The caravan wagons were brought toward the side courtyard shortly after we arrived at the headquarters of Roderick Street.
Even the courtyard itself felt more organized than some entire trade districts I had seen before.
Cargo was unloaded in careful sequence while guild workers moved between wagons carrying ledgers, manifests, and sealed crates with practiced efficiency.
Nobody shouted unnecessarily.
Nobody appeared confused.
Everything simply moved.
Smoothly.
Ryn entered the main hall beside us without changing her pace.
The moment we stepped inside, several people immediately looked up from their desks.
The receptionist near the entrance froze for half a second.
Then stood so quickly her chair nearly tipped backward.
“Miss Roderick!”
Before I fully understood what was happening, she had already moved around the counter and wrapped both arms around Ryn.
Ryn laughed softly in surprise.
A genuine laugh.
Not restrained.
Not polite.
“You’re back earlier than expected,” the receptionist said.
“And thinner.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It’s affectionate.”
More guild members began gathering nearby after noticing her arrival.
Several asked about the journey.
Others asked whether she had been eating properly.
One older guild worker lightly scolded her for disappearing too long again.
Ryn accepted all of it with the same calm smile she always carried.
Watching it felt strangely unfamiliar to me.
Not because Ryn seemed different.
But because she did not.
Nothing about her changed despite the obvious weight her name carried here.
The people around her respected her.
But more than that—
They genuinely cared about her.
That realization settled quietly somewhere inside me.
After some time, Ryn led Caravan Master and me toward the upper floors of the headquarters.
Her office was located inside the main tower overlooking the harbor.
The room itself was beautiful in a controlled sort of way.
Large stained-glass windows cast soft blue light across polished mahogany floors while the sea shimmered far below beyond the glass.
Everything inside the office felt carefully arranged.
Ledgers aligned perfectly.
Maps rolled neatly beside shelves.
Fresh white flowers placed carefully near the desk.
Nothing excessive.
Nothing careless.
The entire room felt like an extension of Ryn herself.
Elegant.
Precise.
Quietly sharp.
I spent most of the conversation near the large window overlooking the harbor while Caravan Master and Ryn discussed supply routes, contracts, and cargo shipments intended for Yggdra.
I only understood fragments.
Spice allocations.
Timber prices.
Northern demand shifts after recent instability.
Shipping schedules.
Even listening to only pieces of it made me realize how large the trading networks surrounding Roderick Street truly were.
At some point, I glanced toward the large family portrait hanging behind Ryn’s desk.
A stern-looking man stood beside an elegant woman beneath the painted crest of Roderick Street.
I found myself quietly wondering whether those were her parents.
Eventually, the discussion ended.
Caravan Master returned downstairs to oversee resupply preparations while Ryn closed several documents and stretched lightly against the back of her chair.
Then she looked toward me.
“You can stay at my house while we’re here,” she said casually.
As if inviting someone into her home was the most ordinary thing imaginable.
I accepted before fully thinking about it.
Mostly because curiosity answered faster than caution.
We left the headquarters sometime near evening.
Outside the entrance, an elegant horse carriage waited near the promenade.
Dark polished wood.
Deep blue detailing.
Silver lanterns hanging beside the doors.
The horses themselves looked expensive enough to purchase a small building somewhere else.
One of the drivers immediately stepped forward after noticing Ryn.
“Miss Roderick,” he greeted respectfully.
“The carriage is available if you’d prefer.”
Ryn thanked him politely.
Then refused with a small smile.
“We’ll walk today.”
The driver bowed slightly before stepping aside without argument.
I stared at the carriage longer than I probably should have while we continued along the promenade.
The polished lantern glass reflected the evening sunlight across the stone road as the ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and distant cooking fires through the city.
And somewhere between all of that, one thought settled firmly inside my head.
It was the most beautiful carriage I had ever seen.
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