Edmund had never seen that much money laid out in one place.
Coins stacked in uneven towers, loose notes spread across the table like something fragile and holy. His fingers hovered over them as if they might disappear if he moved too quickly.
"They'll be lining up for this," he said, his voice thick with anticipation rather than drink for once. "If this is what she's making from scraps and root vegetables, imagine what we'll have once Desguss takes over properly."
Across from him, Isolde did not touch the money.
She counted it.
Her fingers moved with quiet precision, sliding coins into neat columns, separating denominations, tracking value in her head with a sharpness Edmund had never possessed.
"Not 'we,'" she corrected without looking up. "Control must be established first. The baron will not tolerate… unpredictability."
