The knock on their door arrived at precisely nine in the morning, which was Marcus's way of announcing that he considered himself important enough to interrupt breakfast without invitation. Ember paused mid-bite of her perfectly prepared eggs—House Brightblade's kitchen staff had spoiled them with food that actually tasted like something other than "sustenance with aspirations"—and exchanged glances with her sister-selves.

"That'll be our beloved benefactor's son," Cinder said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Right on schedule for maximum inconvenience."

"Maybe he's bringing good news," Kindle suggested with the sort of optimism that required active maintenance in the face of mounting evidence.

"Maybe I'm secretly a duchess," Ash replied, turning a page in her morning philosophy text with deliberate calm.

Pyra bounced up from the table, still chewing. "I'll get it! Maybe he wants to apologize for being a manipulative—"

"Pyra," Ember warned.

"—gentleman of questionable moral character," Pyra finished sweetly, already heading for the door.

Marcus entered their sitting room with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted his welcome anywhere, dressed in adventuring gear that had been polished to mirror brightness. His smile carried the satisfaction of someone about to share news he expected would impress his audience.

"Good morning, ladies," he announced, settling into their best chair without invitation. "I trust you're enjoying your accommodations?"

"They're adequate," Ember replied carefully, noting how his gaze lingered on their breakfast table as if calculating its worth. Everything Marcus looked at seemed to get mentally itemized and priced.

"Excellent. I have wonderful news." Marcus produced a scroll from his pack with a theatrical flourish. "The Iron Hawks have received a Guild contract that requires additional expertise. I've arranged for one of you to join our mission as an educational opportunity."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, though none of their flames had changed.

Educational opportunity. So much loaded into so few words, none of them reassuring or promising.

"Which one of us?" Cinder asked, her voice carrying an edge that didn't require flame to make her point.

Marcus smiled as if bestowing a gift. "Ember, naturally. As the de facto leader of your little group, she'll benefit most from seeing how experienced adventurers operate."

As if their A-rank status and mission completion record meant nothing compared to Marcus's need to prove his superiority. Ember forced her expression to remain neutral, though she noted Ash's hand tightening around her philosophy text until the parchment crinkled beneath her fingers.

"What's the mission?" Ember asked.

"Routine bog clearance," Marcus said dismissively. "Probably just some merchants' livestock getting spooked by Mire Drakes. Nothing dangerous—perfect for demonstrating how experienced teams handle standard contracts."

Standard contracts. Ember bit back her first three responses, all of which would have involved unflattering comparisons between Marcus's definition of "standard" and their actual experience with dangerous situations.

"When?" she asked instead.

"We depart in two hours," Marcus replied. "Pack light—the Iron Hawks travel efficiently."

The conversation continued with Marcus explaining logistics, timelines, and expectations that somehow managed to make a simple mission sound both tedious and patronizing. By the time he departed—after declining their offer of breakfast with the air of someone too important for social niceties—the atmosphere in their sitting room had shifted from morning contentment to barely controlled frustration.

"Divide and conquer," Kindle said as soon as the door closed. "He's separating us."

"Obviously," Cinder agreed. "The question is whether this is about proving his superiority or something more targeted."

"Probably both," Ash said, tapping her philosophy text with one finger. "Separating us serves multiple purposes. It reinforces his authority while diminishing ours."

"At least it's just a bog clearing mission," Pyra offered. "Ember could practically lead that in her sleep."

Ember stared at the door Marcus had closed behind him, her mind already racing through potential complications. A routine mission with the Iron Hawks shouldn't be dangerous, but Marcus's involvement guaranteed that simple wouldn't remain simple for long.

"This is it," she announced suddenly.

"This is what?" Pyra asked.

"This is how I die."

The silence that followed carried the weight of four people trying to process a statement that was simultaneously ridiculous and far too plausible.

"Ember," Kindle said with gentle exasperation, "you know death isn't permanent for us."

"Exactly," Pyra jumped in. "I died first, remember? Got myself thoroughly killed by that Mistfang whatever, and here I am, perfectly fine and only slightly traumatized by the experience."

"And I got dissolved by Ankheg acid," Cinder added. "Complete physical destruction. Very unpleasant. But temporary."

"Drowned and blown-up," Ash contributed from behind her book. "Quite educational, actually. The experience offered interesting insights into bodily decomposition processes."

"See?" Kindle spread her hands. "Death is just an inconvenience for us. A very painful, deeply unpleasant inconvenience that we'd prefer to avoid, but not permanent."

Ember began pacing around their sitting room, her anxiety building despite their reassurances. "That's exactly the problem. We're getting comfortable with dying."

"Comfortable is a strong word," Cinder said dryly. "I wouldn't describe being melted by acid as comfortable."

"But we treat it like it's manageable," Ember continued, her voice taking on the edge of genuine concern. "Like it's just another tactical option. 'Oh, someone needs to die to complete this mission? No problem, we'll be fine tomorrow.'"

"It is manageable," Pyra pointed out. "That's the advantage of our curse—we can take risks that would be suicidal for normal people."

"What if it stops working?" Ember shot back. "What if we've used up all our resurrections? What if this world has different rules? What if Marcus knows something about our condition that we don't?"

The questions hung in the air like smoke, each one adding weight to Ember's mounting paranoia.

"You're overthinking this," Ash said, though her tone carried less conviction than usual.

"Am I? Or am I the only one considering the possibility that this curse could stop being a useful strategy at the worst possible moment?"

More silence. Even Ash had no ready response to that.

"The point is," Ember continued, beginning to pace around their sitting room, "Kindle and I hadn't died yet. We're overdue."

"That's not how probability works," Ash said with the patience of someone explaining basic mathematics to a particularly stubborn child. "Previous events don't affect future outcomes when dealing with independent variables."

"Death isn't an independent variable when you're an adventurer!" Ember shot back. "It's a persistent environmental hazard with a statistical probability that increases based on mission frequency and danger exposure."

"You sound like you're planning your own funeral," Cinder observed.

Ember paused mid-pace. "That's not a terrible idea."

The next hour became a masterclass in paranoid preparation that would have been hilarious if Ember hadn't been so thoroughly committed to the process. She began with farewell letters—individual notes to each of her sister-selves that covered everything from practical instructions about Spark's care to deeply personal observations about their shared experiences.

"Dear Pyra," she read aloud while writing, "if I die on this mission, please remember to feed Spark every four hours and don't let him eat any more of Ash's books. Also, your enthusiasm is infectious and I love how you approach every challenge like it's an opportunity for something amazing to happen."

"Aww," Pyra said, practically radiating warmth.

"Also, I've hidden chocolate biscuits in our wardrobe, but I ask that you let the others have most of them, especially if Ash finishes her philosophy text this week."

The warmth vanished in an instant, replaced by narrow-eyed suspicion.

"Where in the wardrobe?"

Ember glanced up from her letter. "Nice try," she said without heat. "Your chocolate hoarding tendencies are worse than your sweet tooth."

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Pyra made a face. "You make it sound like an addiction."

"It's an addiction," Kindle and Cinder said together.

"Ember," Ash said, joining the conversation with a sigh of long-suffering patience, "you're overreacting. Marcus might be obnoxious, self-centered, and obviously intent on undermining us for his own gain, but I doubt he'll deliberately try to kill you."

Ember's expression remained unconvinced. "Dying isn't his goal. It's a byproduct of his ego. Which makes it more likely to happen, not less."

She resumed working on her letter, "Dear Cinder, you're the most tactically sound person I know, and I trust your judgment even when you're being sarcastic about mine. Please don't let the others make any major decisions without considering long-term consequences. Especially if those decisions involve trusting Marcus during emotional moments."

Cinder rolled her eyes, but Ember continued, "If I die, feel free to claim my share of our chocolate reserves. As a gesture of appreciation for your valuable contributions and sound strategic advice."

"Stop planning your own funeral," Cinder said sharply. "You're being ridiculous."

Ember ignored the protest and moved on to the next letter. "Dear Kindle, your optimism keeps us grounded when everything else goes sideways. Never lose that ability to find joy in impossible situations. Also, if I die and come back different, remind me who I was before. Make me remember why we do this."

"The resurrection brings us back exactly as we were," Kindle protested. "You know that."

"Do we? We've never paid attention to subtle changes. What if each death erodes something small? What if we're slowly becoming different people and we haven't noticed because the changes are gradual?"

"You're overcomplicating this," Kindle insisted. "Ember, seriously, stop overthinking everything. The curse always brings us back. Nothing changes."

"Everything changes eventually," Ember replied, her gaze distant. "That's the fundamental constant of existence. And while I'm in this philosophical mood," she said, turning to address Ash, "I might as well write your letter now, instead of waiting for you to finish that chapter."

"Please don't," Ash said. "You're being maudlin. And it's disrupting my comprehension of 'Mortimer's Treatise on Moral Realism and the Subjectivity of Goodness'."

"Dear Ash," Ember said loudly, "I'm writing to let you know that even though you can be pedantic, emotionally detached, and frustratingly precise about obscure philosophical concepts, your obsession with knowledge and reasoned debate is one of the things I love most about you. Also, your hair looks fantastic when you braid it before bed, and I secretly read your analysis of 'Principles of Heroic Agency' and it was brilliant, even if I didn't understand half the terminology."

"Maudlin," Ash repeated.

"And sentimental," Ember added. "But true. All of it."

"I'm a realist, not a sentimentalist," Ash replied with a dismissive gesture. "Your emotional declarations don't faze me in the slightest."

"Sure," Ember said with a hint of a smile. "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

Ash returned to her book without another word, but Ember caught the hint of a smile playing at her lips before she disappeared behind the pages again.

The letter-writing phase transitioned into what could only be described as memorial preparation. Ember spent twenty minutes crafting a small scarf for Spark from fabric scraps, embroidering it with tiny golden flames that matched her magical signature.

"It's so he'll remember me," she explained to the salamander, who accepted the scarf with confused chirps while trying to determine if it was edible.

"He's not going to forget you in one day," Pyra pointed out.

"But what if I come back and he doesn't recognize me? What if the resurrection changes something fundamental about how my fire feels to him?" Ember tied the scarf around Spark's neck with trembling fingers. "What if I die and wake up tomorrow and I'm not really me anymore?"

"Seriously. That's not how it works," Ash said gently.

"How do we know? Have we studied the mechanism? Do we understand the metaphysics? Or do we just assume everything will be fine because it's been fine before?"

Her paranoid preparations continued despite her sister-selves' attempts at reassurance. She practiced dramatic last words in front of their mirror, trying to find the perfect combination of heroic defiance and practical information.

"Tell my sisters that Marcus orchestrated this, and don't let him convince you otherwise," she recited to her reflection.

"That sounds like you're planning to die specifically to spite Marcus," Cinder commented from the couch.

"Tell my sisters I died as I lived—with flames in my heart and deep suspicion of manipulative noblemen," Ember tried again.

"Better," Pyra agreed. "Though maybe add something about loving us? You know, for the emotional impact?"

"Tell my sisters I love them, Marcus is a scheming bastard, and if I don't come back exactly the same, question everything he tells you about how I died."

"That's not very poetic," Kindle observed.

"It's practical," Ember replied. "Poetry can wait until we understand the rules better."

Every omen confirmed her doom. The toast burned during breakfast—clearly a sign of impending combustion-related death. A bird flew into their window—obviously symbolizing unexpected collision with hostile forces. Henrik arrived early with their weekly schedule, disrupting their normal routine—definitely an indication that normal patterns were about to be catastrophically interrupted.

"Did you know," Henrik mentioned casually while updating their social calendar, "that Magistrate Beatrix has family traveling the trade routes this week? Her niece is handling some property matters in the eastern districts."

"Fascinating," Ember replied absently, more focused on the way their morning light had shifted slightly, casting shadows that looked disturbingly like grave markers.

"You're seeing patterns that aren't there," Ash said after Henrik departed.

"All patterns are there," Ember replied. "The question is whether we're paying attention to them. And whether Marcus is creating some of them deliberately."

"You're being paranoid," Cinder said. "This isn't like you."

"It's being pragmatic," Ember insisted. "Preparing for the worst lets you appreciate it when it doesn't happen."

Her sister-selves exchanged glances that carried entire conversations about intervention strategies and the ethics of physically restraining family members who'd descended into prophetic paranoia.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats announced Marcus's return before his knock rattled their door. Ember's stomach dropped as if she'd suddenly discovered gravity worked differently for doomed adventurers.

"That's my escort to destiny," she announced dramatically. "Let's get on with it."

"That's your escort to a bog," Pyra corrected firmly. "A bog where you'll complete a routine mission, avoid dying through excessive caution, and return home tomorrow evening with stories about how boring the Iron Hawks are."

"And if you do die," Cinder added, "we'll spend the day planning elaborate revenge against Marcus, then welcome you back with detailed reports of his crimes and a comprehensive strategy for making his life miserable."

"Promise?" Ember asked.

"Promise," they replied in unison.

Marcus entered their sitting room wearing full adventurer gear polished to a mirror finish. His smile had the air of someone who knew they looked good and expected immediate acknowledgment of their heroic appearance.

"Ready for your educational experience?" he asked.

"Ready as anyone can be for a learning opportunity that may or may not be an elaborate murder plot," Ember replied.

Marcus's smile faltered slightly, as if he hadn't expected her to be quite so direct about her suspicions.

"It's a standard mission," he said. "Nothing dangerous."

"Famous last words," Ember muttered, shouldering her pack. "Literally."

The goodbye scene that followed was complicated by the knowledge that death wasn't permanent for them, but separation still hurt. Each of her sister-selves hugged her fiercely and tried to reassure her that everything would be fine.

"Just breathe," Pyra whispered, squeezing Ember tight. "Don't overthink it. Focus on the mission."

"And make sure to note everything he does," Cinder added. "Even if it's not deliberate sabotage, his incompetence could be useful in future negotiations."

"Remember that you're not alone even when you're alone," Kindle said, which sounded philosophical but felt comforting. "We're always with you, even when we're not."

"Trust your instincts," Ash advised. "And if something feels wrong, assume it is wrong and act accordingly. Better to offend Marcus than to die for his convenience."

Spark provided the most emotional farewell, wrapping around her legs with distressed chirps that suggested the salamander understood something significant was happening. Ember knelt to scratch behind his horns one final time, memorizing the texture of his scales and the warm weight of his contentment.

"Take care of them," she told Spark seriously. "Don't let them eat all my chocolate while I'm gone."

Marcus waited through these farewells with visible impatience, checking his pocket watch and sighing with theatrical exasperation.

"The Iron Hawks maintain professional schedules," he announced. "We don't operate on emotional time."

"Emotional time is the only time that matters," Pyra replied sweetly. "Professional schedules are for people who don't understand priorities."

Marcus's smile tightened, but he didn't respond to the barb. Instead, he gestured toward the door with the sort of authority that brooked no further delays.

"Time to go," he said.

Ember took one last look around their sitting room—their first real home since arriving in this world, filled with furniture they hadn't chosen and luxury they hadn't earned, but also containing the people she loved most in any reality.

"One last hug for luck," she requested.

Her sister-selves obliged without hesitation, surrounding her with overlapping embraces that were strong with reassurance but fragile with worry they couldn't hide completely.

The walk to the Guild compound felt like a funeral march, with Marcus maintaining cheerful conversation about mission logistics while Ember mentally catalogued everything she was leaving behind. The morning air carried scents of bread and coffee from nearby shops, normal life continuing obliviously while she marched toward her probable doom.

"The Iron Hawks have worked together for three years," Marcus explained as they walked. "Proper team dynamics, established protocols, proven results. You'll learn a great deal from observing professional cooperation."

Professional cooperation. As if their coordination wasn't professional, just different.

"I'm sure I will," Ember replied, though what she was sure of was that this mission would teach her something about Marcus's character that she wouldn't enjoy learning.

The Guild compound bustled with morning activity—teams departing for missions, clerks processing paperwork, and the general controlled chaos of an organization that specialized in managing dangerous people doing dangerous work. The Iron Hawks waited near the main gates, their equipment gleaming with the sort of careful maintenance that spoke to genuine competence.

"Ember," Marcus announced to his team, "meet the Fragmented Flame's leader. She'll be observing our methods today."

The introductions were polite but perfunctory. Gareth, the team's veteran, offered a firm handshake and direct gaze that suggested he judged people by their actions rather than their reputations. Elena, younger and more idealistic, gave her a friendly smile that carried genuine welcome despite the awkward circumstances. The other two team members—Thomas and Alessio—nodded in greeting but kept their attention on final gear checks before departure.

"Equipment ready?" Marcus asked them.

"Yes," Gareth said simply.

"Outstanding," Marcus replied. "Let's not keep the Guild waiting for our results any longer than necessary."

"Ready to see how proper teams operate?" Marcus asked as they set out through Amaranth's gates.

"Looking forward to learning something new," Ember replied, feeling the weight of impending misfortune on her shoulders like an extra pack she hadn't prepared for.

The road to the eastern bog stretched ahead like a path to destiny, and Ember couldn't shake the feeling that destiny had unpleasant plans for her immediate future. Plans that might involve testing exactly how permanent their deaths really were.

At least the weather was nice. Perfect weather for dying heroically in defense of innocent people while Marcus watched from a safe distance.

She really hoped her paranoia was just paranoia.

But in her experience, paranoia was often just pattern recognition with better marketing.

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