Good Sunday.
The day starts normal like usual with me working as clerk. Until Gary calls me to his office.
"Is there something you need?" I ask as I enter his office.
His eyes locked at me as I approach his desk. There's a thin line of smile on his face. He looks pleased like something heavy has been lifted from his chest.
"Why do you think I call you?"
My eyes drift from his face, to his desk, to the small vaporgate humming near the window then back to him.
"My monthly salary?" I answer. Voice tight.
He tilts his head, gaze sliding past me to the wall. Fingers tap the edge of the desk. The leather chair creaks as he shifts. "Let's not discuss that yet."
Cough.
"I have worked for a month."
Cough.
Cough.
"Sorry," Gary says pleasantly. "I can't hear you."
"Am I going to get paid?"
"I still can't hear you."
"…Let's just focus on the work."
His smile deepens.
"Now I can hear you."
His hand slips under his desk and pulls a newspaper.
"Read it," he says as he hands the newspaper.
I take it and flip it to the front page. Read it aloud. "Horror at Haverstock."
I glance up. Gary nods once.
"Professor found dead in the vestibule. One eye crushed. The other missing. Even more horrifying—students claim his skin was peeling when he was found."
Peeling?
Gary takes the newspaper from my hands and lays it flat on the desk.
"There's no doubt the Mercy Vale Order sent someone to assassinate Silva," he says calmly. "What a shame."
"Shame?" I ask. "Isn't it a good thing Silva's dead?"
Gary pauses.
His eyes lock onto mine—not annoyed, not surprised. Studying.
I wait.
"Gary?"
"It's nothing," he says. "Tomorrow. After work. I'll talk to you again."
Then I finish my job for the day.
On my way back to the hotel, I stop by a manhole. Pry it open, climb down. The sewer hits me instantly—the stench of rot, waste, urine, sharp and raw like a knife to the senses. I step over the bodies lining the channel. Some still twitch, some are stiff, some stare blankly. The smell burns my throat, but I barely notice now. My boots splash shallow puddles, echoing softly in the brick tunnel.
Then I see her.
A girl in tattered blue dress, crouched by the channel. Brunette, amber eyes. The one girl I've met before—the one who reminds me of Ashlynn. But her posture, the way she counts her rocks, the faint tremor in her hands… looking at her makes my heart aches.
She notices me and stops counting her rocks, turning her attention to me and smile.
I wave. Smile.
"Are you here as a customer?" she asks softly and polite, almost rehearsed.
I crouch beside her. "No. I'm here to help."
She hesitates, eyes flicking to my hands. "Thanks, but I… I don't need help."
"Yes, you do," I say, leaning a bit closer, lowering my voice. "Tell me what kind of help you need."
She swallows, counting the rocks between her fingers, the edges jagged, the surfaces worn. "Honestly… I need money to donate more," she says, voice flat and forced smile.
I tap her shoulder gently. "You don't need to donate more. Save up. Buy a house. Get a place you can call your own."
Her fingers clutch the fabric of her dress. Her brows furrow, her lips press thin. "Okay… but this is my home. Hearthlight Order has been helping me a lot." Concern shadows her amber eyes.
I lean close to her ear, soft. "You are alright. You will save up to buy yourself a house. You deserve that."
Her breath catches. Then slowly, almost like she's testing the words, she repeats after me. "I am alright. I will save up to buy myself a house."
I lean back. Wait.
Her eyes soften, her hands relax. A real smile spreads across her face. "Thanks… for helping me." She reaches for her rocks. "Here. Some phens as payment."
I lift a hand, palm outward, shaking my head.
"No need."
"Oh… okay. Is there anything else then?" Her voice tilts soft.
I tilt my head, letting the words drift like filler. "Actually… yes."
A heartbeat. I concentrate my left eye and it starts pulsing from within. The Abyssal Eye awakens, sudden and sharp, curling behind my vision. Her amber gaze meets mine. The air thickens, silent and heavy.
"I want your name."
A chuckle escapes her, light and warm, welcoming.
"Cassia. Nice to meet you."
"Len. Nice to meet you too."
The moment lingers briefly. Then I turn, stepping back, leaving the sewer and the dim rot behind.
I return to my hotel room after I finish.
Ashlynn hasn't returned yet, so after my bath, I go straight to sleep.
—
I'm standing on a vast body of water in the middle of darkness. Just black stretching into nowhere.
There is only silence.
It doesn't calm me but I feel at home.
Time here obeys me. It rushes when I want it to. Slows when I don't.
So I wait.
It doesn't feel long.
Then—
"Hello? Anyone here?"
My reflection beneath the water isn't alone anymore.
A girl approaches, her figure forming where my face should be.
I bend and tap the surface.
The water shivers. Ripples spread like liquid glass, bending the horizon. The reflection stretches, folds, and swallows me whole. Light warps. Depth twists. Gravity softens.
Then I land—soft, wet, certain.
The water releases me on her side.
I'm here. With her.
"Good Sunday, Cassia."
Her eyes widen slightly. Her brow furrows, suspicion threading through confusion.
"How do you know my name, Monsieur? Who might you be?"
Monsieur?
"I'm a friend. I am…"
I stop.
She waits, eyes fixed on me, patient but wary. In the pause, the silence thickens. Something unseen shifts, a weight pressing the air around us.
"I am," I say at last,
"Monsieur Abyss."
Her body trembles. Slowly, she steps back, amber eyes wide, pupils dilated.
"Monsieur Abyss," she swallows. "What do you want from me?"
"Not much," I reply, voice low and even. "Tomorrow, after the sun rises, go east of Hearthlight Building. Cross the major intersection. Keep going straight until you find an alley between the florist shops."
"Then what?"
"You will find a steel chest. Don't open it. On top of the chest will be a bag filled with money."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You can take the bag and the money. But call a carriage. Take the chest with you. Dispose of it."
"Is that your will, Monsieur Abyss?" she asks, voice shaking slightly, the amber of her eyes glinting in the darkness.
"I have spoken."
The water beneath our feet shivers. The silence resumes, heavier now, carrying the weight of unspoken authority.
She nods once, hesitant but resolute, and I watch her step back into the shadowed expanse, the ripples fading behind her.
—
I wake to a soft bed and the faint hum of the vaporgate outside the hotel. Outside is still dark. Liquid lantern hanging above is the only source of faint light.
Beside me, Ashlynn sleeps, chest rising and falling, calm and steady.
I lean in. My lips brush hers.
She stirs, then kisses back. Slow. Gentle. A quiet greeting between us.
I pull away as her eyes open.
"Good Monday, beautiful."
"Good Monday, handsome~" she murmurs. "Why wake up so early?"
"I just wanted to let you know I have work early."
She pushes herself up and leans closer, kissing me again. Her hand brushes my face.
"Thanks for telling me."
I brush my thumb along her cheek.
"I also need your bag. By need, I mean I won't be returning it."
She nods without question and kisses me once more.
After that, I head to my warehouse, wearing the new long dark coat Ashlynn bought for me. I carry two bags: my cylindrical one slung over my shoulder, and Ashlynn's—small, unassuming.
Mine holds a Hearthlight uniform, a badge, and my revolver.
Before sunrise, I clean the warehouse until it's spotless.
No blood.
No black kuor.
Even the smell changes—rot fading, replaced by something faintly floral.
Then I drag one of my steel chests out—Kayla's body inside—toward the alley entrance beside a florist shop.
I set it down carefully, then place Ashlynn's bag on top, already filled with rocks.
I walk away from it and melt into the shadows of the deeper alley, close enough to watch but far enough to remain unseen. The world holds its breath with me.
Smog drifts down as the sun rises.
Cassia appears.
Her gaze flits around, searching, cautious, alert.
A heartbeat passes.
She steps forward. Picks up the bag. Opens it. Her lips curve wide at its contents—then she snaps it shut as quickly as she can.
Strapping it over her shoulder, she drags the chest toward the street.
A carriage halts. The jarvy lifts the chest inside.
She steps in beside it.
Then the carriage starts moving.
Cassia disappears, carrying the weight she doesn't understand.
Carrying Kayla.