Bryan looked at him.
"I know that tone."
"What tone?"
"The tone of someone who is comparing official procedure to places where a person might hide."
Iri’s expression sharpened.
Rohan leaned back.
"You both are becoming very difficult to deceive."
Bryan’s face hardened, but unlike Maerin, he did not immediately lecture. He looked at Iri, then back at Rohan.
"You are thinking about stowing away."
Iri stared at him. "Rohan."
"I am thinking about many possibilities."
"No," she said, and the emotion in her voice startled him. "Do not soften it with clever words. Are you thinking about sneaking onto the merchant ship?"
Rohan looked between them.
He could lie.
He decided not to.
"Yes."
Iri closed her eyes briefly.
Bryan was very still.
Rohan spoke before either could.
"I am not saying I will. I am not planning to run blindly onto a shuttle and hope no one notices the ash-covered outsider crouching behind cargo. But if they refuse every proper attempt, then I need to know whether there is another way."
Iri opened her eyes. They were bright with anger.
"Another way for you, maybe. What happens to Veyrhold after? What happens when the merchants discover they carried a stowaway from our tradefall? They will not shrug and say you were impressive. They will punish the people who cannot chase them."
"I know."
"Do you?" she demanded. "Because sometimes you speak as though leaving is only your problem. I understand why you want to go, Rohan. I do. You were thrown here. This was never your home, never your cage, never your inherited grief. But if you force your way out, the cage does not vanish for the rest of us. It tightens."
The words hurt because they were true.
Bryan did not interrupt.
Rohan looked down at the map.
"I know," he said again, but softer. "I think about it constantly."
Iri’s anger trembled into something more painful.
"Then do not make us care about you and then make your freedom something that costs us medicine."
Rohan looked up.
The room went silent.
Iri seemed to realise what she had said only after it left her. She turned away slightly, jaw tight.
Rohan felt the words settle heavily inside him.
Make us care about you.
He had spent months wanting Veyrhold’s trust because it was useful. Because it meant access, hunting rights, knowledge, resources. He had not expected trust to become a tether.
But it had.
Pell’s charm at his belt. Liora’s worry. Maerin’s warnings. Bryan’s ledgers. Iri’s fury.
They were all tethers.
Not chains.
That was what made them harder to break.
"I will not do something that deliberately harms Veyrhold," Rohan said.
Iri looked back at him.
He forced himself to continue.
"But I need you to understand something too. If the merchants refuse me because I am short on value, that is one thing. If they refuse me because they refuse everyone, because letting people leave threatens their trade model, then proper channels are not channels. They are decorations painted on a wall."
Bryan’s expression shifted.
He understood that image.
"I am not asking for permission to be reckless," Rohan said. "I am asking for help understanding where the real walls are. If there is no way to leave without harming Veyrhold, then I need to know that. If there is a way to leave that makes the merchants look responsible for their own mistake rather than blaming the settlement, I need to know that too."
Iri folded her arms tightly.
"That sounds like a very dangerous distinction."
"It is."
Bryan looked down at the landing map.
"Not impossible," he said quietly.
Iri turned toward him.
"Bryan."
"I am not endorsing anything. I am thinking."
"That is often the beginning of trouble."
"Yes," Bryan said. "But so is refusing to think because the conclusion may be frightening."
Rohan leaned forward.
Bryan tapped the central pavilion.
"The greatest danger is traceability. If the merchants can prove Veyrhold aided an illegal boarding, they punish Veyrhold. If they can prove you boarded from our cargo lane, they punish Veyrhold. If they can prove you used falsified Veyrhold documents, they punish Veyrhold."
"So the question is whether a boarding attempt could appear unrelated to Veyrhold."
"I did not say that."
"You implied it."
"I said traceability is the greatest danger. Do not turn that into encouragement yet."
Iri looked as if she might throw a salve jar at both of them.
Bryan continued anyway.
"The merchants run their own cargo movement between shuttles and orbital hold. Not all goods loaded during Tradefall come from Veyrhold. Some are their own supplies, empty containers, waste returns, equipment crates, guard rotations. If someone were to board through a purely merchant-controlled channel, the blame becomes less clear."
Rohan studied the map.
"Which channel?"
"I do not know. We see only the outer trade layout. The inner shuttle procedures are guarded."
"What about scans?"
"They scan Veyrhold cargo heavily. They scan their own cargo less, but not never. Biological heat signatures, weight discrepancies, movement, chemical traces. This is a starship, Rohan, not an ash shed."
"I know."
"I am not sure you do."
Rohan looked at him.
Bryan’s expression was not mocking. It was afraid.
That made him listen.
"You have become strong here," Bryan said. "Stronger than most expected, perhaps stronger than is comfortable. You can fight skarn, sense ash, and make Maerin reconsider orders with sheer stubbornness. But the Gilded Heron belongs to a world that does not care how well you survive ours. It has sealed doors, sensors, guards, systems you cannot threaten with a spear, and laws written by people who would call your life a cargo irregularity."
Rohan absorbed that.
"Then I need to learn those systems."
"Yes," Bryan said. "And you have twelve days during Tradefall to do it under their eyes."
The room quieted again.
Iri sat slowly.
"You are both going to keep thinking about this no matter what I say, aren’t you?"
Rohan and Bryan exchanged a glance.
Iri let out a humourless laugh.
"Wonderful. One of you is too desperate to be sensible, and the other is too angry to be careful."
Bryan looked offended. "I am extremely careful."
"You write insults in official ledgers."
"In small script."
Rohan almost smiled, but stopped when Iri looked at him.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead.