The address Ronan had found led them not to an office, but to a derelict clockwork factory in the city's industrial sector. Rusting signs hung crookedly, and the windows were dark with grime. The place looked abandoned. But as they approached the huge, gear-shaped iron door, a small panel slid open, and a pair of sharp, suspicious eyes peered out.
"State your business," a gruff voice demanded.
"Ronan Sullivan. I was told to seek out the Captain," Ronan said smoothly. "We're looking for… employment."
There was a long silence, then the sound of heavy bolts being drawn. The massive door groaned open, revealing a cavernous space that was anything but abandoned. The interior of the "Gearhouse" was a hum of activity. A large central area had been converted into a training ground. Walkways above led to workshops, living quarters, and what looked like a well-stocked armory.
Four figures awaited them. The one who had opened the door was a mountain of a woman with a confident grin and powerful arms. A lean, sharp-featured man lurked in the shadows behind her, his eyes missing nothing. A pale, slender woman with dark, unnervingly still eyes stood to the side, seemingly a part of the silence itself. In the center was an older man, perhaps in his late fifties, built like a stone wall with a face full of old scars and authority. This was Borin "the Captain" Volkov.
"Employment," Borin's voice rumbled, deep and gravelly. He looked them up and down, his gaze lingering on Liam's focused stillness and Ronan's restless energy. "The Iron Compact isn't a charity for stray pups. We are a professional outfit. What makes you think you belong here?"
Ronan took the lead. "We're discreet, we have unique skills, and we're currently being hunted by an organization that likes to erase history. We need a place to lie low, train, and fight back. In return, you get two motivated Sealbearers for a bargain price."
Borin was silent for a long moment. "The Compact has one rule that matters above all others: the contract is absolute. A second, unspoken rule is that we don't ask about the past. Your story fits that rule." He took a step forward. "But you are not members. You are recruits. You'll sleep in the apprentice bunks, you'll clean the training grounds, and you will follow every order without question. Greta will be your instructor. If you survive her, we'll talk about your place here." He turned to the muscular woman. "Greta. Don't break them. At least, not on the first day."
Greta's grin widened. "No promises, Captain."