Children rarely earn a Class, yet that does not mean this is impossible for a child to accomplish. Although rare, throughout history, there have been several notable cases. Almost all of which also happened to rapidly acquire Titles that lend themselves towards the process. Those renowned as "Genius" or "Adept."

Truly, it is no real surprise that this is the case. A person with such Titles will easily go about advancing Attributes and learning Skills, be they a child or an adult. Advancing Attributes at a far more rapid pace than normal will also lend itself well to obtaining a Class far earlier than most. The Empire's "Heroes" alone, are more than enough proof of this.

Yet, on the subject of Titles known only to children, few detailed accounts exist. Historians of all nations, appear to care little for the collection of such information. Children are of little consequence to much of anything, after all. No wars have been won by gangs of street urchins, nor thrones toppled. What does it matter if they possess unique Titles, if the benefits these grant are lackluster at best?

To that, I cannot argue. I can only say that I find them fascinating, all the same.

For example, I once met a young boy who had earned himself the Title of "Trickster" on his seventh summer. From the story I was told by the Elders of his village, it seems the lad's habit of pranking whomever he could, manifested. Perhaps, brought about by shared recognition in the town which he lived. Thus, the boy acquired the Title while still lacking a Class, and also obtained a few odd Skills he would never have been expected to possess otherwise. And this is but one account of many, having since seen others, or heard of others, with similar (although perhaps less memorable) situations during my travels.

And, it is in these observations of mine, that I believe a simple truth of the world can be gleaned. One that has been overlooked by many, who set their eyes towards only the greatest and profound examples. For a Title is not like a Class, yet it can still have an undeniably powerful impact upon a person's progression in life. Though the benefits are often far more subtle than that of a corresponding Class, it is always better to have a Title, of any sort, rather than to lack one.

Yet, therein lies the careful difference. What sets these two, Title, and Class, apart.

A young "Trickster" will be expected to grow out of such a Title, given enough time. In fact, it is all but a given that they will not be branded as such for the rest of their life, lest they go out and seek out a rather peculiar Class such as [Jester] or another of similar temperament. Unlike a Class, a Title is far more versatile, far less fixed, and far more dependent on the whims of mortals. These odd marks of identity and status we wear, change with us. They do not truly define us, so much as we define them.

Though I am no true [Meister] of the subject, I believe my personal experience can allow me to safely generalize that a Title is but the living summary of a person. One that is carried with them, very much in the present sense. Not only through the eyes of those around them, but far more importantly: themselves.

....

As the week passed, and my second shadow continued to trail along, I soon recognized that there were many parts of my life I strongly preferred to keep private. Things, which I learned that I had been taking for granted. Completely oblivious to their importance in my everyday life.

Sleeping, for example. That was the first, and most noticeable.

Every night when I set myself down to sleep, I did so with a visitor. Silent, invisible, but very real, they would slink into my room. They would sit at my desk, or flick through the pages of whatever book I might have left out. Sort through whatever herbs I had used [Identify] to deem worthy of collection, or worse: eat the jerky I'd bought from one of the cooks.

Only, hours later, would they leave. Evidence of their visit almost impossible to prove.

And this was simply the first of my troubles.

There were more.

My work, for example, was the second. My concentration always being gnawed at from the outside, as the pressure of watching eyes settled on my shoulders. Or worse, over my shoulder, as if inspecting and judging the state of my penmanship.

Even if my newly acquired "friend" didn't interfere, I knew they were present.

And that was enough.

Nowhere was safe.

Getting a full night's sleep was difficult, but it was the unease of my more primitive instinct buzzing in my skull, warning me that an unknown threat was lurking, which made even the few hours I did achieve, less than suitable for my purposes.

Working for Neriah had begun to wear on me as a result of this. It was difficult enough to start with, but the added layers of tension and lack of sleep, it had begun to hold me back. What used to only take a few hours, took far longer.

Eating a peaceful and private meal, while reading a book?

Also troublesome.

My second shadow seemed to have little concern for social taboos, and it quickly became a problem. Not just because of how uncomfortable the situation was, but because it was keeping me from focusing on things I desperately needed to hold attention on.

That was my everyday existence, truly. Focusing intently on tedious tasks. Even more so, ever since I'd managed to earn the [Literate] Skill, as I'd made it a habit to spend almost all of my free time nose-deep in texts: careful to absorb all the information, odd or useless as most of it was, in the hopes of expanding my worldly understanding. And, while this was now (with the help of my new Skill) very possible for me to do, it was also very slow.

A snail's pace, when I wished badly to sprint.

Similar to how [Inscription] had passively behaved when first earning the ability, I moved down the page at a snail's pace. When reading, each word I translated into something comprehensible took a few seconds, and though I could eventually get through whatever texts I set myself upon, the act of doing so required a great deal of attention. From one word, to the next, to the next...

In essence: distractions were unwelcome.

And, I'm pretty sure they knew that, because this odd game we were playing had a very real sense of amusement layered into the very fabric of it.

Sometimes, I almost felt I could hear laughter.

I made the best of things, though. Truthfully, it wasn't as though being near another person kept me from reading at all. This only slowed me down, but by doing so, it also slowed down my ability to increase the Skill's level. In that, I recognized that my progress was being held back.

Plus, I couldn't help but feel a nagging worry that everything I did was being summarized to tell a story about me. Like a thousand little hints, coming together, it wouldn't take a genius to start to question what books I selected, or who I spoke with, or what I did in my free time. All it took was patience and time, and all of these could start to be condensed into something that might not be in my best interest for another person to puzzle out. The longer this went on, I knew there were greater and greater odds that the person watching me would naturally start the process of picking apart what I might know. Or much more likely, might not.

While I had already decided that I would continue to chip away at my ignorance as quickly as possible, I didn't feel the need for others to recognize it.

But, there was one other major category of trouble. Outside of losing sleep, or struggling in my studies, or any of the other little things that I personally prefered to keep private. On a much more serious note, I found that practicing magic was almost impossible.

Of course, just like studying, there was a need for concentration. Added to this, was also the real chance of danger to my surroundings, should something go wrong. Those were well and good, and both valid reasons for concern. Yet, I'd done well up until this point in keeping my abilities nestled safely out of the public eye. For those in the fort, my strength with magic was still in the realm of speculation, and what I could really do was a secret I kept close.

The Baron did occasionally poke and prod, and there had been witnesses to prove I could summon fire in a general sense, but outside of this, my abilities were not something I shared. If someone ever thought to wonder "Could John burn me alive?" I wanted them to simply assume the answer was "Yes."

I did not want them to think further.

Simply put, I knew that the moment someone realized my limits was also the moment they could risk testing them. As I wasn't keen on finding out what that might be like, I was strict with my efforts to only show what was necessary, and only when directly commanded by the Baron to do so.

So, having someone watching, brought my magic-related activities to a screeching halt.

I limited myself to simple meditation and breathing exercises, at best. Regular practices that fit into my daily routine, without any further exertion. The most boring methods for practice I could possibly imagine, without any true experimentation.

As the days passed, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised to find my temper was wearing thin.

At the slightest irritation, my magic was starting to flare. Beating with my heart, as if fanning its own flames: aggressive and angry.

Nothing I did seemed to be considered off limits to my new, seemingly invisible, friend. No matter where I went, or what I did. It seemed that my only choice was to be conservative with what I was willing to show them, and hope they got bored, eventually. In fact, I'd taken to trying to be as boring as possible (as much as it pained me) in an effort to make them suffer with me. Reading some of the worst ledgers that Neriah happened to have available. Sitting still for hours, breathing in front of a candle's worth of flame...

But, it never seemed to make a difference.

And as much as I didn't want to play, the game this situation had turned into, continued to be played.

Me, and my silent, invisible, companion: dueling in the most tedious ways imaginable.

They knew that I was aware I was being watched, and they knew I was patiently testing the waters on finding a reliable way to detect them. My new habits of positioning myself into the corner of any room I could. The random times I would stop short of a corner, and turn to take a different route to my destination. The newly acquired method of shutting doors I would have normally left open, just to see if they'd open "on their own."

Is it strange that I could almost detect amusement in the feeling of watching eyes? As if this was all a source of tremendous entertainment?

I've no doubt it was.

For them, though.

Not for me.

My privacy, despite my best efforts, was all but dead. Those watching eyes were a constant force, orbiting around me. The rare hours of time when the prickling sensation of being watched would fade, was almost worse than when I knew they were nearby, because I could never predict when they were going to return. Always at random, always with no pattern or discernible reason.

There was but a single exception.

The one taboo that could not be crossed.

How low must a man stoop, to fall back on this one, final, precious, realm of safety? To seek shelter in the most sacred of hallowed halls...

The toilet.

I'm talking about the toilet.

The loo.

The ol' outhouse.

The shitter.

Yes.

It is a forgotten subject, perhaps. The variety of which, I like to think that I've made sure to cleverly omitted from most of my recollections. Make no mistake though: should I be demanded, I could go into tremendous detail. From covering the strange oddity of what restrooms in the Baron's fort were like, relative to those within the Empire, or even the Mercenary camp. To discuss the nuanced differences in the concept, and execution, of such things.

But, instead, I will simply say that if you've ever gone into a campground outhouse, you can let the rest of your imagination do the work.

The latrines of the fort were a far cry from the modern world of technology. There were no flushing toilets, hand-dryers, or adorable little plates with see-through soap stuffed full of plastic sea creatures. The Baron's fort had a far more spartan design: Framed with wood, fitted with a relatively flimsy door, the simplistic restrooms provided an impression that was not far from a coffin with a seat. Cramped, narrow, somewhat smelly unless you managed to get the one on the end of the row, where the more freshly dug pits were located, and thus not quite as terrible. Each one had an impressive variety of spiders that had an awful habit of crawling in all the worst places: but I'd begun to think of them as sanctuary.

For, this was the one place no one would dare to bother me.

I mostly got over going to the bathroom when I was with the Mercenary company, as leaning off an open log over a pit is hardly the definition of privacy, but I quickly re-adapted to the luxury of solitude as it returned.

Especially, because visits to this location were only times my second shadow seemed to accept looking the other way.

On the first day, I thought it may have been a fluke.

On the second, I recognized there might be a pattern.

By the third day, I'll admit I had begun to abuse the privilege, and I brought reading material.

The [Jousting] Skill is of great renown within the Kingdom. Granting an [Aura] upon the weapon used in conjunction with the ability, [Jousting] is prized for both its utility in combat and sport. Those of the [Knight] Class, especially, hold the Skill in especially high regard.

Recognizing the words was still rather slow for my tastes. Having only managed to boost [Literate] to level three, I was forced to take things line by line. Which, bothered me to some small degree, but was relatively balanced by the sense of real progress compared to how I'd started. My estimate, was I'd be to a comfortable speed in a few weeks.

Used for competitions of honor, it is also a favorite selection for settling disputes between angered factions, as well. As the ability can turn even padded-spears lethal, these trials by combat can, at times, be interpreted as proxy battles to more gruesome displays of combat.

I'd selected this text, simply because I'd found some references to Skills and Classes that seemed somewhat applicable, and because the [Knight] Class was a subject that held my attention. At this point, though, I was staying for the less important details.

Of the most famous in recent memory, Coachim Jator, [Honor Guard] of the Second Royal Prince, killed thirteen men in a row. Joining the competition due to an insult to his late wife's memory-

I jumped, as I was interrupted from this interesting bit of drama by a loud knocking on the door.

Cramped in the tiny space, the sound was deafening.

"The rest are available." I answered loudly, shaking my head in irritation before flicking to the next page, careful to hold the fire in my hand a safe distance from the leather binding.

I needed practice, and the flame helped with the smell. So, it was something like two birds with one stone, in my opinion.

Coachim Jator was then challenged to another duel, in response. Kelth Soel, brother of one of the slain, second son of a rival family, summoned Coachim in a public manner. Known for ruthlessness in battle, Kelth was held in high regard-

I skimmed a bit.

There were a few further details marking the tournament-worthy [Knight] Skills, some notes on the victorious individuals. I found it was interesting that those who claimed the highest rank in their abilities were not always the winners of such events. In fact, the results seemed to vary quite a bit, often relying on secondary Skills to assist.

Who would have imagined a subject like this would have such valuable insight?

The knocking came again, even louder than before.

"You have my apologies. There are other stalls available." I answered a second time, squinting to get a closer look at the new text that awaited me. Personal details of random historic figures was well and good, but...

The door was abruptly pulled open.

"Hey!" I shouted, looking up in surprise. From my seat, book now closed on my lap, flame ready in hand, I frowned.

Looking out on the open courtyard, there was no one present.

The stone wall separating this from the training yard was empty, without any [Guard] visibly on watch. In the distance, I heard the muted sounds of practice weapons, mingling with the chirping of birds. The speckles of living grass among the muddied ground swayed in the wind, and my line of sight couldn't help but drift off to the left.

Then, drift to the right...

Then the left again...

I heard a soft snort of laughter

"Ah." I muttered, letting out a slow hiss of irritation as I leaned forward to grab the rope handle. "So that's how it is."

I closed the door again. Then, I gave the rope another pull, so it was snug with the frame.

"Go bother someone else." I muttered.

Lighting the flame back up above my palm, I looked down to realize that my choice of reading material was missing.

"And here I was, hoping to catch you reading more exciting books." A woman's voice reach me, muffled, through the door. "This is a little dry, don't you think?"

I let out a long sigh.

"Well, here I was, hoping that you'd finally lost interest in me." Grinding my teeth, I settled the irrational feelings of anger that were starting to smolder. "That, maybe, you'd gone off chasing someone else."

"If there was anyone else even half as interesting as you, perhaps." The woman replied. "Truly, I've only become more curious."

"Curious is one word for it." I muttered back, rubbing at my temples with my free hand, rolling the small fire above my palm in a slow circle. "Stalking, is another."

"I believe the socially accepted term would be 'courting,' Hero."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Mmm... so, are you going to stay in there all day?" The question drifted through. "Seems a waste of a beautiful afternoon, if you ask me."

"That depends." I answered. "Are you going to stop following me around if I do?"

"Of course."

"... You know, it's rude to lie so brazenly."

"I'm not lying."

"You're definitely lying."

"How can you tell? Did the Baron teach you his Skill?"

"Very funny." I grumbled, catching another snort of laughter and the exaggerated sounds of pages being flipped.

"It's rude to keep a woman waiting."

With another sigh, I stood up and pushed the door back open.

The Guildmaster stood before for me. In plain sight, this time, as if she hadn't been almost completely invisible just a moment before.

Dressed all in black cloth, with nothing that even remotely resembled armor, she cut a sleek figure that seemed to radiate that same supernatural grace I remembered. Thin fabric, the likes of which I felt resembled dyed silk, set with her gear to give the impression of subtle but oppressive wealth. The type of clothing that could never be afforded by most, yet seemed intentionally crafted to avoid flaunting that fact.

All this, tied to a snug fit that carried to her shoulders, where it ended with a thin, matching, scarf.

Closing the book with a soft "clap," I could tell she had a wide smile on her face. As if she was rather pleased with herself. And, though it was still difficult to focus on, I recognized that same smile that only got wider when she saw my stony expression.

"So." I snuffed out the flame in my hand with a thin stream of smoke as I glared at her. "What do you want?"

"Cutting right to the chase." She grinned. "Look at you."

"It is my utmost regret that my service to the Baron is the only thing keeping my head from being removed from my neck, so I'll have to decline any job offers."

"Who said anything about a job?" She tilted her head to the side.

Frowning, I didn't answer. Instead I extended my hand, waiting silently until my book lightly dropped back into my palm.

"Now-"

I didn't wait for her to continue, quickly turning to walk towards the stone stairs that lead up the walltop, ignoring the exaggerated gasp of surprise that followed after me. Then, matched my pace.

"Tell me, how does someone of your talents find their way to a place like this?" The Guildmaster asked, crossing the yard with perfectly silent steps. "The Baron wouldn't say much more than his Keepers brought you in."

"Luck." I answered, determined to ignore her as best I could as I increased my pace.

"Mmm... a Hero escaping the Empire take a lot more than simple luck." She replied. "Especially, one like you."

"Just luck. Sorry to disappoint."

"Rumors say all sorts of things, of course. Talk that you survived a shipwreck and swam to shore, or that you smuggled yourself in. Perhaps, stowing away on a trading vessel. Some, even suggested Magic."

"Creative guesses." I replied, continuing on my path as she listed theories, while aware that her playful tone seemed to jump around me as if it weren't fixed to her person at all. "And what do you think?"

"They're all wrong, of course." She replied, confident.

"Why's that?"

"Simple." The Guildmaster stopped at the top of the railing, turning about with an elegant spin. "Because you came through the forest."

I slowed down.

"That's..." I held my tongue, looking up to find her sly smile waiting for me.

I hadn't really told anyone about the specifics of how I'd ended up here. In fact, for the fear of truth being stranger than fiction, I'd avoided the subject altogether.

Sure, Gregory had known some of the details. Mostly on account of how he'd been there to fish me out of the ocean. The Baron knew some of the others, on account of questioning me. But in neither of these examples, had I gone out of my way to elaborate.

I'd escaped the Empire, and I'd wound up here.

The Baron seemed content to know that I hadn't lied to him about the details he'd considered important, and the rest didn't seem to matter.

"... That's an interesting theory." I finished, resuming my original pace up the steps. "Someone like me, crossing a forest filled with poison. You've got quite the imagination."

"Imagination has very little to do with it." She skipped along as I reached the top of the stairs, continuing along the battlement. "Come now, so cautious... Your secrets are safe with me, John."

"I'm not so certain." My eyes narrowed as she dragged out my name just a little too long for comfort.

"Oh, share a little." She pressed. "Or is this a 'once burned, twice shy' situation?"

"It's something like that."

All it took was a blink, and her boots had soundlessly pranced atop the battlement of the wall. Light steps, and she was skipping about the defenses.

"Surely, there's an interesting story you could share?" Light as a feather, the Guildmaster walked backwards along the edge, clearly holding no concern for the chances of falling. "There must be something."

"Nothing comes to mind."

"Here you are: a Hero from the Empire who knows magic, yet is clearly without a Class." The Guildmaster laughed. "And you haven't had a single unusual experience worth sharing? Somehow, I doubt that."

"There's nothing." I sensed my deflects were growing stale, as her smile lessened.

It was getting more difficult to keep eyes on her.

"Just the fact that you're still without a Class is odd, all on its own. Suspicious, even, with the way you Heroes tend to go."

"And what way would that be? I'll be a [Mage], soon enough." I answered. "At this point, it's only a matter of time."

"Really, you believe yourself a [Mage]?" The Guildmaster hummed in a questioning tone, strolling along beside me- if raised up a few paces by the walltop.

"That is my profession, at this point."

"Down to your very soul? The fiber of your being?"

"I would hope so." I raised an eyebrow at the questions. "You really find that to be a strange concept?"

"It's just..." She let the words hang, clicking her tongue. "You see..."

"It's just what?" I took the bait with a grimace, stopping to fully face her.

"Well, it's that you've got some rather particular Skills for someone looking to become something as boring as a [Mage], don't you think?"

"I don't see what's so boring about a-"

"Old men, floating in their city. Tinkering with tools, fiddling with complicated things." She scoffed. "You could do better."

"I have Magic." I defended. "And maybe I like boring."

"Fair, Magic isn't a common thing. Certainly, it helps your chances" She shrugged with the admission. "But, I don't believe you to be a boring sort. Not for a second."

"Why's that?" I stopped myself, realizing I'd been clenching my fist.

Anger had gotten the better of me, and the Guildmaster had somehow drawn me into the conversation. I hesitated, tempted to turn and continue along the wall, only to have her drop down in my path.

"Because we're the sum of all of our pieces, in the end." She answered, leaning towards me. "That [Hide Presence] you've got, for example. And the other one..."

I suddenly found her very difficult to look at. As if she was dissolving into the wind.

"What other one?" I asked, careful in my tone.

"I think you might know." Her voice answered, seemingly sounding from no direction at all, as she slipped from sight. "That which was given, as much as earned."

Her words had been slipping, I realized. No longer quite as playful, no longer quite as subtle. Glancing to the railing, a small sense of worry trickled down my spine. She was still very close, but I had no way of telling exactly where.

Slowly, I turned about the walltop.

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve." I answered, warily. "Like anyone."

The smoldering fire I'd extinguished in my palm began to sputter to life, as I felt the wind shift. It seemed a small and pitiful weapon, compared to the chill which circled me.

"Like anyone." The Guildmaster's voice echoed. "I'd expect nothing less."

There was pressure, now. A tremendous sense of mounting danger, quickly drawing closer.

Concentrating my breathing, I felt the magic grow and feed on the mana I could give it: readying to flare out in a violent burst at a second's notice-

"None of that, John." My wrist was caught, locked in a quiet vice as I felt a finger trace along the nape of my neck. "You're much too cautious."

"It's a learned behavior." I answered, wary of the touch resting on my neck. The pressure there only lessened as the flame in my hand was choked out.

"Mmm." Her hum of acknowledgement came with an edge. "I do like that about you."

"Do you, now?"

"Oh, yes."

"I don't suppose this is how you ask every man out for a drink?" I joked, weakly, trying not to think about how she had my life in her hands, fingers at my neck as certain a death as a Fernwolf's jaws.

She laughed at that, but it was cold. Emotionless.

As if she were an entirely different person from the one who had been dancing about, just moments before.

"No, John." She answered, voice like ice. "You're a particularly special case."

My breath caught, stopped by a sudden and visceral feeling of death. As if the sun had gone gray, as if I had dropped into freezing water, I was frozen as her hand wrapped softly around my neck to pull me forward. Towards those color-shifting eyes, and a face that was no longer smiling.

Eyes of gray turned to black.

"Look very closely." She commanded. "Do not look away."

I did.

Letting the image form, as if surfacing from beneath waves of mist.

At first, I saw almost nothing.

Just the barest outline, that slowly solidified into a single understandable line, while the rest remained obscured. Hidden entirely from my view.

Title: Guildmaster

???

???

Layered beneath Skills, it was pale and ghostly, but it wasn't done.

I had used [Identify] this way, many times before. On inanimate objects, on people passing by, but this was different. As I pressed forward, pushing the skill to see deeper: it let me in.

As if sinking, down into the depths.

Farther and farther, I carried on. Deeper, until pressure was building in my skull and the unknown details blurred. Twisting about, as they came into focus. Instinctively, I felt the pattern of mana begin to strum behind my eyes. The magic in my veins was flowing, now. Bringing with it a familiar clarity of mind, as the visage formed. Assembling into legible text, one fragment at a time.

Title: Guildmaster

Class: Assassin

The Class read like a knife cuts: as if the word itself were honed with a scent of blood and death. Yet, there was just one more tiny fraction waiting. One that I found that I was being allowed to see. Though I could go no farther, there was a sense of motion. As if a final piece was being pushed towards me. Coming up from the bottomless depths of shifting smoke, cresting on its arc to become visible for only the faintest instant.

But that was enough.

With the whisper of a thousand voices, I could feel the recognition crawling beneath my skin. The scents of storm, of ancient stone, of darkness, and of what mortals cannot know.

Blessing of Forgotten Gods

I stumbled.

[Skill - Rank up] - [Identify - Lvl 6]

My mind spun about, reeling from the sudden shift. Hands against warm stone, I realized I was gasping for air, leaning against the stone of the battlement wall.

"We all have secrets to keep." The Guildmaster spoke quietly. "But this is one we share."

"What does it mean?" Steadying myself, I turned as her presence all but vanished from the world.

"Caution is well and good, if you have time. For those who can spend decades up in an ivory tower, in the sky." She answered. "But for the rest of us, a little push never hurt."

By the time I had found my feet again, she was gone.

Truly gone, in fact, for the sense of watching eyes did not return as the day passed. No longer was there a sense of my ever-present, wandering, shadow. It was as if I had been freed, abruptly allowed to have peace for the hours before dinner, and several after.

But my mind was not at rest.

What was that, and why had she shown me? Simply because we shared the same strange "Blessing?"

Was she friend, or foe, or something in between?

Yet, I found that reversing the game that the Guildmaster and I had shared over the past few days, was impossible. As if she'd disappeared from existence, I could find no trace of her within the fort. By the time night had fallen, I accepted that I would have to go without answers.

It was a strange feeling, wishing for the pressure of watching eyes, lurking in the dark.

But they didn't return.

Even as I returned to my room, closing the door behind me: no eyes waited from the window ledge. In the dark, candle's flame of fire lifted above my palm, I was completely alone.

Letting exhaustion take me, I lay down in my bunk, my thoughts settling. Slowly swirling down the drain, towards slumber, it was only just as I was closing my eyes, that I turned to see the glint of metal.

Stabbed into the headboard, a blade waited. Pinned with it, was a folded piece of parchment.

Pulling the blade free, turning it over in my hands, I felt dread settle in the pit of my stomach. One that only worsened as I read the note. Scrawled in a careful, elegant, script.

"Wear it well."

Gregory's knife had found its way back to my possession.