My concern for Kayla fades, my mind lightening—like surfacing after a long dive.
I go back to my warehouse. It's clean and doesn't show any sign of recent sins. Only two steel chests on the eastern wall now. The western wall still the same: three steel shelves and beside them a table with distillery on top.
The only thing that stands out: a flask on a shelf. My real eyeball. I glance at it briefly—still mine, still mine—and look away.
I reach for my cylindrical bag, pull out my badge, Hearthlight uniform and shoulder holster. The holster slides over my dark shirt; my revolver rests comfortably. The uniform is last, still feels stiff—but it's part of my life now. I finish dressing.
I step outside, lock the warehouse behind me. The street is quiet, fog curling along the cobblestones. My mind is clear, my steps precise. Hearthlight waits.
I work through the day, movements practiced, mind methodical. Hours pass. Then—
Gary appears at my desk. Calm, deliberate.
"Len, follow me."
I rise, attentive.
We leave the familiar halls, entering a corridor at the back of the building. I have never dared to explore this area—neither during the day nor at night. Doors line both sides, perfectly symmetrical, their surfaces unmarked and identical. At the far end waits an elevator.
The elevator carries us upward.
When the doors open, we step into another corridor, shorter, quieter, the air heavier somehow. There are three doors. Two to the right and left near the elevator. The third at the end.
The room inside is square. Large, but not wide enough to feel empty. Each wall is the same length, built from white stone blocks fitted tightly together. The floor is polished wood, worn smooth at the center where footsteps pass most often. There is no carpet. Every sound carries.
The ceiling rises higher than the rest of the building, following the interior of the clock tower. Wooden beams cross overhead, thick and reinforced, with metal braces bolted into them. Behind the far wall, gears turn. Slow. Heavy. A steady ticking fills the room, deep and mechanical, not loud but impossible to ignore.
Light comes from tall glass panels set into the clock face behind the desk. It filters through the glass numerals, pale and diffused, casting faint lines across the floor and desk as the clock's hands move.
A desk sits directly in front of the clock's inner frame. It is wide, rectangular, and made of polished mahogany. The surface is clean. No scattered papers. Only a liquid lantern, a ledger, and a metal tray placed neatly to one side.
A man sits behind it.
He has short, curly blond hair, neatly kept. His face is smooth, unlined. Blue eyes. A sharp jaw. No visible scars. His hands rest on the desk, steady and relaxed. He looks no older than a man in his early twenties, too young for position of responsibility.
He lifts one hand.
Two fingers rise slightly from the surface of the desk, palm angled inward. The motion is smooth yet precise.
"Come."
His voice is soft and calm. Yet it carries weight.
We walk closer to his desk.
He looks directly into my eyes, his expression relaxed, a thin smile resting on his face.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"To discuss my salary?"
Gary nudges my elbow. The man lets out a quiet chuckle, soft and almost amused.
"Do you even know who I am?"
"I don't," I say. "But I can guess you outrank Gary."
"He outranks everyone," Gary adds.
"I'm Veyr. The Ordermaster of Hearthlight," the man says. He extends his hand toward me, palm open, fingers slightly curled. "Your badge."
I reach into my pocket, take out the badge, and place it into his hand. He closes his fingers around it and lowers it beneath the desk, setting it out of sight.
"Gary," Veyr says, giving a small nod.
Gary turns toward a wooden shelf against the wall. He opens the glass door and takes out a wooden box, about the length of my arm, polished and carefully decorated. He walks back and holds it out to me with both hands.
"Take it," Veyr says.
I take the box and open it. Inside is a Hearthlight badge, identical to my old one. I tilt it under the light. Something is off. The white raven emblem sits slightly forward from the surface.
Like a—
"That is indeed a button," Veyr says.
What the—
"You can use it to communicate with your captain," he continues. "The range is limited."
I look up at him. "What does this mean?"
"It means you've been promoted to an agent," Gary says. "No more desk work."
"Sweet," I say. "But why?"
"We spent this whole month evaluating you," Veyr says. "As Gary mentioned, you aren't someone who would bring harm to the Order. Especially since you already have Ashlynn."
I turn to Gary.
He smirks and shrugs.
I look back at Veyr. "What about Haverstock? What about Silva?"
"It was a missed opportunity," he says. "We planned to push you deeper as a sleeper agent to infiltrate the Veiled Canon Order, but Silva died before that could happen." He leans back slightly. "There's always a new member next year."
Clap.
He claps once.
"Before you go home," he says, pulling a small pouch from beneath the desk and placing it on the surface. "Take it."
I take the pouch and slip it into my pocket beside my new badge.
As we leave the clock tower room, Gary taps my shoulder once.
"You're not like the other employees here," he says. "They know nothing about alchemy. You do."
I nod.
"Tomorrow, you'll come with me," he continues. "I'll show you what your work will be from now on."
"Understood."
After that, I return to my hotel room.
Ashlynn is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a fedora in both hands.
"Len, welcome back," she says. "Look what I bought you."
She holds it out to me.
I step closer and take it.
Dark, thick, matted wool. Stiff enough to hold a sharp edge. A belt wraps around the crown, secured by a silver buckle.
"Wear it," she giggles, looking at me.
I wear the hat, tilting it slightly downward so the brim shadows my eyes. I try the pose I've seen on TV characters.
TV. Hollow word. Still, it feels sharp, alive.
"How do I look?" I ask.
"You look gorgeous," she says, eyes bright, a flush rising on her cheeks. Her hands fidget slightly with the edge of the blanket as she leans forward, shoulders lifting and lowering like she can't contain her excitement. "We should go on a date tomorrow."
I remove the hat and exhale softly, letting a slow sigh escape.
"Sorry. I can't—" A pause. "I have work tomorrow."
Her hands drop to her lap. Her fingers curl around the fabric of her skirt. Her shoulders slump slightly, head tilting down, eyes dimming. A small frown forms at the corner of her lips.
"How about the day after?" I try.
"I just wanted to show you off," she says, voice soft but firm. "Tanya wants a double date tomorrow."
"Ash…"
"It's fine," she cuts me off.
She lies down immediately, rolls onto her side, and closes her eyes. Her breathing evens out quickly, a faint tension in her shoulders as if she's forcing herself to rest.
I stay still, watching the rise and fall of her chest. I have disappointed Ashlynn.
After a moment, once her breathing is slow and steady, I reach into my pocket and pull out the pouch Veyr gave me.
I open it. A letter rests on top, neatly folded. I unfold it:
Len,
Your work this past month has been noted. You have demonstrated capability, discretion, and a careful hand. The Hearthlight Order recognizes your effort.
This pouch contains your remuneration for the period. Consider it not merely payment, but a reminder of your standing and the responsibilities now entrusted to you.
Use it wisely.
—Veyr, Ordermaster of Hearthlight
I glance at the pouch.
Twenty phens.
I let out a long breath, letting the weight of it settle in my hands.
A month of work.
Paid in—
Twenty rocks.