I left the tavern shortly after the courier disappeared into the market.
Velkrane District had grown louder as the afternoon progressed. Wagons creaked across the cobbled streets while merchants argued over prices beside their stalls. Workers carried crates from the warehouses toward the river docks, shouting warnings whenever they pushed carts through the crowd. The noise and movement created the sort of confusion that couriers preferred. In a place where hundreds of people passed every minute, it was easy to lose anyone who tried to follow you.
The courier had already gained some distance, but men in his profession usually followed predictable routes. Their work required efficiency. They chose streets that allowed steady movement and avoided the densest intersections where traffic slowed them down.
I moved through the crowd at a steady pace while watching the flow of people ahead of me.
After several minutes I found him again.
The dark cloak made him easy to recognize once I knew where to look. He walked quickly without appearing hurried, weaving through pedestrians with the practiced rhythm of someone who spent most of his days moving through busy streets. The leather satchel still hung from his shoulder.
I followed from a distance.
The courier crossed the market square and turned into a narrower street lined with workshops. The steady ringing of a blacksmith's hammer echoed from one of the buildings while the smell of charcoal drifted across the road. A cooper worked outside another shop, shaping wooden barrel rings while speaking with a passing merchant.
The courier continued past them without slowing.
I noticed the second man shortly afterward.
At first there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. He wore plain traveling clothes and carried no visible weapons. Yet his movements were slightly too deliberate. Whenever the courier slowed, the man slowed as well. When the courier changed direction, the man appeared on the same street soon afterward.
He kept his distance and avoided drawing attention, but the pattern was clear once I focused on it.
The courier had not noticed him yet.
I continued walking behind them both, careful to keep enough space that neither man would feel watched. The streets gradually grew quieter as we moved farther from the market. The workshops became less frequent and the buildings more widely spaced.
Eventually the courier turned onto a narrow road bordered by two warehouses. Their wooden doors were closed and the faded trade signs above them suggested they had not been used recently.
The street was almost empty.
The courier slowed.
A moment later he stopped and turned around.
He had finally noticed the footsteps behind him.
The second man approached calmly until he stood several paces away.
"What do you want?" the courier asked.
His voice was steady, though his hand had already moved near the dagger at his belt.
The man smiled slightly.
"Just a conversation."
"This is not the place."
"Perhaps not," the man replied, "but the item in your satchel interests me."
The courier's expression changed.
"You've mistaken me for someone else."
"I don't think so."
The man stepped forward.
The courier drew his dagger.
The blade flashed briefly in the afternoon light as he moved backward to keep space between them.
"You should leave," the courier said.
The man did not respond immediately. Instead he studied the dagger as though measuring the courier's confidence.
Then he moved.
The attack happened quickly. The courier slashed toward the man's arm, but the strike met empty air as the attacker shifted sideways and drove his fist into the courier's chest. The blow forced the courier backward until his shoulders struck the warehouse door.
The dagger slipped from his hand and clattered against the stones.
The attacker advanced before the courier could recover. He grabbed the courier's cloak and drove him against the wall again with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.
The courier struggled to regain his balance. His hand reached desperately for the fallen weapon.
The attacker noticed the movement and brought his boot down sharply on the courier's wrist.
The courier cried out as the bone cracked.
His arm fell limp.
The attacker removed the satchel from the courier's shoulder and stepped back.
"This could have been simpler," he said quietly.
The courier slid down the wall, breathing unevenly. His eyes moved toward the satchel now hanging from the attacker's hand.
"You don't know what you're holding," he said.
"That may be true."
The attacker reached inside the satchel and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth.
He unfolded it carefully.
From where I stood across the street I could see the faint dark surface of the crystal fragment inside.
So the relic had been carried in that satchel.
The attacker examined it with clear satisfaction before slipping it into his coat pocket. When he finished, he removed a narrow knife from his sleeve and drove it into the courier's chest.
The movement was controlled and efficient.
The courier's body went still within seconds.
The man wiped the blade against the courier's cloak and turned toward the street.
That was when he noticed me.
He stopped walking.
Our eyes met across the road.
"You were following him," he said.
"And you," I replied.
He studied me for a moment, then glanced briefly toward the body behind him.
"That complicates things."
"Possibly."
His hand slipped toward the knife again.
"You should have kept walking."
"I was considering it."
He moved toward me.
The knife flashed as he lunged forward, aiming directly for my throat.
I stepped aside and caught his wrist before the blade could reach me. The movement surprised him, and the force of his own momentum pulled him off balance. I twisted his arm and drove my elbow into his ribs.
The man staggered backward but recovered quickly.
"You're not just a passerby," he said.
"Neither are you."
He attacked again.
The knife cut toward my shoulder this time. I shifted out of reach and struck his jaw with the heel of my palm. The impact forced him against the warehouse door.
He swung the knife upward in response.
The blade grazed my sleeve but failed to find its mark.
I stepped closer and forced his wrist downward until his grip loosened.
The knife fell to the ground.
For a brief moment he hesitated.
I struck his throat with the edge of my hand.
His body collapsed against the stones.
The street became quiet again.
Two bodies now lay beside the warehouse wall.
I waited a few moments to ensure no one had witnessed the confrontation. The surrounding buildings remained silent. Most of the nearby warehouses were closed, and the nearest workshop stood far enough away that the sounds of the struggle had likely blended with the usual noise of the district.
When I was certain we were alone, I approached the fallen man.
His pockets contained little beyond a few coins and a small glass vial filled with dark liquid. The substance was likely poison meant for emergencies.
Professional indeed.
I removed the crystal fragment from his coat.
The moment it touched my hand, a faint chill spread through my fingers.
The sensation was familiar. Even without Archivist abilities I could recognize the presence of an Echo artifact. The fragment was small and irregularly shaped, yet faint patterns shimmered within the dark surface like reflections moving across deep water.
A fragment of the Hollow Archive.
I wrapped the crystal carefully and placed it inside my coat.
The bodies would eventually be discovered, but that no longer concerned me. The important part was understanding how the situation had changed.
In my previous life the courier had died in the alley behind the warehouses near the market district. Now the murder had occurred earlier and in a different location. Someone had also been hunting the artifact before the event I remembered.
The timeline had already begun shifting.
That was not surprising. Simply returning to the past and moving through the city differently was enough to alter small details. Whether those changes would grow larger over time remained to be seen.
For now the artifact was in my possession.
I left the quiet street and returned toward the busier roads of Velkrane District while the afternoon crowd continued its usual trade. The city had not noticed the brief struggle that had taken place a few streets away, and the markets carried on as though nothing unusual had occurred.