he sighed. "You get in my way, I'll hang your head next to hers."
Marrow's laugh echoed off the bricks, wild and unhinged. "That's the spirit! Now—how 'bout a drink? I know a place that serves ale weak enough to baptize a kitten."
"No."
"Fine. But when your liver fails, don't come cryin' to me"