The Guild came to him on a night of rain.
Adrian had been oiling the gears of a prototype regulator when the knock echoed at his door—three sharp raps, deliberate, like the strike of a hammer. Elara froze by the window, her eyes darting to the shadowed street.
"Stay in the back," Adrian whispered. His pulse quickened as he wiped his hands and pulled open the door.
Two figures stood beneath the eaves, their brass masks dripping with rain, lenses glinting like insect eyes. Steam hissed from the vents in their pauldrons. Between them waited a man without a mask.
He was lean, sharp-faced, his hair swept back with an oil-slick sheen. His coat bore the sigil of the Mechanists' Guild—a gear circled by a serpent. When he smiled, it was without warmth.
"Adrian Holt," the man said smoothly. "Forgive the intrusion. My name is Master Corwin. May we step inside?"
Adrian's jaw tightened. He had heard of Corwin—a rising power in the Guild, ruthless and ambitious. To deny him would draw suspicion, and suspicion was death. Reluctantly, he opened the door wider.
They entered, boots clanging against the floorboards. The masked enforcers loomed like brass statues, but Corwin strolled the workshop with a connoisseur's air, running his fingers across the schematics pinned to the wall.
"You're a clever man, Holt. Self-taught, yet your work rivals our finest artisans. I've seen your regulators circulating in the black markets. Illegal, of course… but impressive."
"I don't sell to the black markets," Adrian said tightly.
Corwin glanced at him with a sly grin. "No. But others sell for you." He tapped a drawing with his finger. "Your designs carry a signature—a rhythm, an elegance. One doesn't forget it."
Adrian fought to keep his face still. Behind the curtain that hid the back room, he knew Elara was listening. Her heart ticked faintly, a sound he feared Corwin might hear if silence stretched too long.
Finally, the Guild master turned to him. "I'm not here to prosecute. On the contrary—I'm here to offer you a place. The Guild rewards brilliance, Holt. Too many of our artisans cling to tradition, blind to progress. But you…" His eyes gleamed. "You've already broken boundaries others fear to touch."
Adrian's stomach churned. The man knew. Somehow, he knew.
"And what boundaries do you think I've broken?" Adrian asked carefully.
Corwin stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Life. Death. The very essence of humanity. You've touched them, haven't you? Crafted something beyond machine and man."
The enforcers stirred, as if to punctuate his words.
Adrian forced a laugh, though it rang hollow. "You flatter me, Master Corwin. I build gears and pistons, nothing more."
Corwin studied him, the smile fading. For a moment, silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint tick of the workshop clocks. Then his grin returned, shark-like.
"Deny it if you must. But the Guild is watching, Holt. And when you're ready to stop hiding, you'll find our doors open. Bring us your creation—your proof—and we will raise you higher than you've ever dreamed."
With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his enforcers. They turned in unison, steam hissing, and followed him out into the rain.
Adrian closed the door with shaking hands.
Elara emerged from the shadows, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim lamplight. "They know," she said.
"Yes," he whispered, his throat dry. "They know enough."
Her hand brushed his, and for the first time since her heart had begun to tick, he felt cold metal beneath her warmth. "Then we must decide, Adrian. Do we keep running from them… or do we show them what I truly am?"
Her words cut deeper than Corwin's threats. Because he knew—one choice would doom them both, and the other would demand a price he wasn't sure he could pay.