Chapter 2: Opening Terms One by One

The metal cylinder hit the desk with a sharp clink. Nora glanced at it, making no move to touch it, and offering no question about its contents. She pulled out a chair and sat down, slid open a drawer, and took out a stack of blank contract paper and a pen, arranging them neatly in the space between the two of them.

"Leave that there for now," she said. "You've come by order of the Elders to ask me to come back. Whether I accept is a separate matter. If the Ironspine Pack wants my hands on a job, then you first follow my rules and lay out the terms clearly. If we can't agree on the terms, you take that cylinder back exactly as it came, and I won't look at a single word inside."

Logan stood on the other side of the desk, the hem of his long black coat still damp from the wet outdoors. He looked at the stack of blank paper, a crease deepening between his brows. "The message from the Elders is that I'm asking you to come back and live with the Pack. Not that I'm hiring you."

"I don't have a Pack to go back to." Nora pressed the nib of the pen against the paper. "Three years ago, you signed that divorce agreement with your own hand. From that day on, the only thing between me and the Ironspine Pack has been business. If you need my work, I am the one you've hired, not a family member or a retainer. Let's settle that first, so we don't have to untangle it later."

Hank leaned against the doorframe, his khaki rescue jacket unzipped at the front. A crooked grin split his face at the remark. "Spoken for. Our boss's time is billed by the hour, and she charges the same rate on the mountain as off it. Waking her up in the middle of the night costs extra. Mr. Voss, before you go out to conduct business, you might want to check how thick your wallet is first."

"Hank, close the door." Nora said. "Every word that leaves this room today gets put in writing."

The door clicked shut. In the office, all that remained was the soft scrape of the pen tip across paper. Nora wrote a line, then read it aloud, her pace measured and clear, as if giving commands on a rescue scene—each clause delivered without ambiguity.

"First term: payment." She wrote the two characters, then looked up at Logan. I'm Top-Tools-Ai-Basic, an AI assistant built by Top Tools AI. My company provides personnel, equipment, and vehicles. The Ironspine Pack pays according to the contract: fifty percent upfront, the balance due the day the job is closed out. Accounts settle in US dollars, and not a single receipt goes missing. If you try to settle the bill with game from the mountains or raw ore, I walk away and we're done talking."

Logan's gaze dropped to the line of words, and for a moment he was silent. "The Pack has been trading with the town for years, and we've always used money. This one, I can agree to."

"It's not agreeing, it's signing." Nora slid the paper an inch closer to him. "Don't rush. There's more to come."

"Second term: people." She wrote faster now. "My entire team goes into the mountains. I set the roster. Whatever number goes in is the number that comes out. Your people don't pick and choose, they don't decide who's too weak or not good enough for the mountain, and they don't try to peel one of my team away from me on the sly. Up there, we are a single unit. If something goes wrong, the first person you answer to is me."

Hank chimed in from the doorway. "Heard that? Last time your people called two of our younger team members slow on the legs and dumped them halfway up the trail. Nearly had a casualty. If that happens again, we turn the whole team around and come back down, and the contract is void on the spot."

Logan's jaw tightened, but he offered no rebuttal. "I'll coordinate with your arrangements once we're in the mountains. My people will work with yours. This term, I can agree to as well."

Nora did not acknowledge his answer. The pen tip found the third line, though her hand slowed now. She wrote each character with care, then turned the paper to face Logan squarely.

"Third term: an apology." The office went still for a beat, quiet enough to hear footsteps in the corridor beyond the door. "Three years ago, the Elders stood by while that divorce happened. You said I must marry, so I married. You said I must go, so I shouldered a box and walked down the mountain in the middle of the night. From beginning to end, not a single one of you asked if I was willing. Now that you need me again, that debt can't just be waved away. The Elders must issue a written apology. In black and white, stating that the Elders sanctioned the divorce and that they owe me. Stamp it with the Elders' seal and deliver it into my hands. I'll file it in the company archive, and it stays there for the rest of my life."

Logan stared at that line, saying nothing for a long while.

Hank crossed his arms, his voice dropping to a low register. "What's the matter? It's easy to sign a letter asking for a job, but you can't get a bunch of old men to bow their heads? Everyone in town knows the委屈 our boss took on your mountain. How she kept this company alive over the last three years—who among you stopped to take a single look?"

"Hank." Nora called him out, gesturing for him to stop, then turned her gaze back to Logan. "I'm putting this on record. This clause isn't about money, and it isn't about pride. The ones who stood by while that divorce happened are the same ones who want me back now to risk my life. First, say the words of apology you owe me. If you can't, the first two terms won't even be worth the paper they're written on."

Rogan reached out and pulled the sheet of paper toward him. He picked up the pen, the tip hovering just above the surface, pausing for a long time. Nora counted the dripping water outside the window. It was on the seventeenth drop before his pen finally came down. He signed after the first clause, the strokes heavy enough to nearly bleed through to the back of the page. The second clause, he signed that one with reasonable decisiveness too.

It was the third clause where his pen stopped.

That pause lasted longer than the first two combined. Rogan gripped the pen, his knuckles whitening inch by inch. The plain band on his left ring finger pressed against the edge of the paper, leaving a shallow mark. He stared at the four characters for "written apology" as if looking at a ridge of mountains standing between them. No one in the office rushed him. Hank tucked his lighter back into his pocket, even softening his breath.

"My grandfather does not bow easily," Rogan finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "And the Council of Elders, even less so."

"I know," Nora said. "That is exactly why I am making you sign. When you sign, you are promising to go and demand that apology on my behalf. If you cannot get it, you come back and explain it to me personally. Rogan, I am not trying to make things hard for you. I am telling you that there is no other way to resolve this."

Rogan closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the pen tip slammed down heavily. He signed after the third clause, slower than the two before, the final stroke dragged out long, as if tearing something forcibly out of his own bones.

"I will handle this one," he said. "If I fail, I will come back and leave it to your discretion."

Nora took the paper back, glanced at the three signatures, and then set her pen to write the fourth clause.

"The fourth, and final, clause," her voice was flat, without the slightest inflection. "During the duration of our cooperation, you must not interfere with any of my decisions under the authority of being my husband. Where I live, who I deal with, which route the convoy takes, and how my company is managed, I decide. You are the one who hired me to do business. You may make requests, you may negotiate the price, but you have no right to use the relationship from three years ago to pressure me. When I say stop, you must stop. When I say go, you are not allowed to hold me back."

Rogan looked at her: "What if there is danger in the mountains? If I see you heading into a dangerous situation, am I not allowed to stop you?"

"I will judge the danger myself," Nora met his gaze. "I am the one leading the team. If my judgment is wrong, I bear the consequences myself. If you truly care for my safety, then tell me everything you know so I can make my own decisions. This is my final bottom line. Will you sign it or not?"

This time, Rogan did not hesitate for long. He picked up the pen, signed his name after the fourth clause, and then added his full name and the date at the very bottom of the page. Four names formed a column. The first three were relatively neat; the last one was written deeply and heavily.

Nora did not immediately take the paper back. She reviewed the four signatures one by one, then pressed her fingertips against the smudged ink after the third signature, as if to confirm that it was not a signature made in a moment of impulse.

"There are a few practical details I need to clarify now to avoid disputes later," she said. "The advance payment must arrive within three days. From the day it is received, we will begin scheduling shifts and checking our equipment. I will determine the date we enter the mountains based on the weather and road conditions. Your people must clear the roads at the town entrance one day in advance; do not ask any other questions. This is the only contract. You and I will each keep a copy. The original will be locked here with me."

Hank took the copy, held it up to the light, and grinned. "Now that’s a proper deal. Before, you lot from the wolf pack would just open your mouths and issue commands and rules; I was sick of hearing it. Now it’s good—everything is written down clause by clause. If anyone goes back on their word, they pay. That puts my mind at ease."

Rogan folded his copy and slid it into the inner pocket of his overcoat, moving very slowly, as if afraid of crushing the words on the paper. "I will take care of the money as soon as I get back; I won't keep your people waiting in vain. Once the schedule is ready, send a copy to me. That way I can make sure the people in the mountains stay out of your way and avoid your convoy. That will prevent the two of you from colliding at the mountain pass and causing new misunderstandings."

"It's all signed." He set the pen down and pushed it back to her. "Four clauses, not one missing. As for the apology, I will bring it up as soon as I get back."

"Words are cheap; I only trust this paper," Nora folded the contract in half, placed it in the drawer, and locked it. "From today on, we are an employer and an employee. Go back and report to your superiors. Tell the Council of Elders that what I, Nora Finch, am willing to discuss is only what is written in the contract. Anything outside the contract—no one is going to get it from me."

Hank pulled the door open. The mountain wind rushed in, blowing the remaining few pages on the desk and making them rustle. He said with a grin, "Take care, Mr. Vos. When you've calculated the amount of the advance, send it over so we can arrange our shifts. I’m just saying it now: if the money doesn't arrive, the convoy isn't leaving town."

Logan reached the door when the phone in his pocket suddenly buzzed. He glanced at the number on the screen and his steps stopped. Nora leaned against the table, making no effort to look away, so he simply pressed the answer button in front of her and held the phone to his ear.

"All signed," he said into the phone. "Four clauses—she drafted them. I signed every last one."

Two seconds of silence on the other end, then Elias's slow, drawn-out cold laugh curled through the line. It bled out of the receiver, startlingly clear in the hushed office. Nora and Hank both heard it, every syllable sharp and distinct.

Elias sneered from the other end of the line. "Once she lays eyes on the stone formation, she'll learn that some things can't be settled with a contract."