Gary calls me to his office early in the morning.
"Good Tuesday," I say, walking toward his desk.
"Good Tuesday," he replies, tapping the newspaper. "Good Tuesday indeed."
"Yes, Gary."
He lifts the paper, holding the front page inches from my face. "Read."
"FATALITY AT HAVERSTOCK: BRAWL IN JUNIOR COMMON ROOM TURNS DEADLY," I read, then pause.
"Continue," he prompts.
"Witnesses report a heated dispute between students over a personal matter. The police have taken over the investigation; the situation is contained."
He sets the paper back on the desk.
Silence fills the office. The faint hum of the lobby and distant street noises leak through the walls.
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
Gary claps three times, a sharp, deliberate rhythm. A thin smile plays on his lips. "Good job. Custodian Order thinks it's just a dispute."
"Well… all is resolved then," I say, exhaling a measured breath.
"No," he says. "We wait until someone is detained. For now, lay low. Do not go anywhere near the university."
"Okay."
I finish my job and return to my room.
To Ashlynn.
Ashlynn stretches on her side of the bed, propping her head on one elbow.
"Len," she says quietly, "I'm going to do something tomorrow."
I tilt my head. "Oh?"
She sits up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Tanya… she's going to teach me how to draw."
"Draw? Anything specific?" I echo.
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, buildings, animals, beautiful things... You."
I glance at a notebook and pencils sitting on the desk. Neatly arranged, waiting.
"I can help you carry the supplies if you want," I say.
She shakes her head. "No, that's fine. I'll manage. You can just watch if you like. Or… keep busy."
I nod, letting it drop there.
She leans back, tapping her chin. "It'll take all day. Tanya's very… precise."
I nod again. The faint hum of the city drifts through the hotel walls.
She watches me, amber eyes catching the light from the window. "Thanks for… just letting me do my thing, Len."
I shrug. "You'd do the same for me."
She smiles softly, curling back under the blanket. "Night night," she whispers, playful.
Good Wednesday.
I work as usual at my clerk job.
Midday Gary walks to my desk carrying a newspaper with a huge smile.
"Len, come."
I leave my desk and follow him to his office.
"Here," he hands me the newspaper.
I turn it to the front page. "MOTIVE REVEALED IN STUDENT BRAWL; ENVY LED TO FATALITY."
I smirk, then continue reading.
"Following the brawl at Haverstock, a suspect has been detained by the police. The arrest was made possible by the corroborated testimony of three students who witnessed the suspect's agitation prior to the event. The University Board has expressed gratitude for the witnesses' cooperation in upholding the Consensus. Lectures are to resume as scheduled."
"Clever," Gary comments. "Now, Silva's pets are dead. You have become his only option."
I nod and set the newspaper on the desk.
My lips stretch. I smile.
"Become his reliable pet. Do what he wants you to. When you find hard evidence of him practicing alchemy or supplying IAM—"
"I will kill him," I cut him off.
"No," he says. "You report to me first. He is dangerous."
"Got it."
I go back to my hotel at night.
Ashlynn is already on the bed when I return. She's sitting cross-legged, leaning against the headboard, her notebook open on her lap. A faint pencil-smudge marks her fingers.
"Len," she says quietly, looking up. "Today… Tanya taught me how to draw."
I tilt my head. "And?"
She smiles, small, proud. "I'm not very good… yet. But she showed me how to see lines, how buildings… and people… can fit together. I tried drawing the Hearthlight Building. The lines are all wrong, but…" She shrugs, tapping the page. "I tried."
I nod slowly as I sit in my chair, letting her words settle.
"And… she invited me to dinner," she adds, cheeks warming slightly. "With her fiancé, Xandar."
I glance at her, curious. "Dinner?"
"Yeah. She said it would be nice… for me to meet her fiancé. She… made it sound fun." Her fingers hover over the pencil again, tracing an imagined curve in the notebook. "I don't know if I want to… but maybe I should." Her amber eyes flicker at my gaze.
I remain quiet.
"I carried my supplies the whole day," she continues, a small laugh escaping her. "Tanya didn't let me goof off. Everything has to be exact… precise. Lines straight. Shapes measured. But… I liked it. It made my head quiet for a while. Calm."
She curls back under the blanket, amber eyes glinting softly in the lamplight. "Night night," she whispers, playful.
Good Thursday.
Another day ends without incident. I return early.
I sit at the desk, flipping through my diary—Allen's notebook—focusing on the gibberish parts, the ones next to the torn pages.
It's been days. I still can't make sense of them.
A moment later, Ashlynn steps in, a little slower than usual. A faint crease runs along her dress. She sets her bag on the floor, smooths the straps, and rubs her shoulders lightly, shaking off the stiffness from sitting too long.
"Len," she says softly. "Dinner went well."
I tilt my head. "Tanya and Xandar?"
She nods. "Yes. Xandar… he's very charming. So charming that he let Tanya eat. He watched her every bite." She lets out a small, tired laugh; her shoulders slump faintly, betraying the long evening. "Generous enough that he allowed her eight bites."
I smirk. "Sweet, huh?"
"Yeah. And Tanya laughed a lot. Xandar smiled. I mostly just stayed out of the way." Her amber eyes flick at me quickly, a spark of mischief hidden in the tiredness. "Do you mind if I take a bath first?"
"Of course not," I reply.
She stretches her arms overhead, a small shiver running down her spine as she yawns softly. Then, glancing back over her shoulder, she adds, playful: "Okay, no peeking."
We chat briefly after her bath, her voice soft and tired, until she finally curls into bed and sleeps.
I change into my dark long coat, tricorn hat in place. My diary slips into my pocket, pen tucked beside it.
I go down to the lobby. Mynar is already chatting with some guests near the reception desk. He turns, sees me.
"Monsieur Len," he shouts, waving his hand.
"Monsieur Mynar," I shout back, waving mine.
I approach him.
"Do you know where to buy liquid lantern?" I ask.
"Trinktek shop outside, across the street." His finger sweeps toward the door as he speaks.
"Thanks, Monsieur Mynar."
"Enjoy your night, Monsieur Len."
I leave the hotel and cross the street. A shop is open. It's clean—almost sterile—compared to the soot-stained houses around it. Above the door, a wooden sign reads: Trinktek Shop.
A clerk stands outside, polishing the window pane. Through the glass, liquid lanterns shimmer, and oddities clutter the shelves.
"You have liquid lantern?" I ask.
"Yes, Monsieur."
I purchase one and tie it to my belt.
Some carriages are still on the streets at this hour. I climb into one, and the jarvy follows my instructions without question.
We arrive at the alley between the florist shops. I step out and move through it.
Night is quiet. Even my footsteps echo. The liquid lantern at my belt is the only source of light, casting flickering shadows across the cobblestones. Mice scurry, insects pause, illuminated briefly before disappearing into cracks.
I reach my warehouse.
I enter and lock the door from the inside.
The lantern goes on the table. I move to the shelves along the western wall, climb carefully, and extract Nathan's folded paper from a crack at the end of the timber support beam.
I step down and return to the table, holding the paper near the lantern as I unfold it.
It is gibberish. Letters and drawings that make no sense.
Fortunately for me, I recognize these scrawls. The symbols and drawings match the ones in my diary—the entries I didn't write.
I inspect the edges of Nathan's paper. Tear marks.
I open my diary and flip to a gibberish page next to a torn one. Nathan's paper doesn't match.
I flip to another. Still no match. Again. And again.
Finally. A match.
I fit the paper into my diary.
Then. Nothing happens.
I wait some more. Still nothing.
Frustration builds.
I stare at the liquid lantern on the table—its natural color, the way it shines.
An idea.
I remove the container from its frame and twist the lid off with a sharp click. The moment the white glowing liquid meets the air, it bleeds into a deep, glowing red—kuor. Alchemical fuel.
I spill a bit onto my diary.
The paper drinks it in. The tear knits itself shut. Nathan's paper merges completely, fusing into my diary.
Then the gibberish shifts.
The letters crawl. Slowly at first, writhing like serpents across the page, twisting in agonizing spirals. My eyes track the motion, reluctant yet drawn in. They slither toward the edges, each line trembling, bending, reshaping.
And then they snap.
Into place. Coherent. Horrifyingly precise. Clear. Materials, methods, costs… everything needed, laid bare.
A dark image appears—cold and empty. Shadows coil inside shadows. Below it, the instructions. Above it, a declaration.
Apex Grade.
Abyssal Eye.