I wake in the afternoon. The sky burns red, streaks across the horizon, yet the market still thrums with people.
I leave my room and descend to the public floor. Surprisingly, it's quieter than morning. I take a seat at a table, scanning the crowd, waiting.
Not long after, Jasper Queen appears, descending the stairs. He moves toward the exit.
I rise and follow him, keeping a careful distance.
He moves through the market, greeting merchants, exchanging small talk. The people he interacts with gives him warm smiles.
After some walks later, he stops in front of a large warehouse. Above the doors, an emblem—a dragon curled atop a hoard of gold—is emblazoned in brass. Three ships sit at the pier nearby, each bearing the same emblem along their hulls.
Not long after.
Jasper Queen approaches a man. Short, brunette, green-eyed, clad in a uniform marked with the dragon emblem with ornated frame.
The man turns and speaks as Queen approaches. He suddenly scowls, then shoves him. The man shoves back. Tension snaps. They clash.
The crowd gathers around them. Some cheer, some murmur, some watch silently, sensing something wrong.
I tap the shoulder of a kid nearby.
"Who's that?" I nod toward the two fighters.
"Jasper Queen," the boy says. "He's the tavernmaster."
I shake my head. "The other one."
"Jasper Rook," he replies, pointing toward the warehouse. "Just a vault assistant. Nobody likes him much—he acts like a taxman."
Moments later, guards surge forward and break up the fight, pulling the two apart.
Two guards escort Jasper Queen away from the warehouse. Another guard grips Jasper Rook by the arm and ushers him inside.
I follow Rook.
As I step closer, a guard blocks my path, palm flat against my chest.
"What business do you have?" he snaps.
"I have important business with him."
"Everyone has important business with him," the guard barks, voice rising.
Rook turns at the noise. His eyes land on us.
"Is there a problem?" he shouts.
The guard stiffens. His shoulders draw up. His grip tightens, then loosens. He swallows hard before turning toward Rook, words tumbling out unevenly.
"No—no—no problem, Monsieur."
"Then keep it quiet," Rook snaps back.
The guard pivots toward me. His jaw clenches. Sweat beads at his temple.
"I better not see you again before the sun sets."
I focus my left eye. A pulse stirs behind it. The Abyssal Eye wakes.
His gaze meets mine.
The guard's breath hitches. His hand lifts halfway, then drops.
"O-okay… okay…" I raise my hands slowly. "I'll leave. May I know your name before I go?"
"Rowan," he says quickly, already motioning me away. "Now go."
I turn and leave the warehouse.
Back through the market. Back to the tavern.
Up the stairs. Into my room.
I lock the door from within and lie on the bed. Then I pull out my badge and press its button.
It vibrates.
A moment.
"Yes, Len?" Gary's voice comes through.
"I've identified Jasper Rook. Vault assistant. He manages a warehouse at the port."
"Good. Monitor him for a week. Find out if he's an alchemist."
"A week?" I bark into the badge.
"I know it sounds long," Gary says. He doesn't sound bothered. "But if he is an alchemist, then we'll know exactly where Silva got his IAMs."
I breathe out, slow. "What if I capture him tomorrow?"
A pause—then Gary perks up. "Even better. I'll send an agent to your location."
I tell him where I'm staying and cut the connection.
I close my eyes.
Sleep takes me.
—
I stand in the middle of darkness.
Above a vast body of water that reflects me—except for my face.
My dream. My abyss.
Here, time does not pass.
It waits.
A moment unfolds. One that could have been hours elsewhere settles into place like a held breath.
Beneath my reflection, a man walks on the other side of the water, matching my pace without knowing why. The guard from the afternoon. His eyes wander, never daring to stay anywhere too long. Confusion weighs on him, pressing his shoulders down.
I bend.
Tap the surface.
The water opens.
It takes me whole and releases me behind him.
He turns.
The motion dies halfway. His body recognizes me before his mind does—spine stiff, breath caught mid-draw, knees already weakening.
"Who are you?"
"I have names," I say. The words do not hurry. "Rowan, you will call me Monsieur Abyss."
His knees touch the water. Not by choice.
"What do you want from me?" His voice trembles, thin and exposed.
"Jasper Rook," I say. "The vault assistant."
The name alone makes him flinch.
"Where will he be tonight?"
"M-Monsieur Jasper?" Rowan answers quickly now. "In the warehouse. He's always there at night."
"Always," I repeat.
"Yes. He sends everyone away. Says his work after dusk must not be interrupted."
"So there will be no guards."
Rowan shakes his head. "We don't work nights. We drink. By then we're useless."
Silence spreads between us, deep and complete.
"Good," I say.
I step closer. The water curls around his knees, climbing, responding to my presence.
"You will forget this dream," I tell him. "You will wake in the morning rested. Clear-headed. Unburdened."
I look down at him.
"And you will never question why."
The darkness folds inward.
—
Knock. Knock.
The sound pulls me out of sleep, sharp in the quiet of the night.
I push myself upright, the room still heavy with darkness.
"Come in," I call.
The door opens.
A woman steps inside. About Ashlynn's height. Dark hair falling straight, brown eyes steady. A long dark coat hangs from her shoulders, still holding the night air.
"Are you the agent Gary sent?" I ask.
"Yes." She walks closer and sits on the edge of the bed. Her fingers move to the buttons of her coat. "My name is Elowen."
"Woah—what are you doing?" I lift both hands, palms out.
"I thought we were going to be a team."
"We are," I say. "But why are you unbuttoning your coat?"
She freezes. Color creeps up her face. "That's usually what's expected of me before a mission starts."
I swing my legs off the bed and stand. "Okay. The mission has just started."
She looks toward the window. "It's still dark."
"Yes," I say. "Which makes it a good time to capture Jasper Rook."
She buttons her coat back up without another word.
Then she follows me out.
We move through the market. Not empty, but thinned—stripped down to its night version. Drunk voices spill from doorways. Laughter without warmth. People looking for trouble, or something close enough to it.
The ships are already docked along the portside. Cargo crates sit near the warehouses, stacked in neat rows, marked and tagged, watched over by lantern light and the occasional passerby.
As we near the warehouses under Jasper's charge, Elowen stops.
Freezes.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
She raises a hand and points toward the emblem carved into the hulls of the docked ships.
"Gilded Ledger Order," she says.
"Yes," I reply.
"My family was a merchant—"
She cuts herself off mid-sentence, turns away. "Never mind. Let's find Jasper."
I don't press.
We move again. A few more steps. The warehouse wall looms close now, brick cold and dark. I slow then raise a hand. Move toward the steel door, I lean in and press my ear against it.
I listen.
Clank.
Metal scrapes metal from inside. A dull sound.
"Three as usual." A man's voice.
"Here's your phens. Don't waste it in one night." A different voice.
Coins jingle. A pause.
"Hahahah."
"You know me. Same time next Friday."
Suddenly—
Cough.
Elowen stiffens beside me. Her cough slips out before she can swallow it back.
Silence stretches.
Then—
"WHO'S THERE?" a voice barks from inside.