Riften was brooding.

Dark clouds hung in the sky and fog was wreathed in thick tendrils around the trees. Sound felt deadened, muffled, as if the air was trying to stifle it. Nobody seemed to want to speak in case the heavy atmosphere would devour the sound as soon as it was uttered.

The change in Riften's mood set Issana on edge. The market square was empty of merchants, filled instead by soldiers that cast wary looks at anyone passing by. Flags of both the Rift and Ulfric Stormcloak hung heavy on spears in the silence.

"Good luck," said Rune.

Issana looked over at him. "If Maven's feeling reasonable, I won't need it."

"If," Rune echoed. "Good luck."

Issana turned and strode up the road. Maven's manor stood tall over the surrounding houses, cloaked wraithlike in the fog. Issana reached the footpath to the door and slowed. There was no way Maven could be angry, was there? Disappointed, maybe, but not angry. I could have done the job fine if not for that mad wizard.

But there was no point in waiting. If anything, more delay would just make the situation worse. Issana strode up to the ornate door and knocked loudly.

It swung open silently. Carrus, Maven's elderly servant, stared at her over a hooked nose. A thin smile spread across his wrinkled mouth. "Welcome, thief," he said. "Lady Maven is expecting you."

"That's why I'm here."

Carrus smiled wider. "She is… not in the most amiable spirit. I would not keep her waiting, if I were you."

Issana tensed. She stepped into the house.

Maven was seated at the head of a long table, upon which was set a magnificent spread of meats, cheeses and wine. At the table were two others, a young, dark-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to Maven, and a man who wasn't much older.

Maven looked up at Issana from her chair. She set her knife down softly. "Ingun. Sibbi. Leave us."

The young woman rose at once. "Yes, mother," she said, and slipped from the room. The man gave his food a longing glance and shot Issana a venomous look before he followed, shutting the door behind him.

Maven rose gracefully. "You've returned."

Issana nodded.

"It's very brave of you," Maven said. "After botching a job that badly, most people would have fled. Yet here you are."

Issana swallowed hard.

Maven stalked slowly around the table, tracing her fingertips over the carven chairs. "Tell me, was it a mistake to hire you?"

"N-no," Issana said. "There was a mage-"

"Yes, the crazy mage living in the tunnels," Maven said. "So I heard."

"He was raising the skeevers, and when he-"

Maven silenced her with a move of her hand. "I know." She stared into Issana's eyes, unmoving, unblinking. Issana glanced down at the ground.

"But," said Maven suddenly, "you aren't as unlucky as some would think. Although burning down the Meadery was not at all my ideal solution, it's more a blow to Mallus than to me. It harms only profits I had hoped to make, not what I already have."

Issana looked up.

"Provided," Maven added before she could speak, "that you at least have some good news you can give me."

Issana opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and the noise startled her. "Well, I did get Sabjorn to talk. He had an investor. Someone who was backing him in an effort to target you."

Maven stared at her expectantly.

"A dark elf woman."

Maven didn't move. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Does it?"

"No."

Issana held her breath, hoping Maven would continue speaking. She did. "Speak to Brynjolf. Or Mercer, or whoever in your petty little Guild would know." Maven knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened on the back of a chair. "And bring me this elf's head." She smiled. "Do you understand?"

Issana nodded vigorously.

"Good. Now, get out."

Issana needed no second urging. She turned as quickly as she could and left.

The empty, once-vibrant streets of Riften felt unpleasant as Issana made her way towards the Guild. She crossed through the graveyard, weaving her way around the tombstones, and ducked into the low sepulchre. At a touch of the carving, the sarcophagus slid away and she vanished into the passage.

The tunnel was damp and the floor was muddy with old rainwater that splashed over her boots. At the far end, maybe twenty feet away, was a hole in the ground that flickered with orange firelight. She reached the hole, grabbed the ladder attached to one side, and slid down into the cistern.

"Well, well," came Delvin's voice as her feet hit the floor. "Look who made it back."

Issana turned around and saw Delvin standing with Rune and Cynric. Delvin and Cynric looked vaguely impressed; Rune just looked relieved.

"Maven let you off, then?" said Delvin.

"Something like that," said Issana. "Where's Mercer? I need to talk to him."

"He's gone topside," answered Cynric. "Had to, ah, smooth some things over with the city guard."

Issana frowned. "What happened?"

Delvin sighed. "Somebody was digging. Trying to find dirt on some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn went to… convince her to leave town." He shook his head. "Got themselves bloodied up and tossed in Riften jail."

"Somebody bloodied Dirge and Thrynn?" said Issana. "Who'd they pick a fight with, a troll?"

Cynric snorted. "Close to it. Mjoll didn't earn the title 'Lioness' for nothing."

"Mjoll," Issana muttered. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"She's been one of our more… outspoken friends of late," said Delvin. "Talk of the city."

"No, that's not it." Issana closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember.

That night. Her first one on the streets. The skooma dealer. A pang of… something... shot through her. "What happened?"

"She was proving a bit of an annoyance for some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn were supposed to teach her a lesson. Ended up in prison with five broken bones between them."

Issana raised her eyebrows.

"Like I said," Cynric put in, "Mercer's cityside trying to fix it."

"Not anymore," came Mercer's harsh voice from across the cistern. Issana and her companions looked round and saw him close the door to the Ragged Flagon behind him. "I swear," Mercer growled, "if you spent more time being decent thieves and less time gossiping, we wouldn't have so many botched-" His eyes fell on Issana. "Oh, it's you."

"Mercer, I need to talk to you."

Mercer strode towards them. "I'm listening."

"Someone was funding Honningbrew Meadery to get at Maven. Maven wants us to find them."

Mercer stared at her. "Oh, is that all? Should we just start asking people, then?"

"No." Issana glared at him. "I already asked around. It was a dark elf woman, though-"

Mercer ground to a halt. He raised a hand. "What did she look like?"

"I-" Issana frowned. "I don't know."

Mercer cast a look over his shoulder towards his desk. "A dark elf woman? You're sure?"

"Yes, that's what-"

Mercer swore and sprang into a run. He reached his desk, scattering papers with a sweep of his hand until he seized one and held it next to a candle, peering hard at it.

Issana strode over to him. "Wait, I recognize that. It was in Goldenglow's safe. What's going on?"

"Nobody's targeting Maven," snapped Mercer. "They're targeting us. Throw enough problems at Maven and sooner or later we'll mess one up badly enough that she'll take it out on us. There!" He pointed at the upper right corner of the page. Issana stared. Little markings had bloomed in dark ink onto the page.

"What is it?"

Mercer ignored her, his eyes flicking back and forth across the page. He was mouthing words but Issana didn't catch them.

"Mercer," said Delvin. "Mercer, what's going on? What is this?"

Mercer looked up at last. "A problem." He pointed at the markings. "It's a code. One I-" He paused. "One I broke years ago. She knows I can read this. She knows I'm the only one still alive who can. This was meant for me."

There was a brief moment of silence before Cynric said, "What does it say?"

Mercer's eyes had narrowed. "Where the end began." He looked at Issana. "You're coming with me. We're going to deal with this once and for all."

"I-what? Why me?"

"Because if you'd done your job properly, we wouldn't be in this mess. Pack warm. We're going to Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" Issana exclaimed. "What? Why?"

"Karliah."

"Who?"

"The dark elf," snarled Mercer. "She's a murderer, a traitor, and I swore that if I ever found her again I'd put an end to her. We know where she is. I'm going after her. And you're coming with me."

"To Windhelm? No!"

"Excuse me?"

Issana shook her head. "I just spend a month on the road. I need rest. I need real food. I'm not going to Windhelm."

"You don't have a choice," said Mercer. "You got us into this."

"Well, actually, Karliah did-"

"And," Mercer cut in, "I'll need someone who can get through locked doors. That's you."

"Yes, exactly!" said Issana. "I pick locks. I climb through windows. I don't fight!"

Cynric snickered. "Remember that time you floored Vex?"

"Shut up." Issana folded her arms and stared at Mercer. "Forget it. I'm not going anywhere. I'm done with traveling. I'm not going to run after some crazed murderer and get myself killed."

Mercer slammed his fist down on the desk. "This is your fault, Issana! You played into Karliah's hand when you failed at Honningbrew. She'll only get bolder, understand? You're coming with me, and we're going to fix the mess you started. Got it?"

"Mercer, are you sure about this?" said Delvin. "How do you even know this Karliah'll still be there?"

"Wherever there is," Issana muttered.

"Because I know her," said Mercer. "I know how she works, how she thinks."

"But if that message was intended for you, then isn't this a trap?"

Mercer reached under his desk and pulled out a narrow-bladed, sheathed sword. He tossed it to Issana. "Of course it is."

Issana dropped the sword back onto the desk with a clatter. "No. I'm not getting involved in your fight."

"My fight?" said Mercer. "Karliah will bring down the whole damn Guild if she isn't stopped. You want that? You want to see Delvin, Rune, Cynric, Brynjolf all dead? Because that's what's going to happen if we don't stop her."

"So take someone with you who can fight! What use am I going to be?"

"I don't need someone who can fight," said Mercer. "I can fight. I need someone who can get me into Karliah's hiding place. And that's you."

Issana gritted her teeth. Then she snatched the sword off the desk. "Fine. I'll do it. But," she added, "after we get back, I'm taking a month-long break from everything. No jobs, no contracts, no Maven, no murderers. Just me, my mead and my money. Deal?"

Mercer nodded slowly. "Deal."