The fog swallows the valley floor, and Phandelver’s outer buildings blur into pale shapes. Ahead, a cloaked courier hurries for a sagging stable, a spider-marked satchel thumping against their side. The trail is fresh, and they do not hear Kynes and Bren coming out of the mist behind them.

Bren lifts her chin toward the figure, one hand near her blade. The stable door hangs crooked, half-open, as if someone has already slipped inside to wait.

Kynes moves before the courier can disappear, cutting through the fog with staff in hand. The courier jerks at the sound behind them and half-turns, too late to flee cleanly.

The courier stumbles back toward the stable, clutching the satchel tighter. Whatever is inside is meant to move Nezznar’s business forward, and Kynes is close enough now to stop it.

Kynes’s blade flashes out in the fog. The courier jerks sideways, but the cut catches the back of a leg and the figure crashes to one knee, satchel twisting in their grip.

The spider-marked satchel slips free in the scramble and thumps into the wet grass at Kynes’s feet. A black thread still dangles from its clasp, quivering.

The courier clutches the wounded leg and skids backward toward the stable wall, eyes wide on Kynes’s staff and sword. Fog curls around the yard, swallowing the valley beyond.