《City of Decay: The Cleaner》


 Chapter 1: The Bears Possession

    This room reeks of cigarettes, booze, and sex. My whole body aches in the darkness; last night just seems like a haze. I open my eyes, but the darkness remains. Typical, I think to myself, trying to get my body into a sitting position. My head spins, and I feel nauseous. No matter how many times I swear to never get drunk again I fall right back into bad habits. But how else am I supposed to get through this?


    The bed squeaks as I move closer to the edge. The moment I place my feet on the cold wooden floor, a sense of clarity comes back. This is not my room, not even my home. I need a minute to collect myself before I bend over and search through the clothes scattered on the floor just within reach.


    There, something that feels like a sleeve. I pull it closer, pause, then groan. What a miserable being I am, sleeping away my nights with a man I don¡¯t even care about just to stay safe. But how safe am I really in this world, with my profession? I¡¯m living so close to the edge I have become numb to the things I don¡¯t like, and barely feel joy about the things I do like.


    This man ¨C The Bear, they call him, but I know better ¨C has no sense for romance, nor does he know how to care about anyone, not even me. I¡¯m nothing more than a priced possession, I¡¯m only there to fill his lonely nights, and I¡¯ve gotten used to it. I can¡¯t help but groan once more. I¡¯m an idiot; my hurting body is proof enough, no need crying about it.


    Time to pull myself together. Whatever shirt I pulled closer in this darkness becomes the only thing covering me as I finally manage to get up. This room reeks so badly, even if I weren¡¯t hungover I¡¯d probably feel like it. I hesitate for a moment, then I pull back the heavy, black curtains. It¡¯s raining. Again.


    With the early daylight filling the room, the chaos of last night becomes apparent. He has long since left, the bed is as empty as can be. The door is shut close but there is liquid leaking through the small gap under the door. Not my problem. My eyes wander. Torn bedsheets, a ripped pillow, feathers covering the floor and surfaces in close proximity, a red alcohol puddle on the floor, too watered down to resemble blood. Wine? Did I get drunk on wine? I doubt it.


    A picture has fallen from the wall, the glass probably shattered. The artificial, potted plant right next to the door is tipped over, a small trail of equally artificial dirt is covering the floor. The room seems foggy from all the cigarette smoke and incense. Time to open the window and let in some fresh air. It feels nice, the cold autumn breeze on my face, brushing my bruises, the deep blue marks of an eventful night. And yet¡­ I feel nothing.


    Nothing besides the pain, that is. I take another deep breath of cold, fresh air before I turn around and make my way to the bedside table. Opening the little drawer, I can¡¯t help but swear, ¡°Thayer Godwin, you goddamn madman.¡°


    While I feel like swearing and cursing this man over and over again, I can¡¯t really bother with the emptiness of this little drawer. He dragged me all the way here into his bedroom, intoxicated and helpless, yet he couldn¡¯t even care to refill the painkillers. I have a job to do this evening. Fucking good-for-nothing. ¡°The Bear¡± my ass.


    A chuckle deprived from any sense of joy escapes my lips. If anyone could hear me, my thoughts, my way of speaking not just about him but to him¡­ They¡¯d consider me dead in an instant. But I know better. I know he needs me. He may be a danger to his surroundings, the means of this city to keep order, but despite the pain he puts me through, despite the punishments ¨C as he likes to call such nights ¨C he can¡¯t help but want me.


    When did it get so far? At what point did our relationship change from a purely professional one to¡­ whatever the fuck it is now? When did we both become so dependent on each other? There is no love lost between us. I respect his position, but that¡¯s about it. If he was ever overthrown my respect would lay with the new head, not with him. The moment he loses the one thing that keeps me safe, he will lose me.


    It¡¯s an ¡®eat or get eaten¡¯ kind of world. A lot of people are not aware of it, but I know. I see it daily at work. All the bodies I have to attend to, all the crime scenes I have to clean, all the evidence I have to hide and destroy. All the mighty asses I have to save while working in the shadows. So many dirty secrets. So many hollow promises. So many betrayals and affairs. So much blackmailing and backstabbing. I¡¯ve seen it all. I know how this world works. And I decided to stay alive. No matter what.


    So what are some bruises? What is a little pain? As long as I am still breathing I am alive, and I would like to keep it that way. And I won¡¯t if I start to blindly obey the power of a madman. He needs me because I don¡¯t fear him. When everyone bowed their heads and tried to appease him, I ignored him. When he wielded his power to gain loyalty I couldn¡¯t care less for all the threats he threw my way. And then, when he realized I couldn¡¯t be bought with power, he tried to buy me with money. And he failed again.


    The only reason I started to work for him was because he made me an offer I couldn¡¯t decline. He offered to protect me. To point his guns at those who point their knives at me. I know the moment they call me to clean yet another mess, one of his goons will be hiding out, with a clear line of shots, decimating whoever poses a danger to me, ensuring I can get away if shit hits the fan.


    He tried so hard to impress me, yet it was so easy. But not for a man like him. Not for a person used to power and money. All I needed was a little security, a little backup in my mind. An additional, well-funded voice that tells me that I¡¯ll get home safe tonight. That I¡¯ll get to see another day. And slowly but surely we spiraled down.


    Down.


    Down.


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    Down.


    Now the only thing I really have to fear is not waking up again because of him. Maybe, one fine day, I¡¯ll get shot while attending another crime scene. Maybe someone will walk in on me, hand me over to the wrong people. Maybe someone will rat me out. Maybe someone will plant a bomb and blow it up as soon as I get there. These are all well-calculated possibilities. But sleeping with Thayer is anything but well-calculated. It¡¯s a well-calculated risk, but the outcome is nothing anyone could ever foresee.


    Would he cry? When he wakes up one fine day and realizes that he choked me for the last time? Will he feel anything when all he feels is a cold body next to his? Will he regret his anger? Or will he just replace me the same way I would replace him? Am I replaceable? Probably. Would it change anything if not? Not for me, that¡¯s for sure. But would it change something for this goddamn city? Could my own demise bring him down from his throne?


    I can¡¯t help but shake my head; the alcohol sure did its thing. What an idiot am I, spiraling down again. If I ever die by his hands, there¡¯s nothing else that matters. Not for me, so why should I care? It¡¯s not like there is anyone else out there I¡¯d care about.


    I open the door and do my best to avoid the puddle that seeped into the bedroom beneath the door. It has a tint of yellow. Whiskey, maybe? I must admit, it does look a little gross on the white, tiled floor. No matter how many times I wake up here, I can¡¯t help but feel some sort of displacement discomfort. The lower city could never imagine the height of these walls, nor the space every single room embodies.


    I belong to the simple folk, we¡¯re used to small spaces, cramped rooms, warm, or even dirty colors. But this apartment¡­ It¡¯s huge, it¡¯s sterile, it¡¯s intimidating. White walls, golden decor ¨C so much wasted money. Every time I leave this bedroom I feel small, insignificant, vulnerable. But it won¡¯t ever stop me on my way to the kitchen. I need my coffee. The painkillers might be out, but the coffee sure isn¡¯t.


    While I¡¯m making my way dressed in nothing more but a shirt that is way too big, one of the maids crosses my way. She looks absolutely overworked, exhausted to no end. And still, she smiles at me hastily, averting her eyes. They never look at me, the staff of this home. The only time they ever pay attention to anything is when they are cleaning said thing. It¡¯s as if they were forbidden to lay eyes on anything belonging to their master. Including myself. Oh, what a beautiful trophy I am to have. Not.


    I mean, I do consider myself good-looking, but by no means am I a trophy. Not in my understanding. He may view me as one, treat me like a possession, a thing he owns, but I¡¯m not. I¡¯m my own goddamn person. But I gave up making contact with anyone working and living in this house. He may only claim one apartment as his own to live in, but he owns the whole damn complex, his staff is everywhere, I can¡¯t avoid them, and they can¡¯t avoid me.


    So we came to the mutual understanding to not pay too much attention to each other. They send a smile my way if we cross each other, and I¡¯ll acknowledge it with a nod, but that¡¯s it. And by now that¡¯s all I really need. My first time here¡­ I was lost. And no one even dared to look at me, don¡¯t even mention to speak to me. I asked, they scurried off to fetch someone brave enough to at least show me around. I asked their names, they scattered like scared chickens. So now we just co-exist. I don¡¯t bother them, and they pretend I¡¯m not here.


    The only pain this causes is probably that I have to make my coffee all by myself. It¡¯s not as easy as it is at my home. I buy my coffee pre-grinded, throw it into the filter machine, and wait for my coffee. Here? It¡¯s like goddamn alchemy thanks to the archists. The first time I came face to face with the coffee maker I was afraid to blow up the kitchen. It¡¯s still a pain in the ass but it¡¯s one I¡¯m used to. Fill the beans into this cylinder, give it a shake, insert it in the contraption, flip the switch, wait for it to grind, pour the ground coffee from the cylinder into another cylinder, place it in the other contraption, fill up the damn water, press a button and finally watch the coffee maker do its magic.


    Honestly, I have no fucking clue how all this magic technical stuff works. I don¡¯t complain as long as it works but this is just kind of like¡­ 4 extra steps. For something that¡¯s just coffee. ¡°Oh, it tastes so good¡±, ¡°It¡¯s so high quality¡±, ¡°You¡¯ll taste the difference¡±, ¡°Everything else will taste like pisswater¡±, - yeah no. Still tastes just like coffee. I glance at a shadow in the corner of my eye while preparing my coffee and rambling along, and the moment I turn my head I see the maid fleeing the scene.


    Typical. Maybe she was considering helping me out, but I probably didn¡¯t make the best impression. I¡¯m barely dressed, I¡¯m blue and black all over my body, I¡¯m severely hungover and I¡¯m rambling to myself like an angry idiot. And I probably smell awful. My nose is kind of numb to bad smells, it comes with the job, but I can imagine how bad this mixture of booze, cigarettes, sex, sweat, and incense must reek. I¡¯d flee the scenes as well. The problem is: I am the scene. So there¡¯s that.


    It takes way too long for this coffee to be made. I guess the thing about having money is that days are just less¡­ stressful? At home I would never have the time to stand in front of my coffee maker for that long, it¡¯s a waste of time, really. And it¡¯s not like I¡¯m functioning correctly before I had my coffee after getting out of bed. So there isn¡¯t really anything I could do to pass the time in a meaningful way. I¡¯d just have to wait it out. But here? I guess I do have the time. There¡¯s nothing I can do, is there? Despite maybe getting dressed and gathering my belongings.


    Today is a slow day. Almost as slow as this goddamn coffee. The weather is as it usually is; gray, rainy, cold, breezy. And I certainly move slower due to the pain. This brute forced every centimeter of his aroused aggression into my body without a care for the damage he may cause. Good thing I don¡¯t remember much ¨C last time I tried to stay sober it came back in the morning to haunt me. Not even coffee can help cover the awful taste of something you really don¡¯t want to taste at all.


    A little sound makes me aware that my coffee is finally ready. There¡¯s nothing more to do here but enjoy this cup of deep, dark refreshment, and then it¡¯s time to head out. After taking a shower, getting dressed, and collecting my belongings. Which isn¡¯t much, to be fair. And if I¡¯m lucky my clothes aren¡¯t too damaged; otherwise I may have to borrow something from the tailor on the ground floor. Not that he could be bothered about it. He probably already has a set of clothes ready for my next visit so he doesn''t have to deal with me. He¡¯s a good old man. He just tries to get by. I guess something about the tailor caught Thayer¡¯s eye, so now he¡¯s working for him, dressing his whole staff and whoever else needs clothes ¨C like me, for example.


    I wonder if this old champ knows The Bear¡¯s real name though. Probably not. I mean, even his mail is addressed to The Bear, ¡°Okay, stop it, Eon¡­ You start to look like you totally lost it,¡± I mumble to myself. I can¡¯t keep standing here, sipping on my coffee and making weird noises, rambling to myself and grimacing along. This has to stop. Now. With a sigh, I ex the rest of my coffee and finally head back to the bedroom. I need a shower, like, yesterday. And then home awaits.

 Chapter 2: Tales of the Wealthy

    "So, what''s the deal with this one?" I couldn''t help but sound emotionless, poor Thomas, he did nothing wrong to deserve this. But this day has been dragging along so slowly. Once I got home, I took some painkillers and tried to sleep, but in the end, all I did was fall in and out of a state of unconsciousness. At least that''s what it felt like. Needless to say, I am exhausted. I can''t wait for this day to be over.


    "We have a dead body at Lane''s. Seems like the house lady''s affair tried to get into the vault, so she had to get rid of him." Thomas hands me the documents. It''s a single sheet of paper and I double-check. But that''s really all there is.


    "I guess Mr. Lane doesn''t know about the affair?"


    "He doesn''t, but I guess he will ask questions if his affair doesn''t show up anymore. Out of the blue."


    I sigh. This is just the usual mess, isn''t it? "So both of the Lanes had an affair with the same man."


    "I like your quick thinking. We need you to eliminate every evidence of the lady''s affair while also getting that crime scene cleaned up." Something catches my gaze. It''s nothing more than a motion, and the moment I try to catch it without being too obvious about it, it''s gone. The Bear''s sniper is out and about, ready to be in a position to cover my back. I don''t need to see it to know.


    "Where exactly is the body located?"


    "Right outside the vault, just follow the trail of their fight." I nod, indifferent to the information given to me. But I wonder¡­ Why is there a trail of a fight leading up to the vault if she caught him trying to break into the vault? Did she confront him, walked him back, playing the nice spiel? Make him feel safe and forgiven before she attacked him? Then why would they fall back to the vault?


    I know the Lane mansion, there are at least a dozen ways to escape, there''s no need to stumble back down there. Unless¡­


    "Did he manage to open the vault?"


    "We don''t know. Lady Lane was very secretive and asks that the vault door is not to be touched. So¡­ if there''s blood or anything on the door just leave it."


    "Can do." It''s not the first time someone asks me not to touch something, even though it would clearly benefit from a proper cleanup. But whatever''s in this vault it must be valuable. Valuable enough that the culprit would rather go back after being confronted and possibly threatened than actually run for his life.


    Technically, I don''t care. I don''t give a rat''s ass about possessions. I''ve been let into all kinds of vaults and treasuries. I''ve dealt with the most expensive goods; it never once crossed my mind to take anything. It''s mostly just useless junk, and if it isn''t, it''s not mine to take. My job is far more important than to jeopardize it for a little souvenir. But the whole thing becomes a different story if it could put me in danger. I mean, in more danger than my job includes anyway.


    The amount of clients I had to refuse because the crime scene was in an extremely dangerous beast enclosure isn''t exactly zero. And let''s not start on the highly dangerous, magical artifacts some people hoard like it''s just another coin in their collection. And that one guy with his room filled with carnivorous plants twice the size of me? Nah, fuck this. So if there''s something in that vault that actively will try to harm me, I want to know it.


    "Just to be clear, if this vault is getting on my nerves in any shape or form: I''m outta there. If I hear weird voices, feel my senses tingling, some weird pull, anything slightly dangerous; I''ll bolt it, and you''ll need to find someone else for the job."


    "Eon, common. Even if, it''s locked up in a vault. Just do your damn job and everyone''s happy."


    "Except for the husband."


    "Don''t even bother, he''ll stick his dick into anything if it resembles a human being."


    "Well, yeah, but having a steady, ongoing affair and just fuck everything that moves are two different things."


    "Look, as long as he doesn''t sleep with you it''s none of your business."


    "Lucky me." He''s not wrong. It is none of my business, but the thing is: we did fuck. And it was disappointing, to say the least, Mr. Lane is nothing to write home about. My relationship with Thayer is painful and definitively destructive but Mr. Lane will put anyone to sleep. They are like complete opposites, none of them better than the other in the grand scheme but different in any way. Forget blasting my head away with alcohol to ease the pain whenever Thayer and I spend the night; with Lane, I needed something to keep me awake. No wonder Lady Lane had an affair. Funny though that they both courted the same guy.


    But I can''t scare poor Thomas with such details. He doesn''t know, most people don''t know, and that''s how it should be. Besides, Thomas is a little conservative when it comes to sex. Sometimes I wonder if he and his wife know anything else besides the missionary position. I did contemplate buying him one of these sex position books for his birthday, but knowing him, he''d throw a tantrum while flustering so hard we''d need a doctor before he dies of a heart attack.


    And while I don''t really see him as a friend, he does his job well enough. There are others who''ll hand over the details to me, but I can''t lie. I prefer it being Thomas. Not that I could make that call; no one can predict who''ll be assigned to me or anyone else, but he does slightly brighten my day whenever he''s my contact person. But just slightly. So the last thing I want is for Thomas to pass away, much less so due to a joke present from my side. I''m better safe than sorry.


    We spend a moment in silence walking up to the Lane mansion. It''s¡­ something, alright? The interior is magnificent but the exterior is not. It looks like this former house has been built upon again and again, changing through different architectural styles without covering or changing the previous one once. It''s a mess of architectural history. This mansion seems like it has been patched together from many different smaller houses. The only consistent thing is the color, though the weathering on the cold stone clearly shows the different time periods this mansion has been worked on.


    I mean, by now one could think our arch built something magical to deep clean a house but I guess it''s just not important enough. Besides, the black fog would tint it again in no time. At this point, everyone stopped to try. The city will never get back to its former glory. The city of marble, my ass. I chuckle. Thomas raises an eyebrow at me.


    "Nothing.", I answer.


    "You''re in¡­ a mood today, huh?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "You look beyond exhausted. You look wasted. You''re more agitated than usual, your eyes flicker around. And don''t think that suit covers up all the bruises. Eon, even your chin is blue for god''s sake."


    I shrug my shoulders, slowly. Yes, I did try to cover the bruising as best as I could, but I didn''t really try to cover it. It''s not a secret anyway, not among the people I work with the closest like Thomas. Okay, only Thomas knows, but that''s already one too much.


    "I spent the night at The Bear''s", again, I can''t help but sound indifferent. It''s easy to distance myself from the pain I had awoken to this morning. I''m already half at work, I can''t let my weird relationship affect my work performance. But I haven''t noticed how uneasy I really feel. Now that he mentioned it¡­ I do keep checking my surroundings. I''m always on my guard, always a little too cautious but today ¨C I don''t know. It''s probably due to the exhaustion. I don''t like feeling this way, it takes away the control over myself, control I desperately need.


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    "You gotta stop man, that mobster is going to kill you eventually."


    "Maybe, but he''s also my best bet to stay safe from everyone else."


    "You know; we''re not having that discussion again. If you ever need to get away, you know where I live."


    "I do." I nod. I really do. But here''s the thing. Thomas is a nice guy with a nice wife and a nice baby girl. The last thing he needs is a creepy crime scene cleaner in his home. I''m on people''s hit list. And I''d very much like to be on that list alone.


    I hear him sigh ever so slightly. He knows that this conversation would only go in circles, and that''s exactly why we''re not having it now. Or possibly ever again. A cough brings me to a halt. My eyes dart right into the dark alley we were about to pass, as two frail, pale hands form a cup the moment I lay my eyes on her weak figure.


    "Got a coin?", her voice is small, drained, more exhausted than I could ever be. For a moment, I look at this young girl. She mustn''t be older than sixteen. I feel Thomas nudge my shoulder, but yet I remain unmoved for another second. She''s far out of the usual places to beg for money; she must be devastated. Come morning she may be no more. But there is nothing I can do.


    I avert my eyes. Usually, I''m not caught off guard that easily, I think I just didn''t expect her. I didn''t expect anyone to beg in this part of the city. But the poverty is spreading, day by day. I''m getting by, so-so. But my connection to Thayer sure has its benefits. Not that I want to benefit, but whenever he calls me over to stay the night I''m free to empty his fridge and battle his way too complex coffee maker. I guess, if I really needed to, he''d feed me for a day or two.


    Not that I would ever ask him to. He already has more than enough control over my life, no need to give him more. I still live my own life. All he ever gets is a little bit of my time and my body, and it should stay that way. But if I ever were to hit a low putting me at a health risk, I at least have options. This girl on the other hand has none. And she''s not the only one.


    I turn away and move on, silently accompanied by Thomas. I know it''s hard for him. He''s a family-type of guy. He would give the world to people in need if he could, but he knows he can''t. Give a beggar a coin today, watch them raid your home tomorrow. She may be harmless; the people she stays with aren''t. There is no homelessness, only exploitation. She has nothing, nor does her family. They all live among smaller mobsters who provide them with a place to sleep and something to eat, occasionally they are given the chance to clean themselves. And in return, they go out begging.


    They have to turn in everything they get, and if they make enough, their beggar-master will find the origin of the money and launch their raids. There is no point in giving her money, not if she''s here. A single coin won''t earn her the praise from her beggar-masters. And if given too much to ensure she gets to sleep and eat, we''d only put ourselves in danger.


    This city¡­ It consumes you. It consumes me, but I managed to stay afloat. But my line of work isn''t for the weak-minded. It takes a lot to handle so many dead bodies, especially the stories they tell. I''ve seen faces I met before, mutilated beyond recognition. I have a strong stomach, my nose is numbed to the disgusting smell of decay and my eyes are used to the most gruesome scene. But how would a 16-year-old manage to handle such a job?


    And what else is there to do? Prostitution? It''s just as bad. Maybe, like this, she at least has part of her dignity left for what it''s worth in her own eyes. Either you''re rich in this city, or lucky. Thomas was lucky enough to have a well-recognized family name, even though his father fell from grace. But he got a chance. Not the best one, I admit. His job is still dangerous, but it is safer than mine and it feeds his family just fine.


    We can''t be choosers. We either do what we''re good at, or we cease to exist. And inexistence in this city is worse than death. These people begging for money or selling their bodies¡­ They are no one. They even get stripped of their name. They have no possessions, no real earnings. And in the process of living this way, they will eventually even lose their personality. They become shadows of their former self, just as this city has.


    We leave the alley behind. A part of me expects to find her body on my way back, once I''m done with the Lane business, but I try not to think about it. As we reach the front door, Thomas is ready to go through the motions. He knocks. He''ll do the talking. I''ll just look good.


    It''s rare for me to meet my clients. Usually, I sneak in at night, make sure no one is home, not even the person who may need my services, and get to work. But it seems that Mrs. Lane is home, which could make my job more difficult. I have my ways of doing things when working, some of which many of the rich would never approve of. They tend to get in my way and try to dictate how I have to do my job. It''s annoying, really, but sometimes it just can''t be helped.


    It takes a moment, but finally, the door opens. "Good evening, gentlemen," she greets us with a smile that seems weirdly insincere. No, not insincere. It''s different. It''s¡­ forced and at the same time, it seems like she can''t help herself? Hard to tell, but there is definitely something off.


    "Good evening, Mrs. Lane. We''re here to take care of the currently discussed business." There is one thing we never do: speak about a crime scene when talking to clients or people who are involved in some way. It''s a precaution we have to take. We can never know what state of mind the people we work with are in, they could still be in denial, and when confronted with their crime so directly, they could snap and even become a potential threat to us or the job. Or both. One wrong step could jeopardize the whole thing. It happens anyway once in a while, but we shouldn''t jinx it.


    "Oh, my," she isn''t even done with her polite nod towards Thomas as she lays her eyes on me. For a moment, we just stand there while she is eyeing me up and down. Then Thomas clears his throat, and she seems to get back on track. "Excuse me, I wasn''t aware that such an exquisite young man would be cleaning through my house"


    Her compliment doesn''t faze me. Nothing really does, but I still nod in appreciation. Then she finally steps out of the way and grants us entry. She''s here, there''s no changing that, but at least it seems like she sent all her staff home or to bed. There isn''t a single person in sight. And I know how packed full this mansion usually is. She would never open the door herself unless there was no one else to do it. And just as she had opened it, she closes it behind us.


    "This way, this way, gentlemen," she motions her hand, and we follow her. It''s been a while since I''ve been here, but nothing has really changed. The same opulent pictures in expensive gold frames, the same marble pedestals displaying the same busts and statuettes, the same red carpet paving the entry hall¡­ Wait, are these even the same flowers? I should have known. There is no place in this city where such beautiful plants could ever grow. But the last time I was here I didn''t even think about the possibility that they might be fake.


    But what did I expect? She had all the money she needed to get some archist to make here these gigantic bouquets of white and red blossoms. Not gonna lie, I wish I could own something so breathtaking, but all I have is a cactus that refuses to die year after year. I mean, I probably should be grateful, but it''s a cactus, for god''s sake. And not even a magical one at that.


    "You have to excuse me, Mr. Cleaner ¨C can I call you that? You bunch are always so secretive about your names. It''s exhausting."


    "Call me however you like, my lady."


    "Oh, what a charmer."


    She feels flattered, and I hope that it''s enough to shut her up. But that''s not the type of luck I''m blessed with. And she comes around to prove just that.


    "So, as I was saying. You have to excuse me. I have requested a cleaner trained by the arch."


    "That you have. Is there a problem?" Thomas jumps in to save the day once more. For all the luck I don''t have, I at least have the luck to never meet clients alone. It''s far too risky. So whenever we know that someone is going to be at the crime scene there are two of us. One skilled enough to do the talking ¨C a role Thomas fits well.


    "Oh, no, not at all. Well¡­ Maybe," she pauses, we pause, we all come to a halt. For a moment, there is utter silence, then she turns on her heels. I''m not tall, but she''s even shorter than me, and she''s wearing heels. She is a very short lady, but she has something about her that makes her seem twice her height. Her aura is present. So much so that there is little to no room for anyone else.


    "He seems quite young to be arch-trained, if I''m honest. I would hate to be so clear in my request and yet get disappointed."


    "He is arch-trained, and as you requested, he is our best arch-trained cleaner available in this district."


    For a moment, there is nothing on her face. She does have a face, a beautiful one, especially for an older lady with barely any makeup; but there is no emotion, no reaction ¨C just a blank stare. I look at her, calmly waiting. She just murdered a man; I doubt she has all her senses collected yet. I''m not here to pressure her, I don''t need answers. Her psyche is hers and hers alone, as long as she doesn''t decide to become a threat. But there is something I can''t quite place yet.


    Her behavior makes me feel uneasy. And that''s not who she usually is, I know her. I''ve seen her before, interacted with her before. She sees many people during her day-to-day life, I doubt she remembers me, so that''s not the weird thing. No, it''s something else. And it bugs me that I can''t name it.


    "Excellent!" she suddenly bursts out loud, then she turns back around and proceeds to lead us downstairs. I shoot a glance at Thomas and catch him doing the same in reverse. He notices it too. He shrugs and I let go a silent sigh. This is going to be a fun night. Not.

 Chapter 3: The Vault of Secrets

    "Mrs. Lane," I address her calmly while Thomas has already excused himself to empty his stomach.


    "Hm?" I hear her voice, deprived of any guilt. I doubt she can even grasp the situation. Meanwhile, my eyes are fixed on the chandelier. Blood is dripping down onto the marble floor which at some point used to be white.


    "How exactly did this happen?" It''s usually none of my business. But it''s a rare sight and I still try to figure out how I''ll go about this whole scene. At this point, I wouldn''t even call it a crime scene anymore; it''s a goddamn masterpiece of a scene, fitting right onto the big stages of the theater.


    "He exploded." She couldn''t have said that any more nonchalantly.


    "Yeah, I can tell. But why?" I still can''t take my eyes off the chandelier. It''s hanging three meters above my head, bits and pieces of Mrs. Lane''s affaire cover the ceiling, the walls, the floor, everything. He must have exploded right on the spot with a lot of force. Getting rid of a body is one thing; piecing it back together while cleaning up is a whole other thing.


    I seem more calmly collected and curious than anything else, but in reality, I don''t really feel anything about it. Unlike poor Thomas. He wasn''t prepared to be met with such a scene. Neither was I, but I guess now I really have seen everything.


    Finally, I avert my eyes, as she slaps her smooth hands together, the sound echoing through the oh-so-empty hallway. I look at her, and she seems like a child who just got asked if it wants some candy. She is not overly excited, but she seems absolutely content with herself and her surroundings.


    "Well, we do harbor some of the arch''s artifacts. You know how they can be."


    "That''s why you wanted an arch-trained cleaner, I assume?" now I have to do the talking; I sure hope I don''t mess this up.


    "Of course, wouldn''t let anyone else near this door. One of the artifacts called out to him, I assume. I got him up the stairs, then he turned and bolted right back down like a mad dog. I tried to stop him, and the moment he reached the vault door he just¡­ poof."


    "He just¡­ poof," I repeat after her, solely to my own, inner amusement. She really doesn''t care, not a single bit. But it makes sense. It explains the signs of a fight on the way down here, and it may even explain her weird behavior. She may not notice it, but she is affected too.


    "Mrs. Lane, my lady. I have to ask for my own safety. Are the artifacts properly stored?"


    "They should be, but I''m not sure. That''s why you''re here. You''ve been trained to handle artifacts; it shouldn''t be a bother."


    Yeah, it shouldn''t. Doesn''t mean it won''t. But I hold my tongue and nod. I have a job to do, and it will take way longer than I thought.


    "Alright, I better get to work. My lady, I need to ask you to step away until the work is done."


    "Oh," she pouts. What did I expect?


    "Here I was hoping," she continues, "I could watch a pretty, handsome man doing all the work. Tell me," oh no.


    "There are only three possibilities for a man like you, Mr. Cleaner." Here we go again. Why do I have to endure this?


    "First option: You are filthy rich. Which you aren''t. I would know if you were," she''s got a point.


    "Second option: You have a lot of ladies fighting over you," ¡­It''s not like I would know, but sure. Why not.


    "Third option: You are a man''s possession," it hurts that she''s so right about this one. But I will never let her know. Instead, I tilt my head a little, keeping eye contact. I don''t need to tell her to go on, she gets right to it without hesitation.


    "I would hate for the third option to be the case. We don''t meddle with the possession of men. But for the second option, you may want to consider my humble self. Poor Constantin just exploded on me. I do have a big heart ¨C and wallet. I certainly wouldn''t mind spending my money on such a pretty face," I know exactly what she tries to offer me. But the thing is, I don''t roll that way.


    Well, to be fair, Thayer already had to work his ass off and come up with the right offer at the right time for me to take the bait. It''s enough to sleep with one filthy rich person, I don''t need another. Besides, all she can offer me is money in exchange for some intimacy and empty small talk.


    "My lady, I need to get to work," I feel like I''m repeating myself, just clearer this time. I will not answer her, I don''t have to answer her. There is nothing she needs to know about me.


    "Alright, I''ll let you do your job. But promise you''ll think about it," with a little bow she winks at me, then she turns around to ascend the stairs. I wait till I can''t hear her heels hitting the marble floor anymore, then I sigh deeply.


    I hate socializing.


    I glance up.


    ¡­And I hate this particular job already.


    But there is no use crying about it. So, first things first. I ascend the stairs, following the trail of Mrs. Lane and Constantin''s fight, until I find the spot where it probably started. The good thing about working in such surroundings is that these mansions and manors are always unbelievably clean, sterile, and in order. It is easy to find the smallest thing out of place. This becomes a whole other story once I enter a middle- or lower-class home. And the worst are public spaces. Sometimes, there is no telling what belongs and doesn''t. Half of my jobs are supported by hunches and intuitions. Luckily, I haven''t messed up yet.


    For a moment, I let my eyes wander, wondering how Thomas is doing. But then I remind myself, that even if he''s doing fine by now, he won''t come back to join me. First of all, this is not his place to be but mine. Second, there is probably nothing that could get him back to such a sight. I''ll go find him once I''m done.


    Finding a good spot, I place down my heavy briefcase. It''s more shaped like a toolbox in a briefcase skin, but they don''t particularly like it when I refer to it with anything else than, well, a briefcase. I stopped wondering why they are so sensitive about it. But it''s not my place to judge. I enter the code into the small combination lock, undo the latches, and open it up.


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    It''s hard to prepare properly if I don''t know what I''ll find, but since Mrs. Lane has been so adamant about getting an arch-trained cleaner, I did go over the top a little bit, or at least I thought I did. Always expect the worst, that''s my philosophy when it comes down to this business. And for once, I didn''t over-prepare. While I put on the black gloves, I let my eyes go through my preparations. The trail of the fight is the smallest issue, but I need to plan my next steps efficiently.


    Yes, yes, this might be the best way to go about it. For the moment, I focus on setting up things straight again. Smooth out the red carpet, reposition the pedestals, polish every surface, right every single petal of the artificial flowers. It''s not hard work, but it takes time. I need to make absolutely sure that everything doesn''t just look right but feels right. Not a single fingerprint should remain, not even a thought. Which is the hardest part.


    People have emotions, and these emotions can remain. Cleaning things I can see with my bare eyes is easy. Finding every detail out of place, every fingerprint, every little wrinkled petal, every hair ¨C it becomes harder. But getting rid of the unseen is always the hardest part. I need to distinguish between the emotions that have been here before and the ones that originated in relation to the crime scene.


    I head back to my suitcase to get my little helper. It is unbelievably heavy; I couldn''t wait to place this damn toolbox ¨C sorry, suitcase ¨C down, but I''m glad I took it with me. If it wasn''t for its weight, I sure would make use of it more often. With a tap on the smooth, golden cavity on the top of the sphere, I activate it. A soothing hum fills the room. I hear it as clearly as always, but I know untrained people wouldn''t be able to hear anything at all. It''s the same training that enables me to sense the influence of most artifacts, though it is different from artifact to artifact. Some I can hear, some I can feel, and some slip into my mind causing visions or making their presence known in another way.


    It takes a moment for the sphere to fully start up. Its hum eases me a little bit. It is hard to describe; it''s not really a sound or music, it''s more like a vibration I can hear and feel, and it is steady, unchanging. Finally, it starts to hover; a dim, purple glow emits from deep within the sphere and it starts to spin slowly. The glow grows stronger, focuses, and suddenly, the whole area is covered in purple light. It is scanning the room, hitting every particle of emotion in the air. It lets me see the weave. Like the wavering air close to an overly hot surface, I can see the trails of the past in the air. Older emotions are more faded, darker, but the newer ones are clearer, sharper, and brighter.


    There''s a spike close to the vault door, something I note to myself for when I move on to this section. Another spike occurs right atop the stairs. Was it Constantin or Mrs. Lane that caused it? I can''t tell. I see that it''s there, but I''m not specialized in this branch. A proper medium would be able to pull the strings of the weave apart and connect them to different people. They could read so much more than I can. But I don''t have to. The only thing I need to do is get rid of the newer strings while leaving the older ones untouched.


    While the sphere hovers slowly around to cover the whole area, I concentrate on the strings I have to cut. Well¡­ ''cut''¡­  that''s a stupid metaphor, but also the most fitting one. I''m not an emotional person, which probably makes me one of the best cleaners ¨C at least in this district. I focus, and I let these emotions enter; I give them a place to stay, to reside in. I feel them pouring in. I feel a sudden compulsion, nausea, a certain dizziness if only for a brief second. These are unfamiliar emotions, not as strong as they are felt by the person causing them, but I still feel them. Sudden anger, distrust, disgust, sadness ¨C there, the spike, a sudden outburst of overwhelming guilt. Guilt?


    I close my eyes for a second, suppressing everything I just collected. Why guilt? I assumed it was anger or some other form of aggression. Anger spikes a lot in the weave; it''s one of the compulsive emotions that can come out of the blue, closely followed by arousal. But guilt is usually underlying. It''s timid, silent, a follower that barely becomes apparent at crime scenes. It grows and surfaces later if it does at all.


    But either Mrs. Lane or Constantin felt guilt. Apparently, it hit out of nowhere like a bullet. It''s peculiar. Not only is this a crime scene I have never seen before, but the lingering emotions paint it even more bizarre. What happened? No, no. Why did it happen? I''m usually not intrigued by the stories such scenes tell, but this one¡­ It may put me in danger. Maybe I already am in danger.


    "I absolutely have to go!"


    "Mrs. Lane, I cannot let you interfere with the crime scene or the cleaner''s job!"


    My eyes snap open the moment I hear voices echoing down the wide staircase. It seems like Mrs. Lane has a hard time staying idle, and Thomas tries to keep her upstairs to not interfere with my work. He fails. I can hear her heels rushing down the marble stairs, followed by rushed but much calmer footsteps. Thomas is not a particularly fit man; there is no way he can keep up with her, but he tries.


    I rush to the sphere and tap the cavity once more to shut it off. God, why is this thing so heavy? With a silent groan, I catch it before it hits the floor and shove it back into my briefcase, closing the lid to hide my gear. And right on time, Mrs. Lane arrives, out of breath. I eye her up and down; her indifferent, peculiar demeanor has changed. She seems stressed. Has the shock finally settled?


    "Is it alright?" panic. She''s panicked. I look like she caught me in the middle of assessing my gear, kneeling on one knee in front of my briefcase, so I get up, slowly to not agitate her. What does she mean by ''it''?


    "My lady, I fear I cannot let you pass further downstairs. It is not a pretty sight, and you could compromise my work." I try to sound as calm as possible, with a hint of empathy. But the thing is, I don''t really feel empathy. I feel a whole lot of things thanks to the emotions I granted entry to my own consciousness, but I''m far away from feeling calm, or sensible for her situation.


    She shifts to the side, I shift along, trying to stay in her line of sight, covering the mess further down the stairs. But it''s not just a body, it''s a slaughterhouse crime scene. There is no chance that my rather slim and not-too-tall build could hide it from her searching eyes. And suddenly, she collapses with a heart-wrenching sob. Just in this instant, I''m not sure which sounds are more present: her uncontrollable sobs or Thomas'' huffing and puffing while he finally catches up. He''s doing the right thing by coming to a halt before he could possibly see the scene.


    Well, there''s another flight of stairs between me and the crime scene and a few steps between me and Mrs. Lane who collapsed right in the entry hall. Thomas, on the other hand, has just reached the end of the staircase leading down to the entry hall. I can''t really see him from my angle, but I know he''s there.


    "No, nonononono¡­ no¡­ My Constantin. My poor, poor Constantin. No, no. Why didn''t you listen? Oh why, my baby, my treasure, no¡­" It''s hard to hear her words; she''s mumbling under her breath, crying tears of loss. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. I know shock, I already figured she might be out of it, trapped in denial, or even influenced by one of the artifacts she''s storing for the arch. But I didn''t expect her to falter much in her demeanor. Even if the shock passed, I expected her to keep her composure, be it just because she absolutely has to in her position.


    But here she is, crying and sobbing. There''s nothing left of the all-so-mighty lady who offered to basically buy me without a second thought. What caused this? With a sigh, I ascend the few steps, just enough to face Thomas. He''s still breathing heavily. He looks in shape, but his lungs aren''t. Something a lot of people have to deal with due to the black fog. Get caught outside once, and it burns away on your lungs. And if you''re really unlucky, you''ll not survive it.


    Thomas and I never talked about it, but we were given insight into each other''s files. He knows about my cactus; I know about his defective lungs. Not a fair trade in my opinion, but it is what it is. Imagine the boring person I have to be for the arch to note down my ''odd possession of a cactus''. It''s not that odd. It''s pretty, it''s low-maintenance, and about the only living thing in my life I can be proud of.


    "Could you call the doc in?" I ask and he gives me a nod.


    "Give me a second," he pants, "there''s a communicator on the second floor. I just have to collect myself for a moment." I nod, understanding. Wouldn''t want him to have a heart attack. Meanwhile, Mrs. Lane seems like she isn''t about to move from her slumped-over position. But I stay close, just in case. I may have just enough strength to carry this stupid briefcase around without batting an eye, but stopping another person in motion is a whole other thing. If she bolts, I won''t be able to stop her. So I have to make sure to catch her before she has the chance to make a run for it.

 Chapter 4: Unwanted Emotions

    I''m tense. I don''t know how long we''ve been sitting here, waiting for the doc to arrive. Mrs. Lane hasn''t moved much. We managed to guide her back upstairs, where Thomas called the doctor. Good thing rich people have communicators in their homes. It''s quite a handy thing to have, but nothing I could ever afford.


    In the Lanes'' case, this communicator is overly ornate, as is everything else in this mansion. Just another thing they had an archist make for them, but it''s probably one of the most common things in wealthy households. It connects people. In my case, I just have to walk to the next public communicator. And write letters. Not that I ever do, but still.


    Ever since we sat down on the overly sterile, red couch, I''ve pinned my eyes to the clock. It''s enormous. The freely hanging sphere depicts a clock on both sides of the sphere; I don''t really know what time zone the other side is showing, and I don''t care. The planets of our universe are depicted in smaller spheres, attached to the rings of their orbit. In this case, the sphere with the main clock depicts our Earth, showing the others ¨C smaller than they should be considering the size ratio ¨C planets following their natural orbit around it. Basically, it''s a very, very big orrery with our planet in its center and only showing the suns and moons circling it. By the size of it, I doubt an actual orrery displaying all planets would really fit into this room, not even with the three to four-meter-high walls.


    The one thing that caught my eye is the fact that it counts five stars in direct circulation. Two suns and three moons. The moons are crafted in silver, whereas the suns are crafted in gold. This clock must be old, or the archist who made it was a hopeless romantic, reminiscing over the old times. The second sun burned out decades before I was born. Before anyone in this mansion was born.


    Not that there aren''t people who remember the golden days when the city of marble was still blessed by two suns, warmth, and progress, but I don''t think there are that many left. And the ones that are, are stored by the arch anyway, like the relics they are. Now this sun is just a black planet, the cause of the black fog and so much despair.


    I huff. What a stupid thing to have. But it shows the time accurately, so I won''t complain. Finally, after around fifteen minutes of just sitting around, I can hear a knocking on the door. We''re on the second floor, the entry hall is on the ground floor, and yet I can hear it so clearly. There must be some magical enhancement at play, but I don''t question it. Not now, anyway.


    I glance over at Thomas. He notices, throws a concerned gesture toward Mrs. Lane. We try not to speak too much. We can''t really assess her current state. She has become apathetic, didn''t move since Thomas sat her down. Her head is lowered but her back is as straight as it can be. And yet she still seems lumped over. She really isn''t but the aura surrounding her, her silence, her lowered head, the way she has been staring at her hands which she had firmly placed in her lap¡­


    I sigh and nod toward her, signaling Thomas to stay with her. He has been running enough for one evening. And if she does get up to run away, she will have to cross my way. And the way of the doctor. So I get up and descend the stairs, opening the door. I''m greeted by a well-known but rarely-seen sight. The doctor has arrived in his usual attire. A black cloak covers the whole of his body, the only thing I can see is the lower half of his delicate, young face.


    I can''t help but raise the corner of my mouth in an amused way that stems from self-irony. We look alike. Not our appearance, but I can clearly see the bruise covering his chin. We''re one of a kind. It doesn''t matter that his work saves lives, he''s as much another man''s possession as I am. Fucked up world. Behind him towers a young lady, her lips are painted red, her amber eyes circled with dark, blue makeup. She''s wearing the attire of a doctor''s apprentice.


    Huh, seems like I missed a thing or two. Things happen fast in this city. I don''t pay attention to other people''s life for a while and suddenly they stop operating alone. Not that I pay much attention to personal news anyway. I hear Thomas and other co-workers talk once in a while and don''t get me started on the gossip whenever I actually go to the station, but even though I do hear some things they never really stick. I remember them if need be, but there rarely is. However, I would remember someone talking about the doc''s new help.


    "Thank you for your time. I know it''s late." I step to the side to let the two in. Just as I turn back after closing the door, I am met with the direct stare the doctor gives me. He''s a short man, hiding his fragile body underneath layers and layers of black fabric. At times, he reminds me of death himself. Silent with every step, agile and swift, smooth in every movement, and oh-so-frail. But given the fact that he''s still alive, he must be capable of quite a lot. The proof is shown by the bruises he endures.


    It''s rare for me to see his eyes, he keeps his head lowered most of the time, for his cloak to hide more. It feels like he''s afraid to be seen, afraid to show more of himself than necessary. But for some reason, he was waiting for me to turn back around, waiting to meet my eyes with his own. Silver glowing ambers meet my gaze... No matter how often I get a glimpse of his eyes, they always seem just as mesmerizing. I guess I understand why he hides them, the faint glow is a trace of the magic he holds, something so rare it is dangerously valuable.


    "You are emotionally afflicted." He gives me no time to ask and outright confronts me with his concern. Maybe it''s due to my emotional turmoil, the fact that I have to carry around emotions that don''t belong to me, and the fact that I have been interrupted in the middle of my work, which prevented me from attending to myself properly; But I sense a hint of worry in his cold voice.


    "Well, yeah. Comes with the job, I guess."


    "More than usual."


    "Yeah, it''s been¡­ turbulent."


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    "I''ll take a look at you later. Where''s the lady of the house?"


    "You don''t need to. I''ll get into cleansing first thing in the morning," I explain, nodding towards the stairs leading up, "upstairs. She''s become apathetic since we managed to move her to the living room. Well, one of the living rooms. You can''t miss it."


    He eyes me for a moment longer as if he''s searching for something. Maybe the truth behind my words to tend to myself later. Whatever it is, after a few seconds he turns and ascends to the second floor, followed by his apprentice. She''s really tall. My first guess was perspective, seeing her towering over such a short man as the doctor himself. When she passed me on her way inside, I suspected heels. But no, she doesn''t need heels. She''s just that tall, and elegant.


    "Doc?"


    Before he slips away too far, I call out to him. Calm, but firm. He comes to a halt and turns just slightly, probably enough to see me, to make me aware that he''s listening, but I can''t tell if he''s really looking my way.


    "Thomas is with her, he''s been running too much, mind taking a look at him too? And don''t let him get away with his usual excuses."


    He nods, then continues on his way. I feel the tension ease, if only a little. This night has become so much longer the moment Mrs. Lane came rushing downstairs, and it''s far from over. But at least I don''t have to worry about her interrupting me again. Which means I should get back to work, be it just to get these emotions under control. I hate feeling things that aren''t mine. If I feel guilty I want to feel guilty for a reason, not¡­ whatever this is.


    But this guilt hasn''t left me yet, it has even surpassed the sudden anger I had to cut from the weave. I know it''s not possible in such a short time but it feels like it is growing. Maybe some of my own emotions resonate with this guilt. Though I seriously don''t even know why that could be the case.


    I sigh, and then I take a deep breath. Finally, after another second or two of just standing there, I return to my briefcase and open it again. I get rid of my gloves and put on new ones. Since I didn''t manage to get rid of all the emotional residue I start up the sphere once more. It''s a positive thing, this big mansion I mean. With the broad staircase and the height of the walls, I will hear if someone is about to come down the stairs.


    Unless it''s the doctor. I doubt I''ll ever be able to hear him.


    I let the sphere do its thing, and more than ever I welcome the steady hum emanating from it. Doing my job ¨C alone ¨C as it should be, brings some needed quiet to my headspace. There is still a lot to be cut from the weave, and I lose no time to get right back to it. Mrs. Lane''s abrupt intervention and emotional outburst just added to the pile. I hesitate, and with yet another deep breath, I cut her grief out of the weave.


    Only once the whole trail of emotions and evidence has been cleared do I turn off the sphere once more and store it back in the briefcase. Now for the hardest part. I glance up at the chandelier and sigh. It can never be easy, can it now? It''s not like I''m stalling, but it does make more sense to clean up the wider spread area of the mess, gather it all under the chandelier before dealing with the ceiling. Luckily, the chandelier got the worst of it and kind of prevented the same radius of disaster on the ceiling. It''s still a mess, but at least it''s not that bad.


    Well, it''s bad enough that it''s on the ceiling of all places, but it could be worse. Maybe. I go through the motions almost on autopilot. With a broom that can easily be assembled and dismantled for easy storage and transportation, I start with the walls. Adding length to the broomstick the higher up I need to reach until I can''t get any higher. I brush down all of the walls as far as I can reach, then I proceed with the floor.


    The pile that once went by the name Constantin, grows beneath the chandelier. At this point, I am a little amazed how I haven''t gotten blood and tissue all over myself. I''m good at cleaning crime scenes and getting rid of bodies; it''s a habit. Not one I particularly like, but there is a little pride somewhere along the line. After all, this job ensures my survival in this goddamn city, and the better I do my job, the more secure I am. So¡­ Is it really wrong to be proud of the skillset that makes me good at my job?


    But this crime scene right here is testing me ¨C my every movement. And even though I go through the motions in a state of numbness, I still have to pay attention. I will have to get rid of the clothes after the job anyway, it''s part of the procedure. A set of spare clothes is neatly folded in my briefcase for immediate change, once the scene has been cleaned. But I still hate it to get dirty at a crime scene.


    I am absolutely not squeamish, I''ve been wading through the sewers to get a job done, but I do like to avoid the additional work that comes with cleaning myself. So I try to limit it to my clothes; it''s easy to simply get changed. But if we talk about taking a shower at a crime scene, the whole thing becomes much more complicated. Unnecessarily complicated.


    Ladder. I need a ladder. And every household should have one, so off I go in search of one. And, well, all I really do is turn a corner. I guess she had the time to prepare for my arrival. The ladder seems out of place; this is not its usual storage place. Mrs. Lane must have prepared it for me to take, which means that she had absolutely no issue walking through the aftermath of her lover exploding.


    What happened to her clothes? Until now I expected her to have enough distance between herself and Constantin to stay out of the blast radius. This may still be the case, but there is absolutely no way she walked right through the mess without getting blood on her shoes. Which means there should be footprints. But there are none. Neither I nor the sphere could detect any blood leading away from the scene.


    "Eon?"


    I turn my head to look at¡­ well. Nothing. It sounded close, but just to make sure I lean around the corner so I can see the vault door. There''s no one. Imagination? It must be the emotional strain. The doc is right; I need to tend to myself as soon as possible. I need that cleansing as soon as possible. Good thing I can just waltz into the station, no matter the time.


    I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts, grab the ladder, and return to the scene. I''m just about to climb the ladder to clean the walls when I hear someone call my name again. It sounded so clear before, but now it seems distant, faded. As if it was only a memory lingering in the air. For fuck''s sake. I''ve been here before, and the only person calling out my name was Mr. Lane. It is possible that the weave stored his emotions, and now it recognizes me.


    I wouldn''t normally be able to hear such things, but I meddled with the weave for the last hour or two, and I am next to potentially highly potent artifacts. With every passing minute, this crime scene becomes more and more a liability. I hate it here.


    I clench my teeth and try to occupy my mind with the cleaning of the walls. Little by little, I get closer to the chandelier, cleaning the ceiling along the way. Luckily, this hallway is narrow compared to the rest of the house. Still too high but I manage to deal with that. If it were any wider I wouldn''t be able to reach the middle part of the ceiling, which means Thomas would need to make another call to get us additional gear, which in turn means that I would need to be idle again for an uncertain amount of time, waiting. I''m pretty sure Thomas doesn''t want to make another call, and I''m pretty sure I don''t want to wait.

 Chapter 5: The Sound of Decay

    It has taken hours. But finally, all that is left is to get rid of Constantin¡­ Or¡­ well¡­ What remains of him, anyway. For the quadrillionst time this night, I kneel in front of my briefcase. And then I hear it. The fog horn.


    "Eon?!" The moment it stops I hear Thomas calling my name from the second floor. I change my gloves for new ones before I head up the stairs into the entry hall.


    "I heard it. The forecast didn''t mention anything." I don''t have to scream, the high walls and empty space carry my voice all up the stairs with no issue. And by the tone of my voice, Thomas realizes that he doesn''t have to speak as loud as he just did for me to hear him.


    "It really didn''t. We won''t make it back in time."


    "Is the doc still with you?"


    "Yes, he''s still tending to Mrs. Lane, working through her state."


    "Is there anyone else?"


    "Besides his apprentice? I don''t think so. The staff has been sent home early to not get in our way. It''s just us."


    Well, wonderful. This crime scene is the worst. Well, it''s better than being caught outside by the horn but still. With a silent sigh I get to move, walking upstairs slowly. Then I turn, darting my eyes at the main door. I know there is someone out there keeping an eye on me. I don''t care if they get to safety, but for some reason, I expected the door to open and for them to slip in. But it remains closed.


    I know Thayer''s elite is highly trained for every situation, whoever is out there will be fine, so I''m not worried about them at all. But something just rubbed me the wrong way the moment I realized that they might get into the mansion. Maybe they already did. Which is even worse than the main door opening and being directly confronted with their presence. Because if they got in another way, I have no way of knowing. I don''t like not knowing for various reasons.


    "Are you alright?" Thomas'' voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn my head back to look at him, standing at the top of the staircase. I nod and finally catch up to him.


    "Just wondering about the lack of forecast for the fog. It does make the situation a little more complicated."


    Thomas shrugs, almost in an excusing manner, as if he''s sorry for how things went down. It''s not his fault. It''s no one''s fault.


    "The forecast isn''t always right. There wasn''t a forecast the day I lost almost half of my lung capacity." I eye him up and down. We never spoke about it, but he knows that I know about his health issue. And now, I know why he got exposed to the black fog. I''ve been lucky so far. I can''t remember the last time it caught me unprepared.


    "We''ll better make sure you don''t lose the other half. I''ll check the west wing, you east left." I really don''t want to dilly-dally around. The only person who could tell us if all the windows were closed, all the curtains drawn, and all the doors secured is currently not really in a state in which she could answer any questions.


    Thomas nods, before he nods down the stairs, "you''ll deal with the ground floor and the vault area?"


    "Of course. I''ll get doc''s apprentice to secure the first floor." I reassure him. I wouldn''t send him near the crime scene. He didn''t handle it well before, and despite my best efforts to clean up and get rid of everything, the one thing remaining is still a pile of gore. A pile of gore I can''t get rid of right now. He nods and scurries away.


    I lose no time and enter the living room straight ahead. "How''s she doing?" I need to know so I can get an estimation of our situation, but as I expected the doc just shakes his head.


    "I''ve walked her out of her shock but she is still dealing with the influence of an artifact. She won''t be able to properly recover as long as she stays here. I need to move her-"


    "Later." I cut him off, not to be rude, but because I know this man. He has the potential to risk it just to get her the distance and help she needs. And of the few reoccurring people in my work environment, the doctor is the last person I want to lose to the black fog. His skills have proven his worth time and time again, and if one good soul is remaining in this god-forsaken city, it''s him.


    Besides, his man would decapitate me without a second thought. This probably would lead Thayer to return the favor and decapitate him, which could potentially lead to a morbidly funny outcome, but since neither I nor the doc would be alive to witness it, it would be an absolute waste.


    "Later." He affirms, then I look at his apprentice. "Ms. ¡­?"


    "Mrs. Blair," she fills me in. I didn''t bother to address her before, serves me right to be met with her sharp tone.


    "My apologies. Mrs. Blair, could you assist us in securing the mansion? The staff has been sent home early, there is no one else left and it seems like Mrs. Lane isn''t capable of assisting us."


    "I was about to ask. Which segment of the mansion should I attend to?" She has a quite melodic voice. Together with her appearance and the way she carries herself, I am certain: She''s what little girls think of when they fantasize about the big theater stage and the spotlight. But here she is, the woman who could be the perfect idol for still dreaming children, a doctor''s apprentice.


    Honestly, a way better profession, morally speaking. But morality is seldom a contender for future professions.


    "The first floor, if you don''t mind." I nod toward her in appreciation as she gets up from the seat she has taken right next to Mrs. Lane.


    "Don''t mention it, it''s not like I would magically survive the black fog. This is as much in my interest as it is in yours. Mr.?"


    "Cleaner."


    "Oh?"


    I tilt my head in Mrs. Lane''s direction, "She started it."


    Mrs. Blair laughs at my dry remark, "I understand." And with that said, she passes by me and vanishes downstairs. I look at the doctor one last time, then I make my way to the west wing, checking every window on my way. Thankfully up till now, they are all closed, but to make sure I draw every single curtain and make sure they are fully closed. For once I can claim to possess something the rich do. These black, heavy curtains are made to keep the fog trapped if it ever happens to slip through a crack. They don''t help if a window is left open, but they do their job well for what they''ve been made for.


    The fabric is distributed to everyone regularly, though maintaining it till the next delivery hits can be tedious. I manage just fine, but the lower classes who can''t afford to keep their homes secure and can''t afford the additional money for the proper cleaning and cleansing processes for the curtains struggle. It''s one of the reasons why so many are affected.


    Just how big is this mansion really? I keep walking, checking left, right, and center. It seems like the staff had made sure that every window and door leading outside was securely shut, but there is no way to tell where Mrs. Lane may have been wandering around before we arrived. And judging the state she was in, it is likely that she didn''t pay attention. She was so out of it, so unfazed by the crime scene and the death of her affair that I doubt she cared for anything else.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    It''s a possibility that she wandered outside right into the black fog if she hadn''t snapped out of it. Or opened all the windows upon the horn''s sound. I prefer her in her current state, especially with the doctor present. She may still not be predictable for me or Thomas, but the doctor knows how to handle her situation. And there''s his apprentice as well. We''re good¡­ We''re fine. Right? Right.


    It takes a while, not a long while, but still a while, before I find my way downstairs. I check the entry hall, which luckily leads absolutely nowhere besides downstairs to the vault, and upstairs to the first floor. This means the rooms beyond the staircase must only be accessible from the outside. Probably staff quarters or storage. If there''s no direct way leading into the entry hall, it doesn''t concern us.


    I check over the vault door, with a sudden cold running down my spine. I know it is due to the artifacts stored behind this door, so I am glad to confirm that the vault door is firmly shut and locked. Then I continue to the right, down the hallway.


    I stop in my tracks as I feel a draft. It''s ever so slight, I could have missed it easily. There are countless doors on either side of this hallway, each door I passed I checked, so it must come from a room that still lays ahead of me. Finding this room suddenly takes priority. If I keep checking every door I may reach it too late.


    I focus, trying to navigate this gush of air, following it. It accumulates at the end of the hallway which ends in a round room with a little fountain in its center and no other way leading out but the way I came from. The white marble walls are adorned with huge panels, framing off sections of the walls in blue and purple colors of different hues. It''s marvelous.


    As I look up, I realize that I must have arrived in one of the small towers. It''s a completely open space till the very top, towering four stories high. Okay, more like three stories high, as I am technically in the basement. The tower is not covered by a proper roof but a painted glass dome.


    It must be the sunroom, probably one of the oldest parts of this patchwork mansion. Back in the day when the second sun was still, well, a sun, this room would be filled with daylight from two angles, breaking through the painted glass of the dome and coloring the whole interior into beautifully dancing colors. I can''t see the colors of the glass dome, so it''s hard to tell, but going by the colors of the wall panels, it was probably a water-themed room. The glass dome would create the illusion of being underwater. Unless the Lanes'' or an owner prior to the Lanes had the wall panels repainted blue. That''s always an option.


    But here''s the thing. I feel¡­ wind? It seems to circle in the center of the room, but there is no other way leading in or out of this room. Not on this floor, not on any other floor atop me. The tower is isolated from any other floor, with its only access via the basement. This means the wind must come from the opposite direction, finding its way into this empty space. Or the glass dome isn''t properly secured. But given the fact that there''s no door to close this room off, I doubt that''s the case.


    It would be a severe health hazard, guaranteeing that the fog could enter and spread through the whole basement, the entry hall, and gain access to the staircase on all floors. It would mean that the Lanes were cut off from every other floor of their home whenever the fog hits. And it hits often. Not to mention the damage the fog would cause to the walls and interior.


    Even with a house packed full to the brim with staff, they wouldn''t be able to keep it that clean and sterile with the frequency of the fog. So a broken roof is out of the question ¨C from a purely logical point of view. I turn on my heels, now I''m in a rush. I almost break into a sprint, down the way I came, passing the vault door. And suddenly, I freeze. Right in front of the vault.


    It''s ¡­ it''s¡­. The round, heavy vault door with several locks and mechanisms is wide open, almost inviting me to enter. I collect myself, turn my head to take a look inside. I try to resist; I try to move on. But I can''t. And there, just a few steps into the room stands a figure. I hold my breath.


    "Eon¡­"


    I know this voice.


    For a moment, this freezing tension keeps hold of me. It takes a moment for my thoughts to hurry back, for my shoulders to relax slightly. I pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers, which doesn''t help me to relax, but it helps to make my annoyance known.


    "How¡­ the fuck¡­ did you get here?" I have to press every word to suppress how little I like the appearance of this absolute hindrance of a person.


    "You mean here as in ''the mansion'' or here as ''the vault''? It makes a difference; you know?" The amusement in his voice, this nonchalant smile that crosses his lips, as if he weren''t aware of the situation and what this means for me. And the worst thing about it? He knows damn well. I''m not a violent person; on the contrary, I hate violence ¨C but just now I really want to hit him. But I don''t. I''m better than that.


    "Why do I even bother to ask?" I resign. I can''t change the situation, no matter how little I like it.


    "Because you care."


    "You wish."


    "Well, I care. You''re looking rough, Sunshine. Got in a fight with your man again? Oh, sorry, I believe you call it ''sex''," I can''t help but throw an absolutely not amused gaze at him, just in time to catch him mumble under his breath, "though fight probably fits it better in my books."


    "Since you¡¯re here," I don''t intend to answer him, "you may as well help get this place secured." The last thing I need is the Shadows'' games. Our ways cross way too often, but this situation is different. The crime scene is not my usual clean-up job, Mrs. Lane''s behavior isn''t what I usually have to deal with, and on top of everything, there is a deadly fog approaching. Dealing with people like the Shadows ¨C especially this particular one ¨C is not something I can mentally afford right now.


    He steps out of the vault; even has to lower his head to pass under the vault door. He''s a tall man after all¡­ I already feel my neck hurting from the need to permanently look up to meet his eyes. Then again, do I really want to look at that smug face more than absolutely necessary?


    "I guess, since the vault is open now, it would benefit me to help out. You could have let me out, you know?"


    "It''s not like I was expecting you to camp out in there. You could have done a better job calling out to me, and not make it sound like I''m going insane here. And since when do you need help to get in and out of highly secured places anyway?"


    "And here I thought you ignored me on purpose." He skips my question, which is only fair, I suppose. After all, he didn''t need help in the end. However, I do wonder if he struggled to get back out.


    "Don''t get me wrong; had I known it was you I had done so."


    "Same thing then! Rude."


    I sigh, and just at this moment, I feel his heavy arm on my shoulder. It''s not like this mountain wouldn''t weigh a lot, no, he has to dump his weight on me while getting way too close ¨C as always. I don''t even try to escape it anymore. I tried in the past, and it''s useless. This man is as physically touchy as they come, no need running from it. There is no escape.


    "Honestly though, why exactly are you here? This whole scene is already straining enough." I''m not even curious anymore, I just want things to make sense at least once today. Is that too much to ask?


    I get moving again, with this mountain of a man attached to my side with his arm resting around my shoulder like it''s the most natural thing ever. And for him, it might be just that, a natural thing to do. I know I''m among his favorite people to bully ¨C But even if I weren''t, I don''t think he would be any less touchy.


    He works for the Shadows, or is the Shadows. They all are. As a group they don''t have individual names, they act like a single entity, a hive mind, but they are just more or less ordinary people trying to survive. I imagine being a no-one among many just leads to more radiant personalities like his. The need to be different while belonging to something that''s only known as a unity. Individuality in a group that only exists as one. At least, that''s the explanation I came up with the more I had to deal with him and other Shadows. He''s by far the most... present¡­ personality of Shadows I met so far, but I can''t say that the others aren''t somehow very unique in their ways. They just aren''t that loud, and certainly not that touchy.


    But because of my self-found explanation, I can''t really be angry, or mad, or¡­ feel anything negative. If this is his way of existing as an individual, who am I to judge? I wish it wouldn''t fall upon me to deal with it, but it is what it is.


    "I can''t share all my secrets with you." I can hear him smirk while talking, and in return, I stay silent. My energy to deal with this whole mansion and what it includes is dwindling by the minute. I don''t have the mental capacity to push any further, and he notices.


    "Sunshine?" He wants me to react, but all I can do is shake my head ever so slightly. I just want some peace and quiet. He stops, which makes me stop because there is no chance I could get away from his arm. He''s directing our movement now, our pace, the direction we take, and he decides that now is the moment to stand still.


    "We don''t have time for this," I remind him. Luckily this side of the basement hallway has only a couple of doors we need to check. But I don''t know if any of these doors lead to another hallway with more doors, so I really don''t want to waste time right now. But he does, apparently, because he doesn''t move.


    "¡­ Can we please get this mansion checked? I can''t deal with anything else right now." His silence is pressuring me. I know what he wants, and he knows how to get it ¨C under normal circumstances. But he has to realize that we''re far away from normal circumstances. And after another second or two of staring me down silently, I hear him chuckle.


    "Alright, Sunshine. But don''t think I''ll let this go" Finally, he starts to move again, just a tiny bit faster than before, slow enough for me to keep up, but fast enough to get this thing done.


    "I won''t."

 Chapter 6: The Thief of the Shadows

    Once again, I''m looking at this overly pompous clock. It''s half past one. Middle of the night. It''s been five hours since Thomas and I arrived. If this had been any other job, we''d have been at home an hour ago. But we''re still here. I sigh, averting my eyes from the clock. Time won''t run any faster just because I stare it down. By now, the outside world is completely covered in black, thick fog. There is nothing we can do but wait it out.


    Thomas is sitting next to me, writing in his notebook. It''s a hobby of his; writing short stories, sometimes even poems. He''s good, I like the things I''ve read in the past, though he''s always reluctant about sharing his work. It''s a hobby after all, and most of it is highly personal. It''s a way for him to deal with his surroundings, his emotions, the turmoil. I only ever read what he shows me willingly, I''d never ask to be shown anything more personal.


    The doctor is taking a nap on the couch across from ours. He''s completely covered in his black cloak, resembling more a pile of black fabric than a person. But I can figure out where his head is, due to one of the long, white hair strands that has weaseled its way out of this pile of black fabric. He needs the rest. He is highly skilled in what he does, but I guess the one person he can''t cure is himself.


    Mrs. Lane is lying on the floor, in a stabilized position and covered by a blanket to keep her warm. I''m not sure if she''s still apathetic or if she fell asleep at some point. All I know is that she isn''t unconscious, it''s the last thing we need now. Right next to her, Mrs. Blair is sitting in a chair. Her left arm is relaxed, reaching down, while her fingertips are touching Mrs. Lane''s head ever so slightly to make sure she''ll notice any movement. She''s reading a book with a weathered cover; whatever she''s reading, it''s either very interesting or she''s just staring at the pages, turning them once in a while out of habit.


    The Shadow left me once we were done securing the basement. Naturally. The first time I met him I caught him off guard. I must have caught his interest at that very moment. Apparently, it is extremely unlikely to meet the Shadows. They are professionals ¨C being caught usually leads to death for at least one of the involved people.


    Yet we''re both still alive. I guess, he didn''t deem me a danger, and I proved him right. Ever since he made himself known when no one else was around. Granted, there was a slim chance of Mrs. Blair or Thomas hearing us talk down in the basement, but for some reason, I''m sure that the whole situation was thoroughly observed and meticulously planned by the Shadow.


    So no one besides me knows of his presence, and I doubt a thief would want it any other way. And despite his personality, I know that he wouldn''t risk it to make our involvement with each other known. If he were to be caught by someone else, he''d act like we''ve never met. I really can''t stand his touchy personality, that stupid grin, the fact he just gets in my way ever so often, but he is reliable.


    After all; I''ve met other Shadows afterward, and none of them posed a threat to me. They knew I wouldn''t mention them. They knew I was just there to clean up other people''s dirt, which included covering up any evidence, including stolen goods - nothing about this has changed. So they benefit from my profession. I think they always knew how to profit off any cleaner, that''s why they cross my way so often. But after meeting this particular Shadow in person, they stopped hiding from me, or at least they don''t try so hard anymore.


    I don''t know if this is a good thing or not. I don''t know who operates their group or how they are organized. For all I know, they could be influenced by the Bear. In which case, he could freely spy on me without relying on a sniper who has to keep his distance and therefore has to stay out of earshot most of the time.


    I lean my head back against the couch''s backrest and let my eyes aimlessly wander. I see Thomas shooting a glance at me, followed by a tired smile, before he focuses back on his writing. We''re stuck here together, but it seems like everyone found something to do; even unwillingly, as is the case with Mrs. Lane. But I''ve been just sitting here for the past ten minutes doing nothing.


    Ten minutes¡­ out of probably two hours until the fog has passed fully. That''s a fucking long time with nothing to do. But the moment I leave this room I may run into the Shadow. I still owe him an answer. He didn''t push me any further when we hurried through the basement, and let me leave once we were done. I must seem really tired¡­ exhausted even. I don''t really feel it. I mean, I feel the mental exhaustion but I don''t feel like it shows. Then again, his whole job relies on reading people and situations.


    I close my eyes, and suddenly, I feel dizzy. The kind of dizziness that overcomes the mind when sleep-deprived ¨C which I''m not. But I''m pumped full of emotions that don''t belong to me, I didn''t rest well thanks to Thayer, my body is still hurting at places I didn''t even know could hurt before I met Thayer, and then there''s everything that has happened within these walls so far. No wonder the Shadow didn''t push me any further, of all the people here he can probably read each layer of my exhaustion. Well, besides the doctor, who did give me a short check-up when I arrived back in this living room.


    Just to assess my situation and my mental state. He advised me to rest, but I can''t. I tried. I open my eyes; no way I can keep them closed long enough to actually fall asleep. And now I even feel like I can''t keep sitting here. The dizziness persists in the back of my head. Adding to this my dislike for wide, open rooms like this one: and I suddenly feel extremely exposed.


    I feel the need for a smaller environment, a more cramped room, lower ceilings, shorter walls. More security, a feeling of being safe. It''s not like I''m about to overreact; if I have to I can sit it out, right here, right now. But the thing is, I don''t need to sit it out. So I get up.


    "Don''t mind me, I just need to move a little. Stretch my legs." I look at Thomas as he looks up at me and then he nods, understanding.


    "Don''t get lost, we don''t have a map of this place." I huff at his attempt at making a joke, I appreciate it, but I''m too overwhelmed to show it properly.


    "I don''t intend to, but if I do, I''m sure you''ll find me." There is a flash of a tired smile on his lips. We may maintain a professional tone, simply because we''re both too tired to function outside of our habits in these surroundings, but we understand each other''s awful attempts to lighten the mood.


    I don''t even look at the others. I only catch Mrs. Blair looking up from her book in the corner of my eye as I turn towards the door. She says nothing, so I guess her attention just got drawn to movement for a moment. I leave the living room, ascending down the flights of stairs, which bring me down to the vault.


    While securing the mansion, I saw more rooms than I can count, and the hallways down here are probably the narrowest of them all. Every room is unnecessarily big; I can''t escape this open space no matter where I go. The best I can do is down here. So here I am, next to Constantine''s gore pile that remains unmoved. The good thing is: Mr. Lane won''t come back with the fog outside. And it is likely that he won''t get home first thing the moment the fog has passed. He''s probably sleeping somewhere else, which takes away pressure from my time schedule.


    I bet he is having a good time with one of his countless other affairs. I saw Mrs. Lane''s breakdown and can''t help but wonder how Mr. Lane had dealt with this situation. Not that he''ll ever see it. That''s why I''m here; for Mr. Lane, Constantin will have vanished without a trace. There are countless dangers out there, and Mr. Lane will never know which one caught up to Constantin ¨C if Mrs. Lane manages to keep silent, that is.


    Though, even if he were to find out, it wouldn''t change much for people like me. A dead body in a big mansion makes no difference to our lives. To mine, yes, because I have to clean it up, but the aftermath has nothing to do with us. The wealthy deal with tragedies every day; maybe person A overthrows person B in power, but as long as person B isn''t an absolute angel concerned about our circumstances, nothing ever changes. It''s another name in power. It makes all the difference in the ranks of the powerful and corrupted, but the end result for everyone below stays the same.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    And still, these people have feelings. No matter how powerful they are, they aren''t just husks. They have motivations, emotions, connections; maybe they even share a special bond with someone. Someone they don''t want to see hurt. Not that anyone would ever know. Important bonds stay hidden most of the time, and if they don''t¡­ Well¡­ It''s very likely that they won''t survive.


    I know, in some twisted, disturbing way, I am important to Thayer. It''s not a secret that he has a possession, but there are only a handful of people who know it''s me, and they keep quiet to keep me out of trouble. If the wrong person were to find out, I''d be in grave danger. There are a lot of shady and powerful personalities who would stop at nothing to get to Thayer. They would kill me in an instant in the hopes of rattling the mighty Bear.


    I''m not his only possession, but there aren''t that many who have survived as long as I have. And he never cracked under their loss. It''s safe to assume that they weren''t important enough. I like to think that I am different, that he would at least mourn me for a brief second, but that''s just my ego talking. If he loses me, he shall realize that he lost something valuable that can''t be replaced.


    I don''t know where this thought is coming from, but it''s not the first time it has crossed my mind. Maybe it stems from a place of control. I don''t want to be special, I don''t want anyone to notice me, I just want to blend into the shadows, live my life as calmly as possible, but on the other hand, having significant value for another person gives me control. If my loss were hard to bear, I have something I can use to pressure Thayer. It''s not what I want to do, nor do I need it right now, but there might come a point in time when all that''s left for me to do is play my cards right.


    There might come a time when I have to face the Bear and tell him ''... or else I''ll leave'', in hopes that the very thought of losing me may enable me to control the situation and the outcome. But¡­ that''s all just fantasy. Wishful thinking.


    "Finally came to talk to me?" I hear the Shadow''s calm voice coming from inside the vault, the massive door is ajar.


    "Not if you stay in there," I answer. I don''t intend to get any closer to these artifacts. It''s already unsettling that the vault door is open, removing a layer of protection between me and whatever is stored inside. I don''t get an answer, and I can''t hear anything else. There is no movement, no ruffling of clothes ¨C there is no noise coming from inside of the vault. Either the Shadow stands perfectly still, or he knows how to move through a dangerous room without making any sound.


    I know it''s the latter, but imagining him just standing there, doing nothing, has an amusing aspect to the whole situation. Though, it''s not enough to lighten my mood at all.


    Suddenly, a weight lands on my shoulder. I tense up as I realize that this weight belongs to the Shadow''s hand. I didn''t hear him approach which isn''t unusual, but I didn''t notice his movement, and that unsettles me even further. My reflexes are faster than my brain and I turn abruptly to cut the connection between us, slipping away from the warmth of his hand.


    "We really need to address this, Eon. And don''t even think you can get away again." I know exactly what he means. I am acting out of character, and I feel that way too. Usually, I can deal with stressful situations well, bottle everything up until I get a chance to cleanse myself, get rid of all the emotions I carry around with me. But I am stuck here, and the longer I have to sit it out, the more urgent it will get.


    "Sorry," is all I can muster for the moment while I try to collect my thoughts.


    "For what?" he laughs, his voice low and calm.


    "For being weird, I guess."


    "Yeah, I''m not exactly the person you have to apologize to."


    "Well, excuse me, but there is no one else around."


    "So I''ll do just fine? You break my heart, Sunshine."


    "Always a pleasure."


    I sigh and turn my back to the wall, slowly slipping down until I finally sit on the floor. I''m exhausted, and since I won''t find any room smaller and more comfortable, I may as well sit here. To my surprise, the Shadow just slumps down next to me, with a decent distance between us. Close enough to talk, and distant enough to be just out of reach. I prefer this over him being all touchy, and he knows that.


    "I¡­" I start, but my thoughts slip my mind. I rarely talk to others, less so about myself, about how I feel, about what''s going on in my head. But there is no other way to go, is there? It''s sitting here and trying to talk to this menace, or sitting in a room with other people and a clock that seems to get louder and louder with every passing second, till I can''t hear my own thoughts anymore.


    I let my eyes wander, there is nothing here that could catch my interest. It''s just an empty hallway with a vault door not too far away from us. If I sat at the opposite wall, I could look up the stairs, look at the artificial flowers, the carpet, the oversized pictures in oversized frames. But I don''t need oversized, opulent, and artificial right now ¨C I need comfort, familiarity, a cramped room with a lot of worthless little belongings that can keep the eyes busy.


    So in the end, my eyes wander over to the Shadow. His expression calm, waiting. He isn''t pushing me, he''s just¡­ there. I would prefer him to not be there, but he is, and I can change a damn about it.


    "The emotions stuck in the weave wore me down, I probably didn''t sleep well, Mrs. Lane has been ¨C to put it nicely ¨C a hindrance, there is a deadly fog trapping us in here, and this whole place is just too much space and too little personality. Oh, and you''re here."


    "Well, I''m trapped here too, with you of all people." He sends a smirk my way, he isn''t sorry one bit. He could have chosen to remain hidden, but he didn''t. He actively broke his disguise to get in contact with me, and he enjoys this more than I want to admit.


    "Listen," he starts, with a more serious tone in his voice, yet he remains calm and grounded. And¡­ I listen.


    "I don''t really care about what you do and don''t do."


    "Fair enough."


    "But you''ve become someone I can rely on during my work. You haven''t snitched once and this job is lonely most of the time. I would hate if you were to, I don''t know, not do your job anymore? So¡­ If it helps, I''m here if you want to talk this out."


    A huff slips over my lips, filled with amusement that''s based solely on self-irony. I really don''t like his touchy personality, the way how easily he can sneak up on me, the way he''s too cheerful. And I don''t like the way he tries to tease me. But at the same time, I can''t lie. My job has become a lot less lonely since I caught him off guard.


    It''s not just him. I meet a lot of Shadows during my work. They don''t hide anymore, which has led to a few talks. All of them absolutely meaningless, at least the content ¨C but the fact that someone''s around without getting in the way of my work has its perks. They don''t interfere with my workspace; I don''t need to care for them or look out for them. They''re just present until they aren''t. Everything falls right back into place.


    I like Thomas, as I like a few other colleagues, but I''m closer to him than I am to other people. I hate to admit it openly, but I care for his well-being. I guess this adds to the pile I have to deal with at the moment. It''s something that''s on my mind whenever I''m on a job with him. I¡­ I worry about him, which makes things sometimes more tiring.


    With the Shadows I don''t have to worry. I get to a crime scene alone, I meet one of them, we interact one way or another, we leave, and I don''t really think about them anymore. They don''t add to anything.


    "What''s the point of talking?"


    He snorts amused, "Try it, you''d be surprised."


    "I don''t really know how to talk about¡­ well... me, I guess."


    "Do you want me to ask questions?"


    I shoot him a warning glance, "I really don''t." I really, really don''t.


    "Did it hurt?" he nods toward my neck. Well, he nods in my direction, but I know exactly what he''s hinting at.


    "Don''t know. I was wasted beyond salvation."


    "Well, I take this as a yes. No need to get that wasted otherwise."


    "¡­ You''re not wrong." I resign. I can''t escape his sharp eyes. He notices everything; every bruise, every cut, every shift in my demeanor, the way I move, speak, act¡­ There''s no hiding from him.


    "Eon, you need a man who''ll make you want to stay as conscious as possible to experience the full pleasure of two bodies exploring each other, not one that makes you want to get wasted the second you think about intimacy."


    "In a city like this? Good luck."


    "There''s always me," he sounds way too amused for me to take him seriously. Maybe that''s just his way of talking some sense into me. Sense I already have. It''s not like I''m trapped in a toxic relationship without realizing it. I am painfully aware of what Thayer does to and with me and how bad it is. But I accepted this in return for his protection. I made this coldly calculated call myself.


    "Mrs. Lane offered to buy me."


    "You''re considering it?"


    "No. I don''t need an older lady to shower me with money and gifts."


    "So, what do you need exactly?" I look at him, not sure if I really want to answer his question. He knows about me and the Bear, that''s more than anyone else knows besides Thomas. And I would like to keep it that way. And yet I''m unable to just avoid the question. The very fact that I am even considering answering him is something I hadn''t expected from myself.


    "Protection. I could have died the day I caught you out. I didn''t by sheer dumb luck. But my job always puts me at risk of confrontation with others. I need to stay safe. I need to survive. My body is a possession for the time being, my mind is not and will never be."


    There, I said it. And he stays silent, with a rare expression on his face. The expression of someone who has to seriously think about the words he just heard. A second passes, and then another one, and another one, and another... Hitting thirty seconds of silence, I stop counting.


    He remains silent, but slowly gets back up, "I need to attend to something. We''ll continue this talk later." And just with that, he stepped back into the vault and out of my sight. For a second, I consider shifting, just far enough to be able to take a look into the vault. But I remain seated, unmoved.


    After all, all I really wanted was some quiet, and now I finally got it.

 Chapter 7: Can we trust?

    Sitting all alone in this hallway with my back against the wall, I must have dozed off at some point. Just as I open my eyes, I know time has passed. But I don''t feel like I slept. I just closed my eyes for a moment, opened them again, and an hour or so had just passed. I''m not experiencing this lingering feeling of rest, nor the sensation of waking up.


    It was bound to happen but I am a little surprised that I actually managed to rest, even if I don''t feel like I rested at all. I guess exhaustion just knocked me out without me realizing it. I let my eyes wander; the hallway is as empty as can be, the door vault is ajar just enough for me to notice that it isn''t closed shut, and Constantin still hasn''t moved.


    I mean, thank fucking god he didn''t. The last thing I want to happen is a pile of blood, flesh, and tissue suddenly getting up and walking away. It''s not like that''s completely impossible to happen, so I hope Constantin remains exactly where he is until I get around to getting rid of him.


    I groan, feeling the pressure in the back of my head growing ever stronger. My own emotions don''t mix well with the chaos I had absorbed, and now that I''m awake and fully conscious again, I can''t ignore it anymore. Dragging the emotions of other people around is dangerous the longer it lasts. Strong emotions, like the guilt I found in the weave, can grow and start to consume on my own, smaller emotions.


    Not having a lot of emotions helps at the beginning; there is a lot of room for these emotions to grow. But the downside is; once they pass a certain threshold the impact can hit double. It''s similar to a fire. The less there is to burn in close proximity, the longer it can be kept under control. But once it reaches things to feed on it grows rapidly, and becomes hard to control.


    I still have control, I can still distinguish between my own emotions and the ones that don''t belong. But I feel them growing slowly, my head is throbbing with a building headache. They are filling the empty space I provided ¨C and once that space is filled, they will jump over onto my own emotions.


    "You still there?" I only muster to mumble under my breath. Oh, I wish I still had the energy I had this morning. I was absolutely wasted, my head hurt as did my body, my vision was impacted ¨C But I was still feeling good enough to curse and swear. Right now even that spirit has gone.


    "As present as the fog." I hear the Shadow''s way too carefree voice coming from within the vault. Well... What did I expect? It''s not like he can go anywhere, and the vault is probably the one place none of the others want to see right now, so he has free movement down here unless Mrs. Lane gets back to her strength to actually move. Hm¡­ Maybe she has. I wouldn''t know, would I? I''ve been sitting here for approximately an hour. I hope Thomas doesn''t worry too much.


    "The Doc came to check on you."


    "Oh?" I hate how my voice breaks with the smallest sound. I''m sure my eyes are wide open, but my vision feels impaired somehow. Like¡­ I''m unable to view the whole picture. Darkness surrounds the corners of my eyes, narrowing my field of view. It''s the headache, I know that much.


    "Isn''t it annoying to open and shut the vault door again and again?" I try to keep focus despite my head, try to talk in hopes it distracts me from the throbbing.


    "I don''t have to. The Doc isn''t someone I need to hide from." He sounds like he''s talking about the weather. Despite everything he''s in a good mood. I can''t relate.


    "I don''t know what I expected, but makes sense."


    "It does, doesn''t it? You sound terrible, by the way."


    "That makes sense, too."


    Silence. I close my eyes. Get your shit together. It''s not that bad, Eon. It''s not. You''ve dealt with worse; every night with Thayer, for example. So pull yourself together.


    "Here. It should help suppress it a little longer. I told him you''ll probably not take it if it comes from me but I figured I''ll try it anyway."


    I open my eyes and I am confronted with a small glass vial. Once again he moved without any sound, got even close enough to hold the ointment right under my nose. I hesitate, my eyes wander, follow his arm all the way up till I finally reach his face. The darkness spreads, it gets harder and harder to follow my surroundings; I need pointers to direct my gaze, to find what I want to look at.


    For a moment, I just look at him. Cautious, suspicious even, but a stinging pain in my head tells me that whatever he''s offering me: It can''t get any worse. He wouldn''t want me to die so it''s probably not poison, and everything else would be better than what I am experiencing right now.


    "If you need help, just tell me," I hear his smug grin, not even the pain could cancel it out, "I''m quite good at force-feeding others."


    "It sounds neither appetizing nor erotic, so I decline. Thank you very much." With that I take the vial from his hand and open it, downing the content without a second thought.


    "You don''t even know what ''erotic'' means, Sunshine."


    "This again¡­"


    "Again? I think we engage far too little in steamy conversations."


    "You mean never."


    "That''s what I''m saying."


    I shake my head just slightly and close the vial before I slip it into one of my suit''s pockets. Knowing the doc, it should work fast and if it doesn''t my headspace is probably worse than expected.


    "You know," I rest my head back on the wall, closing my eyes again. It somehow helps to focus and navigate the pain, "if you want to fuck me all you have to do is ask. It''s not like the Bear and I are exclusive." My words are dry, drained even. I have no energy to deal with that flirty tone of his. If there''s something he wants, I''d prefer if he''d just outright say it. It would make everything easier.


    I hear him snort, trying to suppress a burst of laughter, but he fails. The deep bass of his voice reminds me of the scanner sphere. I can hear the vibration clearly, and it''s soothing. I hate it, but it puts me at ease for the same reason the sphere does. Also, the ointment seems to be effective. It''s working slowly, but my headache at least has stopped getting worse.


    "Thanks for the offer, but I fear I have to decline."


    "Then you may as well stop teasing me with it."


    "That''s not going to happen."


    "Why?"


    Silence once again. I have a suspicion that he''s gone the moment I open my eyes, so I keep them shut a little longer. Not that I try to hold on to his presence, I couldn''t care less, but talking seems to help ease the pain. It takes my mind off the pain and it helps me navigate my own emotions, assisting me in keeping this line between them and the intruders.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Because," that''s too close! I open my eyes just to meet the dark eyes of the Shadow. How can such a big man be so completely silent? Forget silent ¨C how is not even one of his movements casting any gush of wind? How can he get so extremely close to me without me noticing anything, not even a shift in temperature? I don''t even feel his breath on my skin even though he can''t possibly get any closer to my face without touching it.


    "It''s only fun if you want me." His arm is resting on the wall right next to my head, preventing him from tipping over. I realize he squatted down right next to me; if he wanted to he could crush me between the wall and his weight any time and there is nothing I could do to prevent it.


    "Are you trying to get on my nerves till I falter and jump at you, all heated and impatient?"


    "Maybe? Or maybe I just want you to enjoy normal, self-exploring banter once in a while."


    "I''m not drunk enough for this."


    "See, that''s the problem. You shouldn''t even consider being drunk for this."


    "Yeah, I got the memo the first time, no need to repeat it." I huff, and maybe I sound a little more defensive than I plan to. Who does he even think he is? A suspicion crawls up my spine, one I can''t ignore.


    He has spent an awful long time in the vault, exposed to all sorts of artifacts. Maybe it''s not him talking, maybe it''s their influence. Mrs. Lane is up on the second floor and still under the influence if nothing has changed since I left the living room. There is no way I could ignore this possibility.


    "Tell me, truly, why are you here?" I''ve asked him before and I let him get away with his avoiding answer, but he gives me reason for concern. My well-being could be threatened. Right now. Right here.


    "Didn''t I tell you my secrets are mine to keep?"


    "And I tell you that I don''t trust your reasoning right now. There is nothing that guarantees my safety. Hells, if you tip over I''m mush."


    "That''s a little overdramatic, no? I have perfect balance, Sunshine. But," I feel like he is trying to look in my soul, trying to expose everything I keep bottled up, but then he finally gets up. I take a deep breath, not realizing how my breathing has become tense and flat due to the closeness I just had to endure.


    "if you really need to know: The Lanes store a cypher and that''s what I''m here for." I raise an eyebrow but lower it the second I feel a pinch in my head. The ointment is helping to slowly but surely push other emotions back, but the headache persists.


    "Is it still functional?"


    "Very much so. Neat little artifact, messed with the lady quite a bit."


    "Is it messing with you right now?" I look up at him, my vision is still impaired but it stopped deteriorating. If anything, the darkness started to fade. I still try not to move much and I especially try to keep my eye movements slow and steady.


    "If you''re asking me if my behavior just now is determined by the artifact, then no." This answer should put me at ease, but it doesn''t.


    "But in other aspects yes?"


    "Maybe." He shrugs, with not a care in the world. Of course, he is used to dealing with artifacts, but cyphers are rare for a reason. The arch destroyed most of them upon finding them. They are deemed too dangerous, too unpredictable. Once granted entry to a human mind, they can rewrite feelings, emotions, perceptions, and if no one deals with the mess right away they can technically reprogram the whole personality.


    What happens if a cypher is interrupted in the middle of the rewriting process? Could this mean Mrs. Lane will never find back to her old self? Is she stuck in a state between two versions of herself? I lower my gaze as I get lost in thought.


    Artifacts often want to be in circulation. They aren''t sentient beings, but they have a purpose and the desire to fulfill that purpose. The longer artifacts aren''t used, the less stable they become. It''s like an energy source that has to be used or else it overloads. Maybe that''s what happened.


    Mrs. Lane and Constantin were down here, near the vault. The artifact, unstable for a while, overloaded and caught Constantin in its radius despite being locked up behind reinforced walls and a heavy, magic-infused vault door. Constantin tried to get into the vault, but Mrs. Lane managed to get through to him.


    She led him up into the entry hall, all the while the artifact was rewriting his emotions. Is this also where the guilt stems from? Guilt not towards Mrs. Lane but a direct response to the signal sent by the artifact? It wanted out of this vault, it wanted to be back in circulation; back in use. It wanted to fulfill its purpose. Constantin just happened to be the one it could reach out to.


    He felt guilty about leaving it behind, so he stormed back to the vault trying to get to the artifact and then the overload of the artifact likely led to the explosion. He didn''t explode, he was caught in it. The cypher rewrote too much too fast. The weave surrounding Constantin couldn''t carry it anymore and combusted, leading to an outwards explosion to prevent the weave from being damaged.


    I close my eyes again. This doesn''t help. It makes sense, but it is worse than I expected.


    "Figured it out?" He must have watched me, how my eyes followed the path the victim likely took.


    "Maybe. Not that it matters what exactly happened anyway, that''s not my job. But the very fact that the cypher is still around rubs me the wrong way."


    "It''s silent. At least now. It was a little annoying to deal with it at first, but I believe it understands that it''s technically on its way out."


    "I hope so. Where will it go?"


    "Overseas."


    "Good. Good¡­" I needed at least one piece of good news today, this may serve as such. If it''s out of the vault it at least is out of the vault in another city once the fog has set.


    "There''s also a dreamweaver and at least five whisperstones, and a bunch of weaker artifacts."


    "Well, that''s just great." It can''t get any better than that, can it now? Luckily, artifacts don''t mix well. But their influence can make any situation chaotic.


    "I know, right? It''s exciting."


    "It''s not. How can you be so good-humored?"


    "Sunshine, I deal with artifacts daily. If you know how to handle them they aren''t that dangerous. Look at your little sphere-helper."


    "That''s different. The scanner is altered by the arch."


    "It''s still an artifact. A well-behaving one, but you know that thing could scan you down to the bones, exposing all your deepest thoughts and feelings. You''re just used to handling it."


    I sigh, he has a point. Not all artifacts are stored away or destroyed. Some of them have their use and do their work just fine. I''ve got so used to the sphere that I don''t even hesitate to use it ¨C I even fail to consider it an artifact despite knowing better. It''s an extremely useful tool, one I would use more often if it wasn''t for its weight. Then again, I am trained to handle certain artifacts.


    Some artifacts are used by the arch to invent new, useful things. Take the communicators, for example. Whisperstones are a huge part of their development. But I don''t know how I feel about raw whisperstones just lying around. They could catch and store any conversation at any given time. And who knows who''ll hear them in the future.


    "You''re planning on taking the whisperstones with you?" I have to ask, we''re probably too close to them, they could have recorded every word exchanged.


    "No, but don''t trouble that pretty head of yours. I''ll reset them before I leave."


    "How even?"


    "That I will keep to myself. I told you enough already."


    "Fair enough. I''ll go back upstairs." With that said I try to get up. Sitting calmly with my head resting against the wall helped with my headache. But now that I move I feel the pressure return, the sting that hits me from both sides of my head, and I can''t help but groan a little, ready to slump back down.


    But I don''t. Instead, I see the Shadow shift in the corner of my eyes, for once I catch his silent movement that brings him closer to me. I feel his hand on my upper arm, pulling me back up on my feet. It seems so casual, like a reflex, a habit, but I feel how he gives in to my own strength. He''s not forcing me to get up, he is assisting me. He isn''t pulling me up without a second thought, no, he pauses the moment I falter, lets me gather my strength, waits for me before assisting me further.


    He is extremely cautious to not overwhelm me with sudden movement. He is considerate in a way I am not used to. Thayer has a habit of just pushing and pulling me around, throwing me against walls and other surfaces, and if I can''t move anymore he''ll just reposition me wherever, like the object I am in his eyes.


    I¡­ prefer being tossed around, to be fair. I''m used to it, I''m used to being handled with aggression and anger. But I don''t know how to deal with whatever this is. I like control, I am in control right now ¨C if I just decided to slump back down, the Shadow would follow my decision, making sure I don''t hit my head on the wall on my way back down ¨C and yet I don''t know how to deal with this kind of control.


    What takes just a few seconds feels like a never-ending moment; but finally, I stand, pressing my forehead against the palm of my hand in hopes it helps to get the headache under control. "Thanks¡­" I mumble under my breath, but the moment I lower my hand and look up, he''s gone. Once again, just like that.

 Chapter 8: The Aftermath

    "I''m not having this conversation, Eon. It''s a matter of minutes now till we get the signal, and as soon as we do, you leave and get back to the station."


    "I can still finish my job, Thomas."


    "I know you can, and I know you would, but did you see yourself? The doctor is right; you need cleansing as soon as possible and a good rest. I called the station to send another cleaner over as soon as the fog has passed."


    I sigh. It''s useless, I can''t argue with him. Not like this anyway. Getting back up here felt like a journey to the Ashen mountains, I''m not really in a state for clear thoughts and rational reasoning. So¡­


    "Fine."


    "Thank you." I hear him sigh in relief. He cares too much about my well-being, but I guess someone has to in this city. It''s not like Thayer cares, or anyone else around me.


    Well¡­ Maybe some do. But I have a hard time believing it has anything to do with me as an individual. The Shadow cares because I''m someone who doesn''t attract any problems to his missions, but I''m sure there are others like me. It''s just easier to have me around than to go through the whole process of meeting someone again. And Doc cares because it''s his job. He had left with Mrs. Lane in the blink of an eye despite the approaching fog. He had just weaseled his way through the sewer systems.


    Not that the fog can''t reach them, but the deeper the tunnels, the safer they are. There''s a reason the easily accessible sewer tunnels are filled with homeless people. It''s the only place that keeps them relatively safe. They still suffer, they still have health issues due to the fog, but at least they live.


    I close my eyes, listening to the ticking of the oversized clock, till it vanishes into the background of my head in its ever-so-steady rhythm. I refused to sit down, so I''m standing here, with my back leaning against one of the marble pillars, waiting for the sound of the horn.


    I lose track of time, I can''t really hear anything, my ears are filled with the hissing sound of the sea. There''s no sea around here, but my head feels like it''s trapped in a vacuum, canceling out any other noise, or maybe it gets mixed into the pile. Who knows.


    Finally, a sound arises. It takes a moment for me to catch it, to actively understand what it means, but then my head catches up. The fog horn. Signaling that the streets are safe once more.


    "Doc, Mrs. Blair?" I open my eyes and push myself away from the pillar, to nod toward the two of them. "Thank you for your time. I''ll be on my way back to the station."


    "Don''t mention it, Mr. Cleaner." Mrs. Blair''s voice is soft, accompanied by a warm smile. "Get well soon." She adds, then her focus goes right back to Mrs. Lane who hasn''t moved once. Is she going to be alright?


    "If you don''t mind, could you have someone call us once you get to the station?" I have to strain my ears to hear the ever-so-calm and quiet voice of the doctor.


    "I guess I can''t really say no, can I?"


    "No."


    "Tz," I would chuckle in self-irony if I had the energy to do so, "I will."


    I would want to know if people in need of medical attendance get to their destination safely. So I can''t blame him for his request. They probably will be stuck here for a little longer. Thomas had called the station for a cleaner to take over what is left of Constantin and the crime scene, as well as the clinic, requesting help for Mrs. Lane''s transportation.


    The doc still wants to move her as fast as possible, but what little strength she had left to walk up here has long since gone. While her eyes are open, her body is limp and therefore hard to move. And I would know; I move bodies for a living. There''s no chance Mrs. Blair and the doc would get her to the clinic any time soon.


    Even if they have to wait another two hours for transportation to arrive, they''ll be at the clinic faster than trying to carry her through half of the city. But I hope it won''t take hours for help to arrive. As well as I hope that my relief will arrive soon and work fast so Thomas can get back home soon. Of all people, he probably deserves it the most.


    Thinking of it; I turn to him as he walks up to me, "I''ll file the report for today."


    Now I can''t help but chuckle slightly, he hasn''t written a report in ages. "You still remember how to write a report?"


    "Ah, there are things that stick to your brain till death. And you did fill out the form of your process, I just have to add everything else."


    I look at him with gratitude in my eyes, even though I feel my eyes squint due to the headache. It got better, a little, but it is still very much present.


    "Thank you. I''ll be on my way then. Get home safe, Thomas. I mean it."


    "Same to you." He sends his warm smile my way. It is reassuring, and it helps to know that he has a wife and a little girl waiting at home, waiting for him.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Here''s the thing with people who have nothing to lose but their lives; They are reckless. I am reckless. The doctor is reckless, kind of. But people like Thomas have a reason to get home safely, to make sure they get back to their family. They have someone waiting for them, they have a little future growing in their midst, a future that depends on them.


    I turn and head downstairs. I was a little future once, cherished by two people, trying their hardest to raise me right. Well¡­ As right as possible in a world like this.


    I kneel next to my toolbox, stuffing the black gloves into the little bag holding all the other used gloves so far. One day my dad left and never came back. I don''t remember him, I was still so very young.


    I grab the bag and the spare set of clothes and make my way to the first-floor bathroom to get changed. My mom tried her best, took a second job to keep us afloat. We were lucky. It took years until they finally processed my dad''s death properly. It''s not like someone cares for the lower classes, if they die they die. That''s that. But my dad wasn''t a nobody to the city, he was an archist.


    I stuff my clothes into the bag as well, even the shoes I was wearing up till now, and slip into a new pair. By the amount of people dying yearly, filing all the important deaths takes ages. Inheritance, funds, investments ¨C everything is on hold until the city has worked through the deceased''s file. Of course, the wealthy don''t have to bother. They just pay and have their death reports within days. But we weren''t wealthy. We were okay. We had enough to not worry.


    For the last time today, I return to my toolbox-suitcase and store the bag inside, then I close the top compartment and lock it. My replacement hopefully has the code, if not they''re not preparing well enough for their assignments. I look at Constantin, then my eyes wander to the vault door. I contemplate saying something, but instead, I get up and finally head out.


    The air reeks awful like it always does after the fog. The awful smell of rotten eggs with a sour undertone. It''s not toxic in this state, but it sure knows to worsen my headache. I get moving.


    I applied to the arch, I thought it was my best chance with my dad being a former archist. A name can bring you far in this city. They rejected me. Two days later, my mother received all the money my father had left for us before he died. It came 10 years too late, but still, it was right on time. It lifted us right back into the middle class, if such a thing even exists, and my second application went through.


    I started my education as a mortuary assistant. Then my mom died. I''ll never forget the day they told me to swap my shift with someone else. No one wanted to tell me why, so I didn''t. It''s not like the arch tried to shelter me, not at all. They''ll assign the worst-looking bodies to new students at the very start of their education and only if they can stomach them and push through the arch deems them worth their time and resources.


    But there are rules in place; the same rules that ask lawyers to not work for their families, or officers not to deal with the crimes of relatives. But no one will really stop anyone from breaking these rules. So when they asked me to swap my shift and I refused, they shrugged it off and let me walk in on my mother''s dead body.


    She looked so¡­ troubled. I may not remember my father, but I remember her. I took care of her as my job and as her son. After that, it was just me. No one to return home to, no one waiting for me. No family, not even a friend, let alone a partner. So I drowned in work. With her death, I lost the apartment. I knew it would take more than another 10 years for her death to be properly processed and filed by the city.


    I slept in the small break room at work, and barely left my workspace when I was awake. Another year later the arch invited me to join the training program. And I did. I knew I had to get out of there, get a change of scenery. I was drained, numb. Every person on my table was just another body, another job, I fell out of touch with humanity. I needed to leave.


    Not that my job now is that much better; most of the time I work alone, hidden in the shadows, unseen. But on the other side, it puts me in contact with people. There is no workspace I can lock myself up in, there are people at the station I need to talk to. And then there is Thomas who''ll invite me for lunch whenever our schedules align. And there are nights like today, filled with encounters I can''t avoid.


    I hate it, but at the same time, I know it is important. I need it. No matter how much I struggle with socializing, no matter how much I sometimes wish everyone would just leave me alone ¨C deep down I know that my survival depends on other people.


    I stop in my tracks and turn my head, looking into this small, dark alley Thomas and I had passed on our way to the Lane mansion. In the flickering light of one of the street lamps, I see her. Curled up in a fetal position. Her clothes are tinted black by the fog. It looks like she tried to cover as much of her body with her clothes. But there was too little fabric for too much body.


    "Come morning she may be dead," I mumble under my breath. How painfully right I was, although for a whole other reason. Black, oozy blisters cover her exposed skin, her hair has curled up as if it was exposed to searing heat. If she was lucky she suffocated before the pain ate her alive.


    I lower my gaze; I feel overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness and guilt. And this time I know where it stems from. It''s my guilt. Maybe accelerated by the guilt I cut from the weave, but it''s still mine.


    This is the reason why I had to get out of my previous job. This is why I had to stop isolating myself. Had she been brought in 4 years ago, I would have felt nothing. Numbed by the decay and despair, devoid of any emotion, I had just cut her open. She''d been just another body on my table.


    "Fucking rats littering this district now." I hear a voice just down the street and raise my eyes to look at the body collectors. They''re out and about whenever the fog passes, at least in the rich districts. Someone has to keep the streets clean. Though nothing in this city is really clean; not the people, not the buildings, not the streets. Figure of speech.


    "Ay, wonder how they even got here."


    "Not enough people breaking their legs! Fucking watchers should just shoot them if they get too close, no questions asked."


    I get going and pass them silently. I''m too well dressed for them to address me, to even look at me. They may clean this district and talk like they are above those they collect, but any of these bodies could be them given another time on another day.


    The carriage they pull along counts numerous bodies, thrown on top of each other without any respect for the dead. They are collecting the dead like they are collecting trash bags on a Monday morning.


    "The way you smell they would shoot you next!"


    "Little fucker!"


    They both break out in laughter as I turn a corner. Soon, they are just background noise, and even further down the street, their voices are swallowed completely by the distance between us. Such a sad morning for so many people, yet our lives continue as if nothing has happened.

 Chapter 9: A Place that became Home

    "You look awful, Mr. Moor!"


    I squint my eyes the moment I hear Miss Amber''s squeaky voice. It''s the last thing I need right now.


    "Tell me about it." How can a single human being be so energetically awake at¡­? My eyes twitch up to the small clock above her counter ¨C Half past three in the morning? Or is this still considered night? I have a hard time telling, working during the night most of my days.


    She smiles at me widely as I walk up to her reception booth, throwing a glance behind her just to see if anyone else is awake, working their lives away in the secretariat. There''s Dorothy, but she seems to have nodded off at her desk. Not even Miss Amber''s energy could wake her up at this ungodly hour.


    "Mr. Ashworth reported you in, would you like to make a call?"


    "Yes please." She tries to keep quiet, but at this point, I just believe it''s not possible with a voice like hers. It''s not so bad on most days, I got used to it, but at the moment I experience some kind of sensory overload.


    I watch her dial the number she had noted down, then she hands me the headset and the speaker. Usually, it''s fiddly, but this communicator has been designed to be easily accessible from my side of the booth, while only the desk clerk can handle the rotary dial.


    I press one of the earmuffs at my ear, holding the speaker close to my mouth, just waiting for someone at the Lane mansion to pick up. It takes a moment, but after a while, Thomas answers.


    "Ashworth at Lanes?"


    "Thomas, it''s me. I made it to the station."


    "Good, thank you for the call. Miss Morell arrived five minutes ago and attended to the crime scene. Or what''s left of it."


    "And the transporters?"


    "They''ll be here soon."


    "Okay, I''ll leave you to it."


    "Get some rest, Eon. I''ll see you around next week."


    "You too." With that, the call ends, and all that remains is static noise. I hand Miss Amber the speaker and headset back.


    "Mr. Ashworth has already instructed us to get the cleansing prepared for you. It''s in room two."


    I only nod and turn away from her, just to remember the report. I turn my head, merely enough to look back at her.


    "Mr. Ashworth will file the report."


    "Alright." She smiles again, and I turn for good. This place, it somehow feels like home. The dark wood, the low ceiling, the overall layout ¨C it feels comforting, today more than ever. Gone are the big, empty hallways, the high ceilings, the opulent furniture, and the overly ornate decorations. Here I feel safe, at ease. The moment I entered through the heavy door I could feel how my displacement anxiety faded. It''s not gone, it will take time till I feel normal again, but it''s a good start. It goes to show that sometimes a change in environment is all it needs to get better.


    I walk past the reception booth and head downstairs. One could think I had enough basements for the rest of the month, but it doesn''t really feel like one. Sure, there are no windows, but it''s not like there''s enough room for windows anyway.


    Coming down the stairs, to the right is the door leading to the archives. Straight ahead are the toilets, the door to its left leads to the showers. Turning to the left is a corridor with 3 doors on each side and at the very end stands an old grandfather clock. Nothing special, but accurate, with a potted plant right next to it. Pictures are hanging on the dark wooden wall panels depicting landscapes and sceneries.


    Most of them are faded but well taken care of. They are old, very old. They are probably the most valuable thing someone could steal at the station and it''s still not worth it. The light is warm, giving me a sense of security. Nothing here is arbitrary. Everything is handpicked and designed to ease the mind; Warm colors, order, and small things meticulously placed to convey a sense for nature and time. And probably a hint of magic, unseen but comforting.


    I turn into the corridor and enter the first door on the left. The interior is consistent in all of these rooms. Warm colors, wooden walls, pictures here and there. A worn-down carpet leads me into the room and I walk over to one of the lockboxes to lock up all my personal belongings, then I grab one of the old but warm bathrobes.


    The fabric is thin and a few holes have been stitched up carefully. We''re well-equipped but the station doesn''t have the funds to buy new things over and over again. Most things have to be well cared for to ensure they last as long as possible. Our tools are provided to the station directly by the arch, as are clothes for our work. But everything else isn''t as important.


    Money is everything, and the arch can''t provide every station with the newest, softest clothes, or the fuzziest carpets. And second me, it''s better like that. I''ve seen enough sterile environments for a day, I crave normalcy and practicality. Everything looks used and that''s how it should be, it gives these everyday items a soul, character even.


    I strip out of my clothes and slip into the bathrobe, then I enter the sauna. Well, we refer to it as a sauna, which makes it easier, but technically it''s a cleansing chamber. The air is heavy with the scent of different herbs. The steam, although warm, isn''t warm enough to make me sweat.


    I pull on the small chain that hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room to turn on the light. It takes a moment, then this small room fills up with orange dancing lights and I slump down onto the bench. I don''t really know what the station uses, it''s a bunch of medical herbs, light therapy, and some magical hocus-pocus. But it helps immensely.


    With every deep breath I take I feel it. It enters my lungs, then spreads to my head which feels lighter and lighter. It''s one of the only processes where I perceive light-headiness as pleasant. It''s different from the effect alcohol or tiredness has, it feels more controlled. Exhaustion, alcohol, and other substances make it hard to think, hard to focus, but with cleansing, it''s the opposite.


    What felt so hard just a few minutes ago is easier now. I can feel it push and pull on the emotions that don''t belong to me, slowly casting and luring them out. The light gets dimmer by the minute as the crystal emanating it starts to fill up with all the baggage I carried with me so far.


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    I had cleansings before, but I don''t remember the light ever becoming so dull in the past. But maybe that''s just my perception. It is very steamy after all. My headache fades, slowly but surely, leaving behind only the exhaustion. I know once I step out of the chamber a slight headache will return. Simply because my eyes are strained and perceive light as the personification of evil right now, solely based on my exhaustion.


    I sit for a good 20 minutes with an empty mind, just to make absolutely sure the crystal has captured all of the residue. Another two deep breaths and I get up. I feel better, way better. Not that it''s an instant cure for everything, but it took away the biggest burden. It took the thing away that hindered me in working through the other stuff.


    This day¡­ night¡­ It has been a lot. Thoughts have been planted in my head, some feelings got triggered due to my inability to process them fast enough because of the emotional residue. The Shadow and his antics linger in my mind, his smug face, his nonchalance ¨C but overall his words stick. I don''t want to think about it, but I can''t help it either.


    I know he''s right. While I believe that he''s nothing but talking big, I wonder¡­ What''s it like to have control in a relationship? What''s it like to not be a plaything, but a person with feelings and emotions? What would my life be like if Thayer would just care enough to give me some autonomy? Why are we trapped in such agreements, and why are we forced to agree in the first place?


    Have all the good people gone? It''s not like I don''t have options. I don''t think Mrs. Lane will come around to reestablish her former offer, but there are other wealthy ladies in need of a young man they can spoil. All it takes is to sleep with them. I shudder. I know some men are struggling with the opposite gender, or women who struggle with the same gender, and yet they still sell themselves out to a rich woman.


    They lay with a person they don''t find attractive, fulfilling a deed they find no pleasure in. Maybe they even feel disgusted, turned down, but yet the gifts and money are worth it. Just as men and women are selling themselves away to powerful men despite their contradicting attractions. They simply have no other choice.


    We can''t choose who or what we are attracted to, and it''s not like we''re ever blamed for our attractions. That''s a thing of the long-lost past. I guess, when survival becomes a priority, no one has time to discuss gender and gender roles. We don''t have time for that, and as long as the childbirth rates are stable no one cares.


    So, could I sign myself off to a woman? No. Thayer has a habit of putting me through hell and back, but it''s not the act with a man that''s the issue ¨C and I have to be real about this; he is too attractive compared to his personality ¨C it''s the way he handles me. Maybe a lady would be more gentle, but how would I even perform? Next thing I know she throws me out in a cardboard box with ''free'' written all over it, like an unwanted animal.


    I have immense respect for people who can be the property of someone not aligning with their sexual attraction. It''s rare to find someone who wants simple company and good conversations. Not that these kinds of wealthy or powerful individuals don''t exist, but they are very, very rare. Being a property means fulfilling a duty, and mostly that duty includes sex. The way they want, not the way we want.


    I shake my head and push open the door. I need a good night''s rest or else these thoughts will consume me. I swear under my breath. What did this fucking thief do to me and my head? It''s not like Thayer would ever hand me over to someone else. And there is not a single person in this godforsaken city who would still want me once the Bear makes his possession known. They would retract all their offers at once and I would never receive another one.


    This whole system is rigged in his favor. He holds control. He reigns. Even those opposing him can''t deny it. The day he dies or steps down will be a dark day for this city, darker than the fog. He''s a mobster, the king of exploitation, money laundry, weapon and drug dealing, but he also ensures that a lot of people survive. He keeps the gangs busy and the wealthy safe as a result.


    Fucking madman. If he goes down, I''ll be going down as well. Not just because his protection would cease to exist but because crime would spike in an instant. My job would become significantly more dangerous. And who''s going to protect me then? Stupid shadows? I doubt it.


    I change back into my clothes, hang the robe back on its hanger, and gather my belongings. Well, at least I''m cursing and cussing again, I kind of missed it. If Thomas'' creative outlet for his emotions is writing, then mine is swearing. Silently. To myself. But still, it takes creativity, alright?


    Just as I''m about to leave the room I catch Dorothy with her hand raised, knuckles of her fingers out, and a slightly puzzled expression on her round, sleepy face as the door she just was about to knock at went out of reach.


    "Good morning, Dorothy." It''s adorable, watching her as her head tries to process the situation, then she moves her hand in front of her mouth and yawns.


    "Goooo-od morning." Small tears just formed in the corners of her eyes, she must be terribly tired. She isn''t usually working night shifts, so that''s probably why.


    "Just came to collect the cleansing crystal."


    "Of course." I step to the side and follow her with my eyes, as she slowly drags her tired body past me. God, looking at her makes me awfully tired. "Good night, Dorothy."


    "Good night, Mr. Moooooooooo-ooooor." She yawns again, I have to suppress a yawn myself and slip out of the room.


    Nearing the stairs, I can hear Miss Amber talking. I can''t really make out what she''s saying, or maybe I don''t care enough to catch the content of her banter. I brace myself to meet whoever is with her.


    To my surprise, it''s one of our newer members. A cleaner just like myself. I don''t like him much, he is bragging too much about his encounters and the scenes he has cleaned so far.


    "Mr. Moor!" I''m greeted by the deep voice of my disliked co-worker, while I dart my eyes at Miss Amer. I don''t even question her energy anymore at this hour, she''s always here during the night. It''s just her time to be up and awake, working and making conversation. My sleep schedule aligns more with hers than anyone else''s but I sure lack her energy and need for socializing.


    But we can''t all be alike, can we now? "Rookie." I avert my eyes from her to look at Andrew, nodding in a greeting manner. I don''t intend to be pinned down and locked into a conversation just now, so I beeline it to the door.


    "Oi, when will ya''ll stop calling me rookie?" He pouts, and I can''t tell if it''s in a joking or serious way. I''m too exhausted to profile people I barely know.


    "Just another month of training, rookie, and people will start to address you as Mr. Morell." Miss Amber chimes in, her voice as piercing as ever. I pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers, trying to suppress the lingering headache that''s about to resurface.


    He huffs, then shrugs. "Is my sister already out?"


    "Indeed, she had to replace Mr. Moor at today''s crime scene." Oh for fuck''s sake, Miss Mariah Amber, I was just about to get out of here, but now you just redirected the rookie''s focus back to me.


    "Replace?" He turns to look at me, his arms lazily folded on top of the counter of Miss Amber''s booth. He kept his relaxed posture, just turning enough to face me without breaking loose from his initial position.


    "Color me surprised! How come one of the best cleaners needed a replacement?" He''s mocking me, I can tell that much. But what did I expect from someone who tries to paint their jobs as the most difficult and adventurous ones in existence? Funny though, for how much he brags about his encounters, none of them are ever mentioned in his reports.


    "Being trapped for over an hour with unfamiliar emotions while the black fog was roaming through the streets." My voice is dry, quiet, I don''t have the energy to deal with this right now.


    "Weak." He snorts.


    "Whatever." I don''t care. I know the value of my skills, I don''t need to compete with him. Miss Morell will do so on my behalf later. Nothing takes away her fun of readjusting her brother''s head once in a while. The only downside of my situation is that I won''t be around to witness it.


    Miss Amber is fast to catch on to the situation, as she places her slender fingers on Andrew''s arm. She sends an intrigued smile his way, "so, rookie, sounds like you had another eventful clean-up?" She raises her thin eyebrows, almost in a flirtatious manner, and of course our rookie can''t help but jump in action.


    "Oh, you can''t even imagine, Miss Amber."


    "Tell me everything." Yeah, no, I can''t just ignore her high-pitched voice no matter how softly she tries to speak. But Mr. Andrew Morell ¨C Rookie of the station and winner of the ladies'' hearts ¨C doesn''t care.


    I notice Miss Amber glancing at me with a smile, signaling me to get out of here while I can, and with a thankful nod I leave the station. Bless her heart. I would feel sorry, but I know she doesn''t mind one single bit to listen to Andrew''s intricate stories for the next hour or two.

 Chapter 10: A precious Gift

    With a groan, I open the door to my small apartment. The four flights of stairs to even get to my door drained the rest of my energy completely. I am so ready for my bed right now. But the moment I enter I have an unsettling feeling. I turn on the lights before I can properly think about it.


    I tilt my head a little to the side, point my nose a little up, and take a deep breath. It smells of dried and burnt herbs, and a hint of something flowery. I don''t really know what different flowers smell like, but it does smell like some kind of flower.


    I''m so used to bad smells, the stench of death and decay that I don''t really smell it anymore as long as it''s not overwhelming. But it''s different with pleasant smells ¨C or the smell of alcohol. There is just something sour about it that tickles my nose.


    But the scent I am confronted with isn''t alcohol. It''s¡­ I don''t really know. As silent as possible I close my door, leaving it unlocked in case I need to run from whatever might be hiding in my apartment. I remember I just unlocked it to enter, so whoever got inside didn''t use the door. Or had a key. Both options are equally unsettling.


    I walk down the corridor leading me away from the front door and the hall tree, praying that the old wooden floor won''t give away my position. My first stop is the kitchen to the left, connected to the corridor with a rather wide, old, wooden arch. It''s a very small kitchen containing only the most necessary things.


    There''s an old cabinet on the right wall, next to it a kitchen counter and the sink. Ahead is a small window, the black, heavy curtains are drawn. I always make sure to leave my house secured. There''s no way of knowing how long I''ll be gone and if the black fog hits in my absence. It''s not like I would be in danger, but the fog could linger in an enclosed space. Also, cleaning up after the fog is a pain in the ass. I know that once I open these curtains, I''ll have to scrub my windows clean of the black tar.


    To my left is a small light switch I flick on, and the lamp hanging in the middle of the kitchen turns on. It gives light to the small table under the window, barely big enough to fit two chairs. However, whoever sits on the left one needs to squeeze between the wall and the table. It is a very narrow room, but it''s big enough for me. It''s not like I have visitors over.


    A few shelves and a cabinet hang on the left wall and in a little nook sits the stove. The kitchen is so narrow that I only have to turn on my heels to switch from the counter to the stove, and I like it that way. I feel safe in a small space with little possibility to hide.


    I don''t need to enter the kitchen to know that no one''s here. It''s as empty as can be. So I turn around, facing back into the corridor, and flick on the light of the bathroom before I open the door slowly. This room is even smaller, there is nothing more but a toilet, a sink and a mirror, and a shower. I didn''t even have enough space for a proper cabinet. There is only a shelf above the toilet for some spare paper rolls. The rest of the bathroom items are stored in a dresser out in the corridor.


    I leave the door open and move further down the corridor, turning to the left to open the door to the living room rather slowly. This door has a bad habit of squeaking that persists no matter how often I oil the hinges. I stopped caring, but right now I hate this door. I slip my hand in to turn on the light and only then do I open the door fully.


    There''s no one here either. Just my very old but comfy sofa, the coffee table, and an old music box in the back of this small room, and a small dining table and a couple of chairs right next to the door, with too many bookshelves covering the walls wherever there isn''t a window. Oh, and my cactus, sitting right on top of the dining table.


    This leaves only two options: Either someone''s in my room, or gone already. At this point, I hope whoever was here is gone. And stays gone. With an open window, I could just simply assume that the smell comes from outside, but if the curtains keep away the fog, they sure as hell keep away random scents.


    I hesitate to open the door to my bedroom. What do I do if there''s really someone inside? Just bolt it? Abandon my home for another three or four hours? It''s not like the watchers would help someone like me, and the last thing I want to do today is return to Thayer. He would take care of it, but at what cost?


    No. I would need to head back to the station and wait for Thomas, maybe collect one or two others from the station to come back here and assess the damage and secure my home. Maybe even confront the intruder if he doesn''t leave during my absence. Though I doubt anyone would stick around.


    I take a deep breath, push down the door handle, and give the door a push. It swings open and immediately sends a cold shiver down my spine. The light''s turned on. But that''s it. My bedroom is as empty as can be. Did I forget to turn off the lights? No, it can''t be. Someone was here.


    And it becomes evident the moment I let my eyes wander. Nothing is out of place, no one has gone through my room searching for valuables, but there''s a single blue flower in a very simple but elegant small glass vase, with an envelope leaned against it.


    I''m frozen in place. Did Thayer arrange for this? Why should he, out of the blue? He never was the type and I can''t recall saying anything. Then again, I was wasted for good, high on whatever we smoked and absolutely clouded by whatever incense he burnt in his stupid bedroom. Who knows what I may have said? Not me, apparently.


    For fuck''s sake, Eon. That''s one way to get yourself killed; by a surprise heart attack or whatever. The tension fades from my shoulder, my whole body slumps. I didn''t even realize how alert I''ve been up till now. I turn on my heels to head back to the front door, turning off all the lights on my way. I get out of my shoes, hang my suit jacket on one of the hangers, and finally, I lock the door.


    Great, now I''m on edge again. There is no imminent danger but I''m stuck with the knowledge that someone had gained access to my apartment somehow. The black curtains are all in place, the windows seem to be locked, the door was locked¡­ How? Why today? Couldn''t they break in on any other day? It can never be easy, can it now?


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    I hate this. I hate everything about this day. I just want it to be over, but the most infuriating thing is that the day only just started. Even if I find sleep it''s still going to be the same day once I wake up. I hear myself swearing and cussing under my breath, almost inaudible. But despite everything, I''m too exhausted to really be upset about it. I can talk my thoughts into rage, but my outside is just worn down.


    There are two sides at the moment, me who wants to swear and cuss and damn this whole city, and me who is tired of the other me and just wants to sleep.


    I return to my room, hesitant still. There''s nothing here, Eon. You''re fine. You got a delivery, nothing was stolen. No mess was made. Whoever it was, they had good intentions. Calm down. Calm down.


    I sit down on my bed and eye the envelope for a moment. I should read it. I don''t know if I want to read it. I take it between my fingers, give it a glance-over, then drop it next to me and get up again. I may be exhausted, but not enough to sleep in my clothes, so I undress down to my underwear. The suit gets neatly folded and placed on the small dresser, I''ll need to return it to the station later. I turn on the bedside lamp and turn off the main light in return, then I finally get into my bed.


    There it is. This envelop. Mocking me and my curiosity. I want to ignore it, but I can''t. I need to know. So I open it, and I am met with very sophisticated handwriting. This is not Thayer as made clear by the first three words¡­ I tense up again.


    "Good morning, Sunshine."


    Yeah, no. I''m not doing this. I stuff the letter back into the envelope and throw it on my bedside table, turning off the light for good. Who does this goddamn thief think he is? Well, at least I don''t have to wonder anymore how he gained entry. Not that I would know how exactly, but I know he can get into high-security vaults. So what even is my old wooden door if not a cakewalk?


    I try to sleep, but Father sleep avoids me despite my exhaustion. There''s too much in my head, too many thoughts, unexplainably loud. I''ve had many nights like this, lying awake, tossing and turning, trying to shush my mind. It was bad when I still was a child.


    My mom once told me that ever since my father didn''t return from work, I was plagued by my imagination. I don''t remember when it started, but I remember how it''s been part of my life for a long time. It became better with the years, vanished with the numbness of my previous job, but has slowly returned over the past few years.


    I don''t know if it''s a good sign, a sign that my mind is processing, trying to juggle my emotions and experiences, but it doesn''t feel like a good thing. It feels awful, terrifying even. As a child I would lay awake, imagining how I''d lose my mother. I saw her die so many times, cried so many tears of loss. And sometimes I was paralyzed. I knew I would get up in the morning and everything would be fine, but the fear didn''t care.


    This fear showed me the most gruesome ways to lose her. From sickness to burning, even slaughter. I imagined how I''d get up in the morning and enter the kitchen just to find her mutilated body, her chopped-off limbs, her abused body, her empty eyes looking at me... with an unsettling smile on her lips. And no matter how many times I woke up in the morning and was met with normalcy, these imaginations only left me after her cold and dead body had found its way onto my autopsy table.


    I never saw her again when met with these night terrors of my vivid mind. And soon, it all stopped. But now I''m about to plumage down yet into another imagination I can neither stop nor control. What if I get back to the station later just to be told that Thomas went MIA? What if one fine day, it becomes my job to attend to his body at a crime scene? What if I''m ever in charge of cleaning a scene of a victim I care about?


    But these thoughts don''t stop there, no, no¡­ They never do. They have to plague me with the most disturbing sights I can imagine. What if it''s not just Thomas but his wife and kid as well? What if¡­


    I sit up, my throat dry, my eyes watery. I don''t want these thoughts, these images, so real that the only thing that keeps me from believing them is my sanity, my common sense. I turn on the light and with a sigh I take the envelope.


    Maybe it will take my mind off these thoughts. Maybe it will give me something else to focus on. So I read.


    "Good morning, Sunshine.


    I''m not going to tell you to not be alert by my break and entry, I know you are.


    So here''s a little something to make up for it. I couldn''t help but notice your graceful care when tending to the Lane''s artificial flowers, so here''s one for you. And don''t tell me I misinterpreted your expression. You may be tough to read sometimes, but occasionally, you''re as easy as an open book.


    There''s just something special about a person looking at art and acknowledging it as such. The wealthy have these bouquets made as a status symbol, they don''t look at their blossom in such a soft way. I doubt they even look at their belongings at all. It''s just there to fill the space and uphold their extravagant living style, not something to admire for its beauty.


    Shame, really, but that''s why this flower is yours to keep. And don''t worry about accidentally killing it, it is artificial after all. May go well next to your cactus. And no, I didn''t write this letter on the spot, I know what your apartment looks like. You shouldn''t worry about it, but I know you will.


    Get some rest, Sunshine. You''ll need it. There''s a job coming your way that will take a toll on you for a whole other reason than today. I''ll see you then. Maybe.


    Ps: The flower is called chrysanthemum. I know you know shit about flowers so I felt obligated to let you know."


    It''s funny, I can literally hear the tone of his voice in my head, that smug face, the smirk¡­ The chuckle at the end. Of course, I know nothing about flowers. This whole damn city doesn''t know shit about flowers ¨C and yet I imagine he found it amusing to rub it under my nose.


    My eyes wander; for the first time, I''m looking at this thing properly. I can''t deny its beauty, the delicate petals, the shades of blue that feel calming in a weird way. It''s just a single flower but it is so giving. It paints a picture of better times, when fields were still green, and flowers still had a scent. All we have now are rotten trees, barren land, and weeds that not even fire can kill.


    Not that there aren''t any facilities cultivating flora and fauna, they have to exist to feed the people, but they aren''t for personal possession. The arch holds a lot of seeds locked up in hopes that they can be replanted once our Earth recovers. But I doubt human mankind will still be around by then. But it''s the thought that counts, isn''t it? The belief that it can and eventually will get better. A sliver of hope ¨C not for our generations, but the ones that have yet to be born.


    I put the letter back on my nightstand, it sure took my thoughts off from the previous downward spiral, but now I''m concerned for another reason. He''s been here before. Or he has been watching me. Or maybe not him specifically, but a Shadow did for sure. Who knows how their network runs. And while I get the feeling that he doesn''t like people like Thayer much, I can''t tell if he''s genuine.


    What if this all is just a fa?ade? How can I be sure that he is not secretly somehow connected to Thayer on a level that could lead to my demise? What if I''m being tested? What if Thayer finally sent someone my way in hopes I''ll build enough trust to spill my secrets, my thoughts, my feelings? What if everything I entrust to the Shadow finds its way to the almighty Bear?


    I don''t own much, I don''t have dark secrets, but I lock myself up pretty well. The reason I haven''t lost myself to Thayer yet is because I know who I am, with a healthy sense of self-preservation. But if he learns what my mind looks like I''ll become wax in his hands. Allow him to manipulate me psychologically even more, and I may crumble. I am brutally aware of it.


    I cannot trust. If I do, it might be the end of me.

 Chapter 11: The Face of the City

    Eventually, around midday, Father Sleep visited me that day and I was able to sleep relatively calmly. I took my time to go back to the station to hand in the spare set of clothes and the shoes and since then I haven''t heard from the station. I wasn''t mad about the fact that no one called me in for a whole week. I guess Thomas handled the talking how he always did. I met him 4 days ago ¨C he''s doing fine. That counts for something.


    I haven''t had trouble sleeping, but I did visit the doctor the next day, just to make sure everything was alright and probably to put his mind at ease. I know he worries about everyone; he may not show or even tell but he cares way too much 24/7. So the least I could do was to pay him a visit, get a check-up, assess my emotional state, and get some sleep medication I didn''t use in the end.


    Yesterday we were locked inside again by the black fog, but this time we knew it was coming. After the one last week, the body collectors were busy for two days straight, this time the streets were cleared within hours. It puts things into perspective¡­ The number of deaths due to a sudden approach of the fog versus the number of deaths when the forecast gives us enough time to prepare properly.


    So many lives could be spared if our technology and magic were more advanced. We''re doing alright compared to other cities but sometimes it still feels like it''s not enough. I put the newspaper down and sip on my cup of coffee, looking at the blue blossom on my small kitchen table.


    I thought about throwing it away, but I can''t. It''s far too beautiful and somehow precious. It brings me solace and peace, regardless of who it came from. I couldn¡¯t care less about the Shadow. I appreciate this delicate thing for what it is, not because he gifted it to me. And standing here on the kitchen table with the curtains wide open, it catches the cold afternoon sun, throwing specks of blue lights onto the table and the walls like broken glass shards.


    The petals feel like petals, I think. The flower can bend and the petals can crumple ¨C smaller dents and creases will vanish if taken care of and straightened out, but the plant could still be damaged beyond repair. It''s not as delicate as normal flowers, but it isn''t as robust as its glass-like appearance makes it seem either. I think if something was to hit my cactus it was more likely to just heal and survive than this artificial thing.


    I shake my head to pull myself away from this mesmerizing sight. I have a job to do today, and it was about time. I didn''t mind having a few days off of work but one day more and I had lost it. I can''t sit idle for so long with nothing to do. Recovery and everything is important, I know, but being busy takes my mind off stupid things.


    I make sure all the windows are locked and close the curtains, turn off the lights in every single room, and make sure to lock my apartment door behind me. Days ago I put a note on my bedroom door, with a simple "get the fuck out" written on it. Who knows when this idiot of a thief decides to just walk into my apartment again. I don''t feel too uneasy about it anymore, I had time to get to terms with it.


    For the moment, he means me no harm, and if he enters when I''m gone there isn''t much he can learn about me. Not more than he already knows anyway. Not that I like the thought of having him sneak through my stuff, but it is what it is. I can accept it or stress myself out about it. I decided to accept it. Kind of. I wish he wouldn''t do what he does, but I''m also kind of relieved it''s just him doing what he does and not someone else doing what they do. Pf, you''re a poet, Eon.


    The streets are busy. It''s market day and I made sure to get everything I needed in the morning. This city may only have around 300''000 inhabitants in total but it always feels like half of them are loitering in this district whenever the market hall opens.


    I always wonder: Is this what it felt like back in the days when the city was still true to its name? When it was still housing around two million inhabitants? When long since destroyed and abandoned parts were still intact and operating? On days like this, I feel like I''m close to envisioning how the past may have looked light. It''s probably still far off, but it''s something.


    I try to avoid the busy crowd as good as possible. The market hall only opens once every month and offers almost everything. It used to be a stadium or something, at least that''s what the faded letters on the building allude to. They built a new stadium decades ago, closer to the wealthy district. Because who else would go watch some weird games or horse races?


    So this one here is open to the public once a month. People from all over the city gather at the hall in hopes to sell and buy. And who keeps them safe? The Bear. Praised be the Bear to keep us vulnerable folks safe so we can get our monthly groceries done. It''s not like we can''t get our things at shops, but the market is the one place people will do anything to sell their things. Were the prices any lower shit would be free. And let''s not forget about the many other ways one could pay.


    I was lucky not to run into Thayer this morning, though he can''t do much in an open, public space. But still, I have avoided him for a whole week and I wouldn''t mind another one. Maybe I can set a new record? My body would thank me once in a while.


    I turn a corner and leave the busy street behind me. It would be faster keeping to the main street but it is so packed full with people and their carts that the alleyways are probably the faster route. And even if they aren''t I just feel safer with fewer people around me. Poor, poor Thomas, living right next to the stadium must be hell around this time of the month.


    These alleys are narrow and the deeper they go the dirtier they become. The black fog is a messy enemy, covering every surface in a black tar-like substance. Even when washed off it tints the stone and bricks of the walls.


    The streetcleaners do their best but it is a hard job that has to be done fast, so they skip smaller alleys and deeper-rooted backstreets. They still get eventually cleaned but are by no means a priority.


    There''s just not enough time and streetcleaners to get everything cleaned up before the next fog hits ¨C but if we ignore it, it will make everything so much worse. The toxicity level of this tar is relatively low, but if enough of it accumulates it can still become a health concern and we really don''t need more of these. It can also be sticky. Unless it''s not. I''m no alchemist, I don''t know the properties of the fog tar, its chemical components, and why it sometimes does or does not stick.


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    But I know what a lung looks like after getting in contact with the fog. Or how the airways look of someone who has been exposed to the tar''s fumes for too long. It''s an unsettling sight. The fog causes burns and ugly, oozy blisters, blocking airways when breathed in. And while it''s gruesome the tar is a fascinating thing.


    It''s what makes the fog black, to begin with, and if nothing gets in its way it will keep its mist-like form. But the moment it comes in contact with any surface it latches on and accumulates to a gooey mass. In its initial state it can be breathed in easily but the moment it touches anything it becomes the vilest thing ever. Most people die of asphyxiation long before their lungs are burnt out by the fog.


    Maybe that''s a blessing. I''ve seen people who have died due to the pain they went through ¨C Before their airways were fully blocked, and before the fog could destroy their lungs, they just died due to a heart attack.


    That''s what pain can do to a human being. If we experience too much of it, our body may just shut off and bring it to an end before we perish in the most miserable way. I guess I''d rather suffocate than go through the pain and the experience of burning from the inside. Someone once told me that suffocation ¨C including drowning ¨C is the most beautiful death. As oxygen cuts short the brain releases chemicals that have similar effects to drugs, but the mind, while slipping, is still supposed to be clearer.


    It''s said a suffocating person sees colors they never saw before, colors beyond our wildest imagination, hears sounds no living being ever heard, and experiences absolute weightlessness. Floating in between realms. Maybe they experience the weave, transcend into its fabric, and are able to see and hear everything that ever was, everything that will ever be. Maybe, in the moment of their death, they experience truth. The truth of the universe, existence, life and its meaning. The truth about everything.


    Not that anyone would know. People that occasionally can be brought back from the verge of death don''t remember anything. And maybe that''s for the better for everyone involved.


    I look up at the station''s main door, it''s wide open. Not unusual, but I dread to think how many people I have to meet to get to my assignment. It''s easier when only Miss Amber, Mr. Archer, his mother Dorothy, Thomas, or Mrs. Sinclair are around.


    I brace myself, take a deep breath, and walk up the couple of steps to the door, walking straight in.


    "Good day, Mr. Moor!"


    "Same to you, Mrs. Sinclair." I try my best to smile at the older lady behind the reception booth. She''s a nice lady, but she has a way to get upset when people around her seem upset. And her perception of upset is very varied. My resting-bitch-face can''t keep up with her unspoken demands to keep her happy, but I try my best.


    Just because I don''t smile and radiate positivity and energy the way Miss Amber does, doesn''t mean that I''m upset 24/7. But Mrs. Sinclair is sensitive, and I can''t blame her for that. She''s a sweet lady, occasionally brings cake or pastries. She once told me that she bakes when she gets upset, and sometimes she overdoes it, baking more than her whole family can eat. So she brings it to work.


    Her cakes and pastries are amazing, it''s probably the closest thing we can get to the extravagant stuff with the most expensive ingredients the wealthy get to eat all day long ¨C I used to look forward to the next time she brought something to work, but since I know what it means, her pastries got a sour aftertaste. They make me sad. She''s just trying to survive in this city like everybody else. I just wish she could have the calm, peaceful life she deserves after years and years of slaving away her life behind this counter.


    "Mr. Morell should arrive with Mr. Ashworth in a minute or two."


    I raise an eyebrow. I haven''t been here for a week, and I get the feeling I missed something important. She catches on to my suspicious expression.


    "My, my there, Mr. Moor. Did you forget that Mr. Morell is to be assigned to every cleaner of this station at least once during his training?"


    I sigh, "No, just hoped it wouldn''t be my turn in the foreseeable future."


    "Well, you avoided him for two months! It had to happen eventually." She sends an apologizing smile my way. She''s seen a lot in her life and I get the feeling that she''s just as tired of the rookies'' bragging as I am. The way he exaggerates things and thinks it''s cool is annoying to me, but to Mrs. Sinclair, it can probably feel disrespectful at times.


    He''ll blow things out of proportion because he thinks it makes him look cool, but there are people who have experienced it for real, and it probably wasn''t cool at all. But she looks at him like one would look at a child with a wild imagination. She doesn''t seem to judge him, but she probably can''t wait for him to grow up either. And to think he''s older than I am. Weird world.


    One could think that growing up in a city like this ¨C in a society like this ¨C everyone would be worn out early on in life. Dead inside and just trying to exist with little to no perspectives in life. But the thing is, most people aren''t like me. Loss is omnipresent, true, but most people within the middle class can grow up pretty sheltered.


    Yes, we''re used to death and despair but that doesn''t mean that everyone plumages down into numbness like I did. The Morell siblings had a pretty stable childhood from what I can tell. Their parents had jobs that earned them enough money to send both their children to the arch.


    I mean, I attended the Arch too, but only after growing up in poverty. My mother and I were lucky to have a roof over our heads, solely because the lady owning our apartment had sympathy for a young widow and let her skip on rent many, many times. If it weren''t for that I had grown up on the streets. Considering this it could have been worse, but it could have been a lot better too.


    The middle class is a weird thing. While the society is split into poverty and wealth, there is a silver lining somewhere. Falling below that silver lining pretty much means that there''s no way to ever get back up, not without help. No matter how much someone living on the street is willing to work and slave away their life; they will never make it. They may be able to get a roof over their head but it is hard to keep it. And it''s impossible to save up some money.


    People like the Morell siblings come from a stable family. Their parents had, and probably still have, enough savings to invest in their future to make sure they can get jobs that will enable them to get some savings to repeat the cycle. And maybe some future offspring will make it past that silver lining and join the wealthy.


    I wouldn''t be here without the inheritance of my father. Without him, I''d probably be a body collector. They always hire anyone who can stomach the job, but it''s a thankless job. People drop in and out of it daily ¨C it''s little pay for a lot of heavy lifting and potential trauma.


    Or I''d be a streetcleaner, maybe. It pays a little better but it comes with a huge health risk being in close contact with the remains of the black fog almost weekly ¨C there are masks, yes, but they can''t keep away everything for a prolonged time. So, pick your poison.


    "Lucky me¡­" I sigh yet again, it''s one of these days, "I''ll take my seat and wait then." Mrs. Sinclair nods, and I retreat into the room, sitting down on one of the chairs that aligned along the wall. It''s a waiting room after all. I hope I don''t have to wait too long, we have a schedule to follow after all.

 Chapter 12: An annoying Apprentice

    "The Duke of all people, hm?", I mumble under my breath and shoot a glance at Thomas who, upon arriving at the station with the rookie in tow, gave me the files of today''s crime scene.


    "Didn''t know this city has a duke," I hear Andrew chime in, lazily flipping through his staple of pages. He is expecting me to read everything and just advise him during the job. I don''t really care enough to correct him in his assumption. He''ll learn the hard way.


    "He''s not a Duke," Thomas starts to explain, "his last name is Duke. But he is a very special fellow and adamant to be addressed as Duke. Like a Duke, not Mr. Duke."


    "What if I don''t?" Stupid question.


    "You''ll see," I answer absent-mindedly while still going through the file. "He hasn''t learned a thing since our last job, it seems." I look up at Thomas and he shakes his head, almost as if to apologize on the Duke''s behalf.


    I know I said I''d rather run than take on another dangerous job, such as highly dangerous and carnivorous plants or animal enclosures ¨C but I can''t, can I now? There''s this pride I feel yet again. I can''t possibly pass on a job when I take the rookie with me. With any other rookie maybe, but not with this one. I''d hear about it till the end of my days. And I pretty much don''t want to hear anything from Andrew in general.


    He doesn''t seem to be too happy with my answer, but at least he knows better than to keep me from reading through the file. After all, he still expects me to autopilot him. Rookies are a weird thing at jobs like these. We know how hard our work is and how extremely exhausting every single crime scene can be.


    We''re aware of the toll it could take on us mentally and physically, so most of the cleaners are a little too soft when it comes to rookies. But some take no shit from rookies, it''s the only people Andrew has yet to work with. I guess it''s my turn because I probably won''t go too hard on him compared to the others that are left. I''m the one step he has to make before he gets confronted with the really ugly side of this job.


    I hand the file back to Thomas and grab my trusty suitcase, "Let''s go. This will be yet another awful long job." With that I turn on my heels and so does Thomas, the rookie just follows.


    We don''t get far though, then Andrew voices up.


    "So you have worked at the Duke''s before?"


    "Yes," I answer, but I don''t really want to elaborate. Knowing the rookie, he''ll ask what he''s interested in, and I am proven right.


    "What was the previous job?"


    "Cleaning up a crime scene."


    "Helpful as always¡­" He pouts yet again, and I can tell he is as annoyed as I am.


    "You do have the file, reading up on it might help to answer your question."


    "What''s the point, you have it all memorized, haven''t you? It''s kind of useless if we both focus on planning. One should do the planning, the other the hard work."


    "Mhm¡­" Right. Planning is probably harder than just cleaning, but I bite my tongue and change the topic.


    "Say," Now it''s my turn to ask, "What have you worked with so far?"


    "Do you ever listen when I tell everyone about my work day?"


    "No."


    "That¡­ was unexpected." I hear his boasted but hurt ego drip from his words ¨C we''re officially off to a good start.


    Did I just shut him up? I guess someone so full of themselves doesn''t expect others to just not care. And since I know how much he blows his experiences out of proportion when re-telling them, I don''t care to listen. The little information I could gather from it is more work than it''s worth.


    I''m not a cleaner to deal with lies and deception. That''s the wealthy''s job, not mine. They are all about talking their way into and out of shit, lying to everyone, and being lied to in return. That''s not my maze to navigate, and it shouldn''t be Andrew''s either.


    With my question remaining unanswered, I just shake my head, dismissing the whole thing. It really isn''t worth it.


    ¡°How¡¯s Mrs. Lane doing?¡°, I just switch to something completely else. I don¡¯t care about that either but it is something I can talk about with Thomas, hopefully saving me from socializing with the rookie.


    ¡°Good, I guess. Saw the doctor the other day, she recovered but she¡¯s dealing with some memory loss.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°She can¡¯t remember Constantin or what happened that day.¡± Thomas sounds pretty casual, as our conversations out in the open mostly do. It''s the only way we talk about jobs, the way that makes it seem we''re just talking about our social life, not the jobs we have worked on. Despite the casuality I know he feels sorry for her in a weird way.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for the better. She doesn¡¯t need to lie to her husband, nor does she have to deal with the memories of what happened.¡± I sound just as casual, but while I really think it is better for everyone involved, I can¡¯t deny that I try to give him a positive perspective on her situation.


    "You''re probably right." I see him send a timid smile my way, it''s gone in an instant but it affirms that he needed that little uplifting thought. I''m not really a positive thinker, but I am painfully realistic. And sometimes, reality isn''t that bad.


    Thomas, on the other hand, is rather positive-realistic. He is by no means overly positive about everything, but he tries to see the good things. But sometimes we all struggle to see that side, sometimes we''re unable to let loose of the ever-downward spiraling thoughts. We get stuck on our perspectives ¨C even people like Thomas who try to see the best in everything, even if the best is still bad.


    So the least I can do is try to give him a new perspective. It doesn''t always work, but it did this time. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a wry smile as a response. It''s all I''m willing to muster with Andrew present.


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    Suddenly, silence fell over us. Which is unexpected, to say the least. I didn''t imagine it was possible with Andrew around. I throw a short glance over my shoulder, just to see why he was so silent. He seems to be sightseeing, looking around almost bored, in the hopes of something that can catch his interest be it just for a second.


    I don''t mind one bit. The longer he stays silent, the better. In no time we reach the square, the only place in this district with a proper streetcar station. There are only three lines, and all of them can only be accessed with a pass of transportation. The kind of pass depends on the line, and they are always extremely expensive.


    Mostly it''s the workplaces that issue them for their employees, as the latter can''t afford them. There''s one line going up right into the heart of the district of the rich, and even a normal pass won''t get anyone past the watcher checkpoint. The Lanes were filthy rich, but getting into their district wasn''t a problem.


    But getting to the Duke? That''s a whole other story. We don''t even have to wait a minute for the streetcar to arrive and out comes one of the watchers. He doesn''t greet us, he doesn''t even ask for the papers, because he knows he doesn''t have to.


    Thomas hands him our papers and after a quick but thorough glance, the watcher hands them back and lets us enter the wagon. It''s old, as they stopped making new ones quite a while back. This one is probably around 30 years old, older than I am. They are expensive and the magic needed to run them is insane. I''ve heard in other cities they are powered by electrical wires above, but these are powered through the rails.


    It''s always funny when I feel the temperature rise on longer rides, given I get into the first ride of the day. They could invest in upgrading or reworking them, but why should they waste the money of the rich when the rich themselves have their own transportation system that needs to be run on quality and opulence?


    Now Andrew speaks up again "Damn, I vaguely remember that thing''s first ride," he mutters to himself while taking in the interior. That''s just the right thing to have Thomas chime in. Fine by me.


    "You must have quite the memory, that thing first set of 27 years ago." Ah, I was close in my estimation. Still before my time, so I take it as a win.


    "Oh, my memory is excellent, Mr. Ashworth!" Naturally, he has to boast about it. But to be fair, he does seem to have a good memory, especially considering all the things he makes up; he can re-tell them again and again accurately, without stumbling over his own exaggerations and lies. Credit where credit is due.


    "I was three back then; Nancy was so excited to experience a ride. It was something completely new, otherworldly almost. She convinced our father to apply for one of the maiden voyage tickets. He won the raffle. I never set foot in one again ever since."


    I just listen to their conversation and take a seat. My suitcase is extremely heavy again today, something the rookie doesn''t have to worry about. He has his suitcase with him, but he isn''t allowed yet to carry the important tools, so here I am, carrying them for both of us.


    "You probably once in a while if you make it as a cleaner."


    "You take the streetcar often?"


    "No, not at all, mainly when we work in the upper city. It''s one way to get in without drawing too much attention, something these clients often approve of. So if they organize transportation for us, this is often part of it."


    "So the Duke," Andrew starts but draws out his last word, kind of expecting us to autocomplete what he wants to ask, "paid for this ride." I complete his question with the answer, as dry as ever.


    "Neat."


    "Don''t get used to it." Thomas tries his best to ground the rookie a little bit, but it''s hard with Andrew. He''s probably already assembling the story he will tell the others.


    "Why? One more month and I''m officially a cleaner, I''ll be going places!"


    Thomas looks at me, suppressing a faint chuckle, "Do you want to explain it to him or should I?"


    Oh, oh, that''s one I can''t skip out on. Not because I''m full of myself. I hate bragging, I hate to draw attention. I more often than not wish people would just forget about me and not think about me at all, but right now it''s a little different.


    It''s time to get Andrew down from his high horse, put his feet on the ground firmly. I doubt word will do, but we have to start somewhere.


    "You won''t be dealing with such clients." I have to look at him while confronting him with the truth, somehow I don''t want to miss his reaction. And his reaction is one of confusion.


    "Why not?"


    "Because they are my and your sister''s clients."


    He knits his eyebrows together, as if unable to understand what I''m saying, "Care to elaborate?"


    "No, but I''ll do so anyway."


    I clear my throat and straighten my back, he''s under my supervision after all, he''s the rookie, I''m the professional, and while I am not looking down on him I do get into a position that puts us apart. I was casual with him, whenever I didn''t avoid him completely I treated him as an equal, but I just got my own friendly reminder that I somehow have to step up to be a mentor, be it just for one day.


    "There are only a handful of cleaners at our station that deal with the upper city. Miss Morell, Mr. Ockwell, myself, and then there is Ash. But Ash is¡­ well he''s different. Let''s leave it at that." I make sure he can follow me and my words, but before he can open his mouth ¨C and I see that he wants to ¨C I continue,


    "First, you have to be arch-trained in this branch. Your education at the Arch gave you a good reputation and probably into this job, but your field of expertise doesn''t align with ours. You''re specialized in the history of artifacts. It''s a good start, but it won''t teach you how to handle them in action."


    "I beg to differ," now he catches a moment to get his words out, and it sounds like I insulted him. Which maybe I did. I''m bad at socializing, so what do I know about insulting people. I didn''t swear him out, that''s something he should be glad for, "knowing different artifacts puts me ahead of your limited training."


    "See? That way of thinking will get you killed. I don''t need to know what an artifact does or doesn''t do, I don''t need to know its name or what it looks like. I know how it sounds like, how it feels like, and that''s all I need to know to act accordingly. I can understand it, and you need to learn to understand it. You have too little respect for the severe influence artifacts have because you think you know everything about them and are therefore safe. But you won''t know what it does to you before it''s too late."


    Now he stays silent, his expression a weird mixture of poutiness and seriousness. He doesn''t want to hear it, but he can''t help but understand it. He is a braggart but he is not stupid, even if he acts the way more often than not.


    "Second, you''re unable to keep your mouth shut. There is not one day at the station you don''t brag about your jobs. For the jobs you do, it doesn''t matter, but the upper city wants their cleaners to shut up, even among their own. Working for these clients means keeping their secrets ¨C you''re assigned to make sure nothing has ever happened. Thomas is probably the one field agent I work with most; he''ll never learn a single detail from a job I handle alone. And I ask you to think about how many times Miss Morell told you about her jobs."


    He hisses at me in annoyance, because he knows I''m right, but I guess it''s just another thing he doesn''t want to hear about.


    "And third; time. You''re new, and you''ll be new for another two to three years. You don''t get to my or your sister''s level right out of training. You have to work for it. And even then you may be stuck as a cleaner handling petty crime scenes. Because the people who assign us can''t be easily impressed. They often have to decide on minimal information on who to send to a scene. And maybe you get lucky and an initial boring scene turns out to be the one case to boost your reputation," my last job probably had done this for me if I didn''t already have my reputation.


    "And maybe this will lead to them considering you for other high-level jobs. So don''t get your hopes up."


    He looks at me, now he is grimacing. He seems extremely upset, and maybe there is a hint of anger, at least that''s what I am catching, but I''m really not the best at reading people. I watch him being silent as if I could see the thoughts rushing through his head. I can''t, but whatever it is he''s thinking about it slowly but surely soothes his expression.


    "Guess you''ll better be ready then for me to take over." He suddenly grins, and I just sigh. I won''t try any harder, he''ll learn eventually. If not from me then from others, or his first job alone. He wouldn''t be the first one to quit after the first solo assignment and he wouldn''t be the last either.

 Chapter 13: A Duke at Heart

    No matter how many times I come face to face with this personality, I''m intrigued and intimidated at the same time. Mix in a bag of ''this guy''s ridiculous'' and that''s exactly where I am right now. I can''t take him seriously, and at the same time, I feel absolutely subliminal beside him.


    With his arms in the position like skinned chicken wings and his hands gesticulating excessively, he only walks on his tiptoes, not wearing any shoes. He keeps his back extremely bent inward, in a way that seems like he has his head thrown into his neck at all times. This posture can''t be healthy.


    Add to that his bright red feather blazer and the tightest leather pants I have ever seen in my life, with nothing beneath, neither top nor bottom ¨C I slept with enough men to catch that there is no other layer under his pants ¨C and a golden halo headpiece, ornate with black and red artificial roses. Probably the only flower I can recognize and name. Okay, I recently learned what chrysanthemums look like so I can add that to my knowledge of flowers.


    In contrast to his absolutely ridiculous way of dressing and walking ¨C though if it were only one or the other it wouldn''t be that bad at all ¨C he keeps his blond hair short and neatly combed back. I am, however, unable to tell if he dyed his hair or if it''s naturally blond.


    "What a pleasure to have you at my humble home again!", his voice is deep but clear, as you''d expect of an opera singer. He''s one of the few people who just made it in this city. The range of his voice is insane, his ability to sing the male and the female part of any piece got him the recognition he desperately deserved.


    But at some point, it just kind of went out of control. He''s a core example of what money can do to a person who isn''t born with it. The right people heard him sing and suddenly he was famous in this city. It made him a fortune; the rich are paying insane amounts of money to hear him sing, even more to get a solo performance. Comparing him to the person he was seven years ago is like comparing day to night.


    He was much like me, a no-one in a city dreading to consume him. He tried to vanish, blend in with the crowds, didn''t draw attention. But that fear has gone, thanks to the money. If enough money could turn me into someone like him? I doubt it. I wouldn''t want to be like him. I''d probably rather end up like that secluded old Archist living at the very edge of the city. Alone, secluded, and happy about it.


    "A pleasure to be here again," Thomas bows his head slightly, and I follow his example. Andrew needs a moment to catch on, but eventually, he gets around to it. His confused hesitation, however, is enough to get the Duke''s attention.


    "What a nice addition you have today. Not much used to the upper city yet, is he?" he talks about Andrew as if he wasn''t right here, much to my amusement. After all, the Duke is informed about our rookie and he treats him that way.


    "It''s his first day up here, at least as our ''addition''," As always Thomas handles the talking. And the Duke is one of the few who respects that decision and always has. He addresses me if something is the matter, but he tries not to out of consideration. Despite his extravagant appearance, he is one of the pleasant clients, likely because he hasn''t forgotten his roots.


    He lives an over-exaggerated lifestyle and has accumulated quite a lot of useless junk and an ego, but he remembers. I don''t think it''s an active choice though, considering his behavior it often feels like he falls into a habit he doesn''t realize he still has.


    I don''t mind one bit, it gives me some peace and quiet I need to work, but I wouldn''t say he is extremely considerate about me or my job. I just am, and that''s enough for him to adjust without thinking about it.


    "I hope he knows what he''s up against?", it''s a rhetorical question and I can''t hold my own words back, "as do I¡­" I attempt to cover it up by clearing my throat but he heard. I get an overdramatic perplexed gesture of his hand, his face in contrast looks unmoved, so we both just move on.


    "I trust your process," That''s all I get in return, and that''s fine by me.


    "I am curious, Duke, about one thing," Thomas cuts to the point, maybe to ensure that my slip of tongue doesn''t linger despite everyone''s best effort to ignore it.


    "A week," the Duke answers, as I expected him to. There is only one detail missing in the file, we all know what that means. Okay, our rookie probably doesn''t, but his quiet tells me that he''s busy looking around and getting lost in the opulent black and gold d¨¦cor.


    It''s tame compared to the Lane mansion, the walls aren''t as high, and the rooms aren''t as spacious. However, a lot feels smaller than it actually is due to the dark colors. The walls are of deep, brown wood, most of them covered by big pictures of abstract art. Almost all of them are red. There aren''t many doors in this building, more often than not a red curtain divides the rooms. The ceiling and stairs are white, but not as pristine as the Lanes''.


    There''s wear and tear visible. I guess the difference lies in the Duke being a very busy person, despite his wealth he has a job to maintain; hours upon hours of practice, songwriting, rehearsals, planning ¨C like, a shit ton of planning ¨C and whatever more there is.


    Mrs. Lane on the other hand sits at home all day long, she has all the time in the world to make sure their mansion is spotless. Not that she''s cleaning herself, but there has to be someone present to oversee the staff.


    And speaking of staff; the only staff the Duke has poses all day long as statues on small pedestals. Painted in all white, they are living decorations, and not at all present today.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "It''s not too bad," the Duke continues "I fed most of her to Marceline, but the smell just lingers and Betty refuses to get back into her cage with all the blood ¨C You know she has a sensitive nose."


    "Of course, we''ll take care of it so Betty can return home in no time," Thomas reassures the Duke with a smile.


    "I know you will!" He''s happy with the answer, and his confidence gives me hope for today''s assessment with Andrew at my side.


    "Here we are!" The Duke comes to a halt in front of one of the only doors in this building, leading right outside into the garden.


    "Here are the keys," he hands me the keys, "and what''d you say to a cup of tea, Mr. Ashworth?" and turns to Thomas right after.


    "It would be my pleasure," Thomas smiles yet again, accepting the offer, and offers his arm to the Duke in return.  We learn how to act with certain clients, well mainly Thomas does, I just follow the few guidelines I''m given beforehand or learn while working with them. Bowing, for example. It''s not something I''d do with every client, but I learned that the Duke appreciates it and so I submit to it.


    Thomas deals with a lot of eccentric people and adapts on the spot. It''s one of the reasons why he is so good at his job, and why we are often paired up for jobs with client contact. I may fuck up, but he can save it in no time.


    The Duke links his arm with Thomas'' and pulls him right into an empty banter. Something Thomas can do for hours ¨C talking without saying much. I watch them walk down the corridor, then I sort through the keys till I find the one I need.


    I remember it, but finding it is another thing entirely. The Duke just handed the keychain to every possible lock of this property, at least it looks like it.


    "What a character," I hear Andrew. I''m amazed how he managed to keep his mouth shut up till now, but then again, he isn''t stupid. I just tend to forget thanks to his insufferable personality.


    "Indeed," It''s all I can say, really. I don''t want to engage in discussions and banter, I want to do my job. But I know I can''t stay quiet, I have to attend to him as my apprentice and train him properly.


    "So rookie, give me a briefing," I don''t bother to look at him, my fingers are still flipping keys from one side of the keyring to the other.


    "I thought I read the file?" I hear his mocking undertone; he tries to get away with it. But not today, rookie, not today.


    "I did, how about you?"


    "I thought you do the planning; I do the cleaning?"


    "Yeah, that''s not going to happen. Briefing, now," I don''t like repeating myself, but I guess I can''t help it. How else will he learn to understand?


    "Next time-"


    "There won''t be a next time," I cut him off calmly, finally finding the key I''ve been looking for. I slide it into the lock and turn it, but I keep the door shut for the moment, "One more month and you''ll be out there alone. No other cleaners, no Thomas ¨C If you''re lucky you get a field agent because the circumstances ask for one. You have to be prepared, and you have to prepare yourself from start to finish."


    I look at him, trying to see if the memo actually got through, but he just shrugs his shoulders, "I''ve still got a month of training so all''s fine, don''t break your pretty head over it."


    I sigh, we had difficult rookies before but most of them didn''t make it so far and left us before they even got close to the end of their training.


    "Behind this door is a wild beast enclosure. And while the Duke gives them cute names they are highly dangerous. Did you ever come face to face with wild beasts?"


    "Wait," suddenly all the color leaves his face. He could have been prepared for what is waiting behind that door, he chose not to. His loss.


    "Are they¡­ caged?"


    "Don''t know, didn''t read the file."


    "What? You just said you did!"


    "Maybe, maybe I lied in hopes you read it."


    "Wait. I know what you''re doing."


    "Does it help you in any way?" I eye him up and down, then I take the key out of the lock and pull open the door. I swear I see Andrew jump in the corner of my eye the moment he realizes the door is open.


    I hear him breathe in deeply, hold his breath, and then exhale in relief. We only just accessed the garden but I hope that mini heart attack taught him a lesson, but I''m probably being too optimistic here.


    I enter, or rather exit, through the door, just waiting for Andrew to follow me before I close the door and lock it back up. The sudden click the lock makes upon being locked again seems to startle Andrew for a moment.


    "Why do you lock the door? What if we have to get out, like, very, very fast?" He sounds so tense¡­ I know someone who would have an absolutely good time right now.


    "What if the wild beasts get out?"


    "Ah-" He opens his mouth to answer but I just move on. We have places to be and things to clean. This is already taking so much longer than it should.


    I navigate through the garden, it is massive, bigger than the actual residence of the Duke. There are several ponds housing fish, smaller but still extremely big cages with birds. Most of them are asleep but there are a few breeds that will sing all night long.


    "How¡­ How does he take care of all these animals with the black fog?", I shoot a glance at Andrew, for once that''s a good question, one I asked myself the first time I was here. The answer is almost embarrassing.


    "Because we aren''t really outside," I point up at the starless sky. It''s just black at the moment, devoid of all colors, unnatural for the night sky even in today''s world.


    "It''s a massive dome, you can actually see the tip of the dome from the lower city if you''re close enough to the border."


    "Wait, that''s where we are?"


    I nod. It can be kind of disorientating to travel with the streetcar to the upper city. The windows are nailed shut for security reasons, and the streetcar makes a few unpredictable fake stops, not displaying any of the stops at all. That''s one of the reasons the watchers will make sure that everyone leaves at their individual destination. They have to guarantee that everyone gets in and out where they are supposed to, but also; people can''t really tell where they are, so they need assistance to get out at the right stop.


    "That''s incredible. The dome is a magical force field, adapting to the weather outside and mirroring it to the inside ¨C Minus the fog, of course, it displays the fog as night. The theater has an amphitheater with a similar dome."


    "I guess that''s what inspired the Duke to have this dome built."


    "This is incredible." Now he falls silent for a whole other reason, I reason I didn''t expect. He is mesmerized, his previous tension is just gone. His eyes glimmer with the curiosity and utmost fascination of a child seeing the theater or circus for the very first time.


    It makes sense though, he studied history at the Arch, not just world history, but the history of magic and artifacts. So of course, something like this dome is captivating. I can understand it, but I lack the same fascination. It''s¡­ I don''t know.


    Seeing him like this makes me¡­ sad? Melancholic fits it better, I think. Not that I feel melancholy as such, but what I feel is much closer to it than sadness. I''ll never be able to see the world with such eyes. Everything is just¡­ Well, it is. The most I can muster is the way I appreciate my cactus and the way I can look at the flower on my kitchen table. That''s as much joy as I''ll get.


    But he''s swept off his feet. I just hope it won''t interfere with our clean-up.

 Chapter 14: The wild Beasts

    "Is this really necessary?"


    "Yes," I repeat for the fifth time, while Andrew''s eyes tell me that he doesn''t approve one bit. But he''ll thank me later.


    "It smells weird," I hear his sulking voice, even though a mask is covering his nose and mouth. Once designed for the black fog, the masks used to have cartridges left and right of the mouth filtering the air, now replaced by a glass container. They were drafted back when the Arch was still trying to find a way to survive when the fog suddenly hit, but the issue was that the filters clogged up, same as the exhalation and inhalation valve, rendering the masks useless.


    They have since been repurposed for the cleaners and the body collectors who can afford them. The glass container is filled with teal purification beads to purify bad smells. They have a very faint smell of burnt sugar; not bad but not appetizing either. But they fulfill their purpose perfectly fine and, in my opinion, are pretty to look at. They glow when inhaling and lose their glow when exhaling, and the mask itself doesn''t look bad either.


    Obscured faces have something mysterious, I can''t deny it. Andrew suddenly got a whole lot more pleasant to be around, nice to look at, and quieter. What more could I ask for?


    "Where''s yours?" It seems like he doesn''t want to suffer alone, but I know he will suffer even more if he doesn''t wear it.


    "I don''t need it," He grunts at my remark but keeps his mouth shut. He probably doesn''t like to hear himself talk as much now that his voice is kind of muffled. He''s probably contemplating getting rid of it, and I won''t stop him if that''s what he''s trying to do by fiddling around with the harness.


    I guide us to the very back of this massive dome, from here, the wall of the room can actually be seen behind the cages. I let my eyes wander to assess the situation. Betty is nowhere to be seen and I don''t want to know where the Duke keeps her at the moment. The cages are huge, but so are the wild beasts.


    I hear a growl from the cage to our left, but I ignore good old Marceline. She''s awake and will probably keep a predatory eye on us at all times. The cage to our right is silent, so silent that it seems to be empty. Wild beasts aren''t rare in the wastelands. Archists assume they were once more or less harmless animals, but we have no way of knowing if the black fog mutated them or if they have always been around.


    They do resemble the records of some animals we have, so if they existed before the sun went out they were rarely researched, or the pictures from our records of the past are over-romanticized, rendering them more graceful and beautiful than they were. Marceline, for example, looks like a boar. But compared to the pieces of information we have regarding boars she''s just 5 times the size.


    I made eye contact with her once and had to look up at her. Her tusks look like tree logs and a single bristle of her could be used as a weapon ¨C at least I''m pretty sure it could. She''ll also eat everything, but that kind of aligns with what we know about boar.


    Betty on the other hand has to be some kind of wild cat, but she''s walking on her hind legs in a very hunched-over posture. Her neck is higher than her head, and her front legs are ridiculously long to assist her in running and walking. Her way of walking aligns more with what we know of some monkeys. Yet she has typical cat features, including long claws she can''t retract. Poor fucker who has to get into this cage every month to trim her death-mittens ¨C it''s probably why we''re here today.


    And then there''s Ruby, a massively oversized serpent. We still have snakes around but Ruby is so large she probably can''t fit through a human-sized door. And the door leading into this enclosure is kind of Marceline-sized ¨C which makes sense, somehow they all had to get in here.


    The buzzing of flies attracts my attention; I can''t see them nor can I see what they are circling but I just know it''s a body part. A one-week-old body part, or worse: Several.


    "You intend to sleep here on this spot or¡­?" I hear his still sulking yet mocking voice. He''s impatient, but that''s on him. I need the time to get an overview of the situation, to plan the next step and how we will go about this. So I ignore his question and instead put down my trusty toolbox. I feel the tension on my arm muscles, they twitch the moment the weight stops pulling down, and after a second or two it starts tingling ¨C the feeling of pins and needles puncturing my very muscles. I hate that feeling.


    "Stop ignoring me," He''s like a small child, gone is the awe from a few moments ago and I figure I probably should familiarize him with my way of working. Every cleaner is different, handles situations differently, prepares differently. He has seen many personalities and how they go about a clean-up, I can''t expect him to just silently follow and learn.


    I kneel before the suitcase, enter the code, and open it up, "Get your gloves," I''m having a hard time babysitting all the while making sure that said baby learns something valuable, but I try. My thoughts slip away while I put on the black gloves.


    It''s one of the rare occasions I know that there''s no sniper guarding my back. The dome has no other entry or exit than the one I locked behind us. It''s not like I doubt that Thayer''s men could get inside but I also don''t rely on it, not one single bit. If one of the beasts gets agitated, we have to be prepared for the worst.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    However, I have a lingering feeling that someone is with us in this dome, and I don''t know if it''s my intuition or the content of the Shadow''s letter after my last job. There is no telling whether he was referring to Andrew or the job at hand when he informed me that my next task would be exhausting.


    I did wonder what he meant for a whole two days, then I just accepted it for what it was. But there''s still the question of why he would have known of either situation. The Shadows have a very intricate network, embedded throughout all social stances and who knows how many contacts outside of their group feed them even more intel. The ''how'', therefore, is obvious but the question ''why'' remains.


    Because of the Bear? I know he knows, and it''s the only thing that could make me interesting to a group of thieves and informants. I know he has a thing for getting on my nerves, there may be a personal interest somewhere but I doubt he would use their network of information for personal gain and insight.


    I sigh and glance over at the rookie who seems to be irritated by the mask on his face. It seems to hinder him in his task of putting on gloves. It''s probably a psychological thing, it''s not like it influences his movement, and yet he struggles.


    "Can I just get rid of this thing?" He asks as he returns my look and I shrug.


    "Up to you, I can''t force you," The moment my words left my mouth he starts to pull on the harness of the mask, fiddling around before taking it off. I watch him, silently, just waiting for the realization to hit him. And it does rather quickly.


    The moment his nose and mouth are free, he starts to take a deep breath and suddenly the color drains from his face. His eyebrows jump up in surprise, then he knits them together as if suffering from a sudden impact. What follows is a gagging noise as he presses his hands on his mouth and nose in an attempt to cover them.


    "What¡­" It''s all he can muster before he turns away from me and spews. I''m used to the smell of decay and rotting flesh, but he very much isn''t if the sound of him gagging is anything to go by. The sour stench of the week-old remains turns his stomach upside down, forcing him to empty what little is inside.


    I leave him to it. Someone else might have tried to convince him to keep the mask on, but that someone isn''t me. He needs to know why we say what we say and do what we do. "We''ll have to clean that up as well."


    "Mother fucker¡­" his words are pressed, he''s trying to keep his cool, to keep the remaining contents of his stomach down, but another gag escapes his lips and he can''t control it any longer. I wait, what else can I do?


    And once there''s no more left to throw up I sigh, "Get back to the entry, clean yourself up, and maybe get the mask back on."


    He scowls at me but he can''t find the energy to speak. He needs another moment to collect himself before he retreats back to the entry, with gloves and mask in hand. There''s enough water for him to clean up ¨C we''ll have to get rid of everything anyway, including everything that has just left his body.


    "You enjoyed that," The voice sends shivers down my spine. Not that I didn''t expect him to show up, but I didn''t think he would show himself with Andrew close.


    "Nah, I''m not like you¡­" I pause and as always he makes use of the situation and drapes his arm around my shoulder, using me like an armrest.


    "Okay, maybe a little." I can''t lie to myself, for how much Andrew brags all day long I don''t feel guilty at all. I don''t wish bad upon most people, but it is kind of satisfying to see Andrew struggle. It puts his tales into perspective and unfolds the truth little by little.


    My honesty earns me a low chuckle and I glance up to look at this annoyance of a man. But somehow, today, it puts me at ease knowing he''s around. Andrew is a whole other kind of annoying so the Shadow kind of knows to lighten my mood with his presence. Not that I would ever tell him.


    "Look at you, being all sadistic today," he laughs, low and deep. Has his voice always been like this? I try to think back, and I remember how soothing the bass of his voice has been at the Lane mansion. But today is different; I haven''t meddled with the weave yet, didn''t get in contact with the broader spectrum of emotions ¨C my mind, therefore, remains ignorant. The vibration of his sonorous voice escapes my senses, I can''t catch it, only remember it.


    "I wouldn''t call it sadistic. Realistic, maybe. But not sadistic," I sigh, here we are again. He''s back to being touchy and invading my space, verbally and physically. Yet¡­ I don''t mind as much as I used to. I try not to think about it but he has planted thoughts I can''t shake off. And despite my will to continue as always, I can''t keep blocking everything he throws my way.


    I should, I really should. For my own safety. But I can''t. He is slowly softening the walls I put up and I dread to think what may happen if he gets through. Would I be able to stop him? Would I be able to stop myself?


    If it wasn''t for the danger he embodies, I know I had fallen for him years ago. With Thayer at my side that would be the most dangerous thing to happen of all things that could happen. Either he''s an extension of the Bear''s eyes and ears handing more power to that madman with every brick that crumbles from my defenses, or he is an enemy of the Bear, putting me even more in danger the further I soften up.


    "Call it what you will, Sunshine. I can see right through you," With not a care on his mind and amusement in his voice I feel the muscles of his arm tense up, squeezing my shoulder in an almost fraternal way. I lift my shoulders, trying to make it harder on him, maybe even get him to let go ¨C fruitlessly.


    "Whatever."


    "Why so cold today?"


    "Shouldn''t you have gotten used to it by now?"


    "And here I thought I was special."


    "Keep dreaming."


    "About you? Gladly!"


    "Could you¡­ Not?!" I can''t help but hiss my words, as I manage to slip away from his arm, fleeing the physical contact like a frightened animal. Is he for real? It makes me uncomfortable being that close to him, more than usual.


    Throwing a glance at him I see him raise his hands in a defensive way, with a smug grin across his face.


    "Alright, I got the memo. But at least try to not get your apprentice killed, okay? I just feel he''s about to do something stupid," And with that, he retreats back into¡­ the cage? Are you fucking kidding me? Has he been in there, camping out? If so then why? I can''t with this man. I really can''t. But he has a point. Time to go check on Andrew.

 Chapter 15: Becoming Prey

    "How do you do it?" Andrew is still sitting on the floor, next to the door, with his arms resting on his knees, and his dead lowered. It sure did take a toll on him.


    "What?" I ask. We''ve been sitting here for the past 5 minutes. I hope he gets a grip on himself soon.


    "Working without a mask, I can still smell it. It''s like¡­ It''s stuck in my nose," he groans, his hair slightly wet after he had washed his face at the nearby wall fountain.


    I shrug my shoulders, "You''ll get used to it eventually. I recognize the smell but it doesn''t really get through to me. If that makes sense."


    "I hope you''re right."


    I look at him and stay silent. There isn''t much I can say to make the situation any better for him, so we have to sit it out. Finally, he raises his head, taking a deep breath, then he nods to himself.


    "I''m ready. I can do this," he huffs as he gets up from the floor, picking up the mask on his way up. I nod and wait for him to get his mask back on and secured, then I turn to head back to the cages. The dome is so huge it''s hard to see far. There''s no chance at this late hour to see from one side to the other.


    And even by daylight, it would be hard. There are a lot of things obscuring the path of sight ¨C from bird cages, spring fountains, and ponds of all sizes, to trees and bushes. The flora is kept neatly in shape, nothing seems wild or growing out of control, but everything is arranged in a way that conveys a sense of an outside scenery.


    Not that any of us would know what it feels and looks like to stand in the middle of nature; there is nothing but decay and rot out there. But if it wasn''t for the meticulously cut bushes and trees I doubt anyone could tell the difference between the real nature that once was, and the artificial nature we face here.


    "So¡­ What''s the plan?" He tries to fill the silence. I know he feels uncomfortable.


    "We get rid of the corpse first." I try to sound as normal as possible. I''m annoyed by the whole situation, but I also know that Andrew is only partially to blame. Some people have to make mistakes to learn. This particular situation could have happened with any rookie, to be fair. But I''m still annoyed.


    "Then we start cleaning. We must get rid of everything in and outside of the cage. And since we''re dealing with wild beasts we have to clear the weave as well. Animals are sensitive to lingering emotions," I explain, throwing a glance at him while we navigate back to the cages.


    "I''ve been part of a weave-cleaning process already." He sounds proud of himself, and I let it slide. I already don''t want to deal with this anymore. When did my skin become so thin?


    "That''s good, it will make it easier." I need to see it from a positive angle. I won''t have to explain every little detail to him, that''s worth something, right?


    What did he even do the past two months? Ah, I guess I''m being unfair here. He has had simple jobs that don''t necessarily cover everything that''s part of my regular scenes. We''re divided into levels, which makes assigning jobs easier, and he hasn''t been assigned to a high-level job before.


    There are only a handful of cleaners working in the upper city, mainly because there are multiple stations, and ours isn''t that close to the upper city. But in general, the trust of the upper city must be earned. And then there are the upper city stations as well. To be fair, though, the job of a cleaner of the upper city is different. A lot different.


    Sure, they could find someone to clean up gore, but they cost a fortune and aren''t discrete. There''s no trust between the wealthy and the upper-city cleaners. Because the cleaners here are just as wealthy and will stop at nothing to get some dirt on other people, so if they are willing to get their hands dirty it''s because they hope for juicy intel.


    The stations of the upper city are more like information brokers; they provide the information another person might need to ''clean'' ¨C which means getting rid of the competition. And once they got rid of whoever, they call us to do the actual cleaning. We need these jobs; we don''t have the security to sell out secrets and jeopardize our jobs by doing so. It''s in our interest to keep our mouths shut and do our job well.


    I don''t really associate the upper city cleaners with us and we aren''t in touch with the stations up there. I guess the core idea of stations in the upper city aligned with ours when they were first established, but it just didn''t work out. The name stuck but their job changed significantly.


    I walk right over to my suitcase and kneel in front of it. After that little excursion, I change my gloves, just for good measure, and get the scanner sphere out. Due to its weight, I roll it over the ground toward Andrew.


    "Worked with this before?"


    "No? What''s that?"


    "Scanner sphere," I answer drily, I couldn''t be any more interested even if I wanted to. I guess poor Andrew just has to live with that now.


    "Oh, I''ve heard of it." He sounds excited, more than I ever did in my whole life, because of a sphere. Then again it''s probably his history background speaking.


    "I''d be surprised if you didn''t. Our station only has one, and there are only three in the whole city," I explain, not because it matters but because it seems like that''s the kind of information he likes to get. I can be nice sometimes, okay?


    "I imagine. Weavespheres are extremely hard to alter, even for the best Archists. It''s a science in itself." There he is, in his element. I watch him pick up the sphere and I can''t help but be mildly amused by his facial expression upon the sudden realization of how heavy it is despite its size. It is the size of a ball children use to play with in the streets.


    "Gods, how are you carrying this around all day long? It''s heavy," he snorts, trying to sound teasing but I can tell he has a hard time holding it properly. He tries to act like it''s nothing in an attempt to mock me. I guess he thought I would simply collapse under the weight because of my rather slender build. But the thing is; strength isn''t always displayed in muscle mass.


    "Habit." I can''t help but sigh ¨C is this the way we handle conversations now? By micro insults hidden along the lines?


    "Must be it, you don''t strike me as a particularly strong person." He really tries to push this matter now. I''m so tired of this.


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    "Neither do you right now," I return the insult but in a much calmer matter. "Activate it."


    He glares at me for a moment, but his focus switches back to the sphere. He gives the sphere a glance-over, probably to see how it works, but then finds the little cavity and pushes it. I take a deep, relieved breath the moment the hum starts to emit from the sphere. It never fails to put me at ease.


    Even though Andrew doesn''t really know what he''s doing, he is adapting fairly well to the sphere. If his studies taught him anything about artifacts, it''s that they''ll do their thing just fine without human intervention. The moment it starts to hover, he lowers his hands, slowly letting go of the sphere. He doesn''t trust it to not plumage down right away, so he is cautious, but I can''t hold that against him.


    He is handling a new tool correctly ¨C with caution. That''s how it should be, and I have experienced the opposite with past rookies. It''s not much of a problem with the sphere, but other tools could ¨C and did ¨C cause quite some problems. So, for once, I approve of Andrew. Rare, I know.


    The sphere activates its purple light, covering every inch around us. "That''s so much more effective than the flashlight." He''s right, that''s why I technically prefer it despite its weight, I just really don''t want to carry this thing to every single crime scene I have to attend.


    "True, but the flashlights are handier, to be fair. Dragging this thing around all day long has its downside."


    "Yeah, for you, maybe. Maybe you should work out a little more. I''ll be taking this baby everywhere." I don''t even want to react to this anymore, but I have to, don''t I?


    "I have to inform you that the sphere is reserved for high-level jobs."


    "Another reason to climb the ladder of success!"


    I¡­ I give up. It''s not worth it. It really isn''t. He''ll eat away on my nerves even faster if I keep trying.


    "Good luck." It''s all I can muster. We''ve wasted more than enough time anyway, so I get to attend the Weave. I don''t have to explain the details to Andrew, which makes this a lot easier. And it is a lot easier with the two of us. There are a lot of emotions here. Mainly fear, but also awe, intrigue, intimidation, and of course the dread and pain of the victim.


    I''ve dealt with scenes here before; the hard part is to leave the beasts'' emotions untouched. They are very subtle and primal, which should make them easy to distinguish. But it''s never that easy. They are underlying and can be so vivid that it''s sometimes hard to tell that they are even there, at least for us humans.


    Removing them, or cutting out parts of them, can lead to unpredictable reactions from the beasts. They are extremely sensitive to lingering emotions and use their own to identify their home, their pack, their surroundings. Especially when kept in cages. They can''t roam around freely to rub their scent on everything they deem their own, but their simple emotions can travel beyond the cage.


    It''s thought that some beasts can even communicate using the Weave. It''s what we often perceive as the sixth sense and it''s speculated that this extends to some children before they grow up and lose their natural touch with the Weave. The Arch currently tries to find out if the twin phenomena is likely to be based on the Weave as well.


    "You move up to the entrance, I''ll take care of the inside of the cage," I instruct him, but I am met with a rather stubborn reaction, "Why do I get to do the boring part? The emotions fizzle out, like, two steps away from the cage."


    "Because you do not have enough training to distinguish the emotions of humans and beasts."


    "You wish. I''ll let you know that we did tests with animals, if there''s someone able to recognize the emotions of animals it''s me."


    I eye him up and down, trying to find anything in his posture or expression that could support or dismiss his claim ¨C I can find neither.


    "No. You go there, I stay here," I insist. And I won''t change my mind. If anything happens here it''s on me. Andrew is my responsibility today and he hasn''t given me much reason to trust him or his abilities. He has a solid background and good knowledge but he hasn''t given me anything to prove him worthy. For all I know he may fuck this up severely.


    If he was a little more grounded, a little more honest I would let him handle the inside of the cage under my supervision. But if he isn''t working with me I''m not giving him access to the more dangerous parts of the job.


    He grunts in annoyance, throwing his hand up in frustration. "Fine, have it your way."


    "Rookie¡­ Mr. Morell," I try to appeal to his common sense, "If you don''t keep calm I will have to remove you from the scene and send you back to the station. Your emotion can make this whole scene so much worse."


    He pauses and looks at me, knowing fully well that I am right. He raises his shoulders, ready to defend himself, but then he seems to get a hold of himself, his posture relaxing a little.


    "Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry¡­" He doesn''t sound genuine but at least he tries to get a hold of his frustration and turns away to attend to his portion of the Weave. I''ll leave it to him to deal with his own emotions. Maybe he''ll learn that way because everything he experiences right now gets stuck in the Weave.


    The more things he feels the more emotions he''ll have to cut repeatedly. I don''t even want to imagine how much of my exhaustion''s residue Mrs. Morell had to cut at the Lane mansion. Thomas really made the right call back then, I didn''t even realize how much I handicapped myself.


    Pushing ourselves too hard when dealing with unfamiliar emotions can lead to a vicious cycle that''s impossible to break without help. I rarely get into such situations, so when they occur I have a hard time recognizing my limits and accepting defeat. Luckily it happens very rarely.


    I follow the Weave, cutting any emotion I can find that is connected to the crime, meticulously leaving out Betty''s own emotions. It''s usually not how we handle things; getting rid of the perpetrator''s emotions is a key element of almost all scenes ¨C but usually, the assailant isn''t a beast. So this is one of the rare cases where I have to cut around the hunger and the instinct to hunt and kill. I have to ignore the satisfaction of inflicting pain and fatal wounds.


    I knit my eyebrows together¡­ Something feels off. I see a pull on one of the strands in the Weave, and suddenly it gets cut. I snap my gaze at Andrew who''s just standing right outside of the cage, grinning at me.


    "Sorry, you looked so focused I just had to!" He sounds like a child who''s absolutely proud of himself doing something so stupid he can''t even grasp it. His mocking grin, however, gets suddenly interrupted by a mind-numbing roar from Marceline''s cage. She felt that. They are all connected over the Weave, they feel each other, and at the same time, they are too primitive to tell what exactly happened.


    For all she knows something may have happened to Betty just now and it makes her furious. "Get out..." I told him I would remove him from the scene, and I''ll do so right now. I can''t deal with this kindergarten, not while surrounded by wild beasts. Yes, they are caged, but the last thing I need is them getting all upset and adding to the pile of work.


    "Killjoy. No wonder you''re so boring and lonely." How would he even know, but fine, I don''t want to have this conversation now¡­ or ever.


    I retract my steps and get out of the cage, just to be rattled by the sudden sound of Marceline throwing her whole body at her enclosure''s metal bars. Her force shakes to whole floor, the sound of her weight against the bars is deafening. With a tab I deactivate the sphere, catching it midair ¨C It''s more my reflexes than active reaction.


    "You''re aware of the fact that your action just forced us to take a break until Marceline has calmed down?" I don''t like to speak that loudly, but if my voice was any lower Andrew wouldn''t be able to hear me with Marceline rampaging right next to us.


    "Sure it was me and not your cold-ass demeanor?" He snarls at me, visibly annoyed at the whole situation, but being in contact with the Weave just now I can tell he''s trying to mask fear. He is so intimidated by Marceline''s aggressive reaction that he is trembling ever so slightly. I could have missed it if it wasn''t for my altered senses right now.


    So I take the lead. It doesn''t seem like he is able to move on his own right now, the fear and some basic instincts prevent him from bolting to the door. Everything he knows tells him that sudden movements may agitate the beasts more so his brain just shut off. I stuff the sphere into my suitcase and head to the door; suitcase in one, Andrew''s wrist in the other hand. At least he follows despite his mental stupor.


    I don''t run, but I sure as hell want to get away from Marceline as fast as possible without giving her more reason to give chase. But then I hear a sound that breaks me into a sprint: the sound of her cage door breaking open.

 Chapter 16: Blood and Trust

    This is bad. It probably could be worse ¨C it always can be worse ¨C but it is as bad as it could have gotten in our situation. I know fully well that we can''t outrun a boar, let alone one of her size. While dragging Andrew with me towards the entry, I recall the security protocol perfectly well: We aren''t meant to get out of here.


    The wild beasts have to stay contained, no matter what ¨C but I am not keen on dying today, especially not here of all places. However, Marceline seems not to give chase, not yet anyway. The deafening sound of the metal door breaking off the lock may have startled her, or maybe a second security lock did prevent the door from swinging wide open.


    I really don''t want to slow down to check; in both cases, there''s no guarantee she''ll be kept inside her enclosure for long. This might be our only chance to get out of here, and that very thought seems to finally arrive in Andrew''s head as well.


    He pulls his wrist from my grip and in an instant, he bolts it to the entrance. He''s not weighted down by a suitcase since I only grabbed mine. His doesn''t hold much value, but mine? Mine is full to the brim with things I can''t leave behind. Even if I don''t make it, the tools have to get back to the station.


    My eyes are glued to Andrew''s back, the distance between us growing. This dome is huge, our path obscured, but I manage to keep him in sight as he makes it to the door. Despite the panic he carries with him, he doesn''t even try to open the door, knowing it''s locked and I hold the keys.


    Instead in dashes up to the communicator mounted right next to it to the wall, dialing the shortcut number to reach other communicators in this house. A smart action, to be fair, although it won''t make up for the stupidity that got us into this position to begin with.


    I doubt this communicator has access to the outside world, it is solely to reach other parts of the house, and Andrew is going through the provided list of numbers fast, hoping that someone will pick up.


    I finally catch up, out of breath but the adrenaline keeps me going. Only now I look back, scanning the room as far as I possibly can, but for the moment everything seems safe. I put down my suitcase and search my pockets for the keychain. For a second, my heart clenches as I can''t seem to find it, only to sigh in relief when I finally get a hold of it.


    I''m usually not that forgetful but the underlying panic isn''t helping in keeping a cool head. While Andrew dials one number after the other I go through the keychain to find the key that will get us out of here, and upon finding it, I try to unlock the door.


    But the key won''t turn. I know these keys, I''ve been in and out of this dome before, but maybe I''m misremembering? Maybe my head isn''t as clear as I thought. So I get to the back-breaking task of trying every single key as fast as I can, while also ensuring that I double-check. It takes a while, but eventually, I insert the last key.


    Nothing. I raise my gaze meeting Andrew''s, an uneasy feeling settling in my guts. Did the Shadow break the lock when he gained access to this room? Seems unlikely¡­ So did he lock us in on purpose? Motherfucker.


    I go on a tirade of insults, all mumbled under my breath while my thoughts are racing. I know I can''t trust anyone, but if there''s someone I wanted to trust it''s him ¨C and Thomas, of course. But here we are, locked in probably due to a jammed lock. But what if he didn''t intend to break the lock? No¡­ That''s just as unlikely.


    Why do I even try to find an excuse? I knew better than to trust, yet I never questioned him or his presence. I even went so far as to simply accept him breaking into my apartment. Is this what he warned me about? If so¡­ It wasn''t a warning at all; it was a threat.


    "We''re locked in." I can''t withhold that information, and Andrew clicks his tongue. His panic has been replaced by anger ¨C relatable, and definitely better than his mental stupor from before.


    "No one''s picking up!" The stress of the situation is definitely taking a toll on him, and I can''t lie, I''m far from calm myself. I''m keeping my composure as best as I can, trying to stay as calm on the outside as possible, but my thoughts are racing, as is my heart.


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    I glance over the provided list of short numbers, "Call the tea room, let it ring twice, hang up, repeat, and then call through. Thomas will know this call is intended for him. Give him time to answer the phone, if he doesn''t try the same thing with the lounge."


    And if this doesn''t work I hope we have enough time to go through the list. It''s not like I have a plan, but the Duke did invite Thomas to a cup of tea. It''s our best shot.


    I look back into the room, it''s been silent and while this should ease my mind and calm me down, the only thing I feel is a threat growing in the back of this room. Marceline is huge but she''s a predator. Who knows how silently she could move if she wanted to. I doubt she''d be as graceful as Ruby but we''re on edge, highly alerted ¨C yes ¨C but maybe to the wrong things.


    Andrew tries to focus on the communicator, throwing a glance back into the room every now and then while he follows my instructions without ifs and buts. He''s not asking; maybe he knows about the basic codes we occasionally have to use, or maybe he''s just too stressed to question anything. Either is fine by me.


    I can''t even comprehend how much I hate just standing here, waiting, unknowing of what will happen, unable to tell what might happen. I could go into absolute "what if" overdrive, but I try not to. Finally, I hear Andrew take a deep breath, "Thomas! We''re locked in and one of the beasts may have just broken out!"


    I have to appreciate that he tries to keep his calm and explain the situation, rather than panicking and yelling at the receiver. I can''t hear Thomas on the other hand, Andrew is pressing the earpiece of the headset too hard onto his own ear, there''s not a single noise escaping the vacuum he created.


    He nods, not that Thomas could see it, but I can, giving me enough information.


    "Yes, he''s right next to me. We tried all the keys, but the lock must be broken. What, what''s here?"


    Thomas and I think alike, it seems, and the moment Andrew looks at me with a confused and uneasy expression I nod. "They are here, or at least they were," I answer. He wants to ask; I see it in his eyes, but he chooses not to and instead forwards the piece of information to Thomas.


    Suddenly, I feel the floor shake ever so slightly. I glance at Andrew who doesn''t seem to have noticed it, he''s too caught up getting instructions from Thomas. I squint my eyes, trying to see anything in this massive space. And then I see movement.


    "Andrew, she''s coming." Andrew falls silent for a second, then repeats my words, barely whispering them into the receiver. Suddenly he''s afraid to make noise, and so am I. Another vibration echoes through the floor, this time we can feel it clearly. And suddenly, everything becomes a haze.


    I spot her faster than my brain can process with the situation. Andrew doesn''t even find the time to hang up the receiver but instead just drops it. Out of nowhere, she charges at us, closing this massive distance in mere seconds. It''s just enough time to dive out of her way and for a moment she gets one of her tusks stuck in the wall.


    If it wasn''t for the magical protection she would have charged right through this wall. Some kind of containment force stopped her and yet it was not enough to prevent her from causing severe damage.


    She''s angry, even more than before. Her body is trembling, her grunting and panting fill the air to the point I can barely hear Andrews''s voice. He tries to communicate with me but we''re too far apart. We instinctively dived apart and were now separated by Marceline''s huge body, preventing us from even seeing each other.


    I move, I can''t even tell how. Adrenaline-fueled instinct has taken control, my training is useless at this point. Wild beasts aren''t common, in fact, they are pretty much nonexistent in my field of work. I don''t have any training to maneuver the situation right now. It''s different for people working with or in close proximity to beast habitat. I got a crash course the first time I was assigned to the Duke, but that''s theory and not deeply rooted training.


    With the blink of an eye, it''s all gone. All I knew about wild beasts and how to act in an emergency escapes me ¨C I try to focus but it''s useless. Maybe there is a way to hide from here in the artificial greenery. A tree to climb on, bushes to hide under? Who knows, I don''t, and I have no time to plan this out strategically. I can only hope Andrew is mentally in a better place than I am right now. I know he isn''t, but there''s still hope, right? She can''t chase both of us.


    I hear her angry roar, shaking every leave and petal in the room, it sends ripples across the water surfaces, and then I can feel her feet hitting the ground. She broke free and she is giving chase once more. And I''m her target.


    Of course, I am. Andrew may have cut the emotion from the Weave, but I was in Betty''s cage. It''s my scent she''s after, I am the intruder. I''m so close, just a little further¡­


    I feel the impact.


    I feel her force pushing me forward.


    Something has slowed her down, something got in her way, but still, some part of her hits me, and I stumble.


    I fall.


    I feel the pain in my abdomen, it''s everywhere. I can''t make out what just happened, my head is buzzing, I feel like throwing up.


    I look down and all I can see is blood¡­ Is this¡­ Did she¡­ Am I¡­

 Chapter 17: In the Eye of Pain

    "With all due respect, I must insist, Bear. I can''t leave him unsupervised. Not yet."


    "You are a nuisance, doctor. I''ll make sure he''ll recover just fine."


    Voices¡­ I know them both. This deep, raspy voice and the calm, timid words of the doctor¡­ Where am I? It''s so dark¡­ My eyelids feel as heavy as lead.


    "I doubt it, Thayer."


    "Don''t test me, doc, my patience is wearing thin today. Use your sharp tongue elsewhere."


    He is pissed. I can hear it in his voice even though my head feels light, unable to really process the words I am hearing. But I don''t need to grasp their conversation, not with Thayer''s tone. I vividly remember him being pissed in the past, but right now, I can¡¯t grasp the memory.


    I know it¡¯s something that has happened, but the reason and circumstances escape me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t threaten me, Thayer. If you want him to recover properly, you¡¯ll know to let me stay ¨C as long as I please.¡±


    Are they talking about me? They must be. The voices become clearer and clearer with every second, and yet I still feel trapped in a haze I can¡¯t fully wake up from.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me for the damage your stay will do to you. Not now, not ever.¡±


    I hear his heavy footsteps, the sound of his anger muffled by the pride her keeps upright. But even in my state of mind he can¡¯t fool me, nor the doctor. The sound of the heavy door slamming shut sends a shiver through my body and half a second later a cold hand reaches mine.


    ¡°Finally awake, are we?¡±


    It¡¯s not really a question I have to answer, he knows better than I do. He knew I was about to wake up, and while I didn¡¯t catch the conversation he had with Thayer, I can imagine that it was a result of him trying to get the mighty Bear to leave.


    Luckily so. ¡°Hmmm,¡± I can¡¯t speak. I try, I feel like words should leave my mouth, but the only thing escaping me are muffled noises.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, the sedative is still in your blood. Sleep a little longer, you¡¯ll feel better,¡± he reassures me, and I can¡¯t help but feel at ease knowing he¡¯s here. There are so many things in my head right now¡­ What exactly happened? What¡¯s with Thomas and Andrew? How about the Duke? Why did this whole thing happen? And¡­  why is Thayer here?


    I surrender to the fog in my head, drifting into a dreamless sleep once more, plagued by so many questions without any answers. I¡¯ll get to them, slowly but surely. But there is one answer I¡¯ll never be able to achieve ¨C and even if I do, how am I supposed to believe?


    Why did the Shadow betray me? And why¡­ Why do I feel hurt?


    I hiss due to the pain I suddenly feel. In case I slept up till now I didn¡¯t realize it, and whatever was left of the realm of dreams had left me the second I awakened to the pain. My eyes are suddenly open wide, but I can¡¯t see.


    It¡¯s as if my body reacted but my brain hasn¡¯t caught up yet. Or maybe it¡¯s due to the bright, white room. My eyes slowly adjust, and the room gets into focus. I dart my eyes at the painting on the wall, staring it down while I try to suppress the pain that aches through my body.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I hear the faint voice of the doctor next to me, his head lowered, his hood obscuring his face as always. ¡°The anesthesia has worn off, but I have to assess how you¡¯re doing without it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ fine.¡± My voice is pressed and dry. I¡¯m far from fine and the doctor can tell, ¡°Okay.. I¡¯m not¡­¡± I give in to his silence. We both know I can¡¯t just play this thing off like it¡¯s nothing.


    ¡°Thought so.¡± Sometimes I have the feeling he tries to joke, but I¡¯m never sure. Maybe that¡¯s just his way to lighten the mood¡­ Or an attempt to do so.


    ¡°Try to relax.¡± While he speaks, he stands up and walks up to the bed and I can finally see his glowing eyes from my perspective. He¡¯s eyeing me with the professional gaze of a doctor, looking out for the smallest details in my appearance, expression, behavior, breath ¨C anything, really.


    ¡°You were extremely lucky, Eon.¡± It¡¯s rare to hear him say my name, we don¡¯t often meet on a personal level, I¡¯ve always been Mr. Moor to him ¨C And just like that, I realize I don¡¯t even know his name.


    ¡°The embroidery on your suit prevented the worst. She pushed you right into a branch and staked you. It missed your vital organs by a mere miracle.¡± With these words he pulled down the blanket and I avert my eyes, following the motion.


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    I¡¯m all patched up, the beige bandage is stained by the blood that had pushed through, washed out again and again. I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m bleeding now, but it¡¯s hard to tell. I still feel the pain, staying focused is hard, and it¡¯s even harder to assess my own body. I feel it, painfully, but at the same time I can¡¯t feel anything at all.


    ¡°What¡­ happened to her?¡± Why do I even care? I got away with my life ¨C barely. The last thing I should worry about is a wild beast, but here I am. Maybe I¡¯m curious, maybe I just hate not knowing what has happened.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Morell?¡±


    ¡°Got away with a shock. Mr. Ashworth and the Duke made it in time. I got suspended for the time being.¡±


    ¡°They blame him.¡±


    ¡°Probably. They had to assess the whole scene, and they know what had happened ¨C more or less.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Speaking is hard, my voice is crumbling due to the pain and I grasp for air. The less I move, the better I feel, but I still must breathe. And with every breath it feels like needles under my skin.


    ¡°And why ¨C¡°


    ¡°Are you here of all places?¡± I nod and I¡¯m thankful that I don¡¯t have to talk more than necessary.


    ¡°Do you think the Bear would allow anyone to meddle with you? He was there before the transporters even arrived. There¡¯s nothing anyone could do. Half an hour later I got the call to come see you. He is pissed, you know? Better be careful around him for the moment.¡±


    I nod, as there isn¡¯t more I can really do. I feel the doctor¡¯s cold fingers on my skin, a soothing sensation amidst the pain, ¡°can you sit up?¡± he asks, placing his second hand in my neck to assist me.


    It¡¯s a hard battle. The moment I tense my muscles to raise my head, my vision goes black for a second and I lean back into the cold palm of the doctor to catch my breath. I know I need to get up somehow; I can¡¯t lie here forever, and the more I get used to it, the harder it will get. I¡¯m back in this godforsaken room after managing to avoid Thayer for a whole week, I just want to be well enough to get out of his apartment as soon as possible.


    So I grit my teeth and push through the pain, bringing my upper body into a somewhat upright position. I can feel the heat rushing through my body, breaking me into a cold sweat accompanied by a tremor, shaking up my whole body. I claw my fingers into the soft bedsheet, trying to stop my fingers from trembling¡­ with little success ¨C But I sit. That¡¯s progress.


    The cold vanishes from my neck and I can barely feel how his fingers have wandered to the bandages, loosening them. My head is spinning, the heat keeps a hold on me, and I try to focus hard on the sensation his touch provides, be it just to give my mind something to cling on to without perishing in the pain.


    But the longer I sit, the more the pain settles. Breathing becomes easier with every breath and it feels less and less like needles poking my lungs. I relax, even if it¡¯s just a little. By now the bandages have vanished and I barely noticed how the doc had come close enough to inspect my wounds.


    I gulp the moment I see the black cape under my eyes; I dread to look at my own injuries. I¡¯ve been staked¡­ The mere thought twists and turns my stomach.


    But a part of me wants to see ¨C no ¨C must see. I lower my gaze almost shy, as if I could avoid the greater picture of my own dreadful situation. Of course, I can¡¯t help but staring at the ugly stitched up patch of flesh. It sits on my left lateral abdomen and for a second, I wonder if this was just pure luck or if the embroidery of our suits is stronger than we give it credit for.


    They aren¡¯t a guaranteed shield or barrier, for nothing, really. We often work in dangerous surroundings; The embroidery is the minimum effort of safety. It could redirect a bullet or hit on impact but could never prevent it. So¡­ How much did it redirect the branch guilty of the hole in my body?


    ¡°You were out for two weeks straight. Though I must admit I had to put you into an artificial coma. Your body tried to fight me with every step.¡±


    ¡°How even?¡± I try to not pay attention to my breaking voice. We¡¯re alone and sitting close to each other, voices and sounds travel well within this huge bedroom, and there is absolute silence around us. For a moment, I don¡¯t doubt he could probably even hear me think.


    ¡°Every body reacts different to magical influences. You haven¡¯t been badly injured up till, well¡­ now. And all your body really knows is the impact of the Weave. When you absorb emotions from the Weave you have to fight them, you must make a clear distinction of what belongs to you and what doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s important to keep it separated. That¡¯s what your body is used to. But medical magic is different. You have to accept it; it needs to become part of you. And your body really didn¡¯t want to accept anything at all.¡±


    I sigh, followed by a low moan. I feel the pain, but I try to ignore it while the doctor wraps me up in new bandages. The wound doesn¡¯t look as bad as I initially had expected, but it had two weeks to heal. Time that¡¯s just¡­ gone. Time wasted being injured and bedridden. I feel my muscles twitch, and so does the doc.


    ¡°Tomorrow we¡¯ll start to get your body back into shape. Your muscles need exercise, and I have yet to assess your ability to walk.¡±


    I nod, it¡¯s all I can really do. With my hands in my lap I flex my fingers, the tips still feel numb from the anesthesia, but it could be worse, I guess. It feels like touching something through a thin layer of fabric. The feeling is there just not quite right and somehow distant. Without a word the doctor hands me a flask of water and my head needs a moment to understand. Everything feels slow¡­ A feeling I absolutely hate.


    I take the flask and take a sip, only to realize how absolutely dehydrated my body feels. The pain had erased every sense of hunger and thirst but now it returns. I take another, bigger sip, and regret it right after. The swallowing causes my muscles to tense up, sending a wave of pain through my body.


    Baby steps, Eon, baby steps.


    I clear my throat to prevent a cough. The pressure a cough would put on my body sounds like a lot of additional pain I¡¯d rather not experience, so I try to swallow it ¨C semi-successful at that.


    I lean back a little bit, but there¡¯s just more pain awaiting me, so I decide to sit up a little longer. It helps to take the pressure from my back, and the longer I sit the more normal I feel. Tired ¨C exhausted, even ¨C but less broken.

 Chapter 18: Breaking a Birds Wings

    How lucky can a person be? Especially in a city like this? Granted, with a less skilled doctor I may not have survived the whole ordeal, but according to him, I could recover fully. Emphasis on could.


    The branch missed my vital organs, dealing damage to my intestines ¨C something the doc was able to fix, thanks to magical influence. But there are still things no one can tell just yet. For example, my ability to walk, and of course¡­ my mental trauma.


    Not that I care much¡­ Or rather, I don¡¯t want to care much. But after my trip to the bathroom assisted by the doctor while feeling the pain with every movement of my body, I had too much time thinking about the whole situation.


    Part of me feels ashamed to be in such a situation where I can''t even wash myself without assistance and the fear of fainting due to the pain. My thoughts can''t stop circling around what had happened¡­ Someone had locked us in, purposefully. I could make excuses, I could try to find another perspective, but for what? I¡¯m treasuring a flower from a man who just¡­ did this¡­ to me.


    I¡¯ve been bought without realizing it. I thought I was in control but alas, I wasn¡¯t. I¡¯ve been played. And it¡¯s different from how it ever was with Thayer. Thayer has always been a calculated risk, but the Shadows aren¡¯t. Without realizing I just wished for something so utopic that isn¡¯t possible to ever become real. I hated the thought but at the same time, I wanted to believe. I hated his touch, his attitude, his personality, but on the other hand, it took away so much of the usual critical and paranoia-fueled thoughts.


    His presence, while annoying, let me breathe. I secretly looked forward to that ¨C now I dread it. I¡¯m still alive, which might be a problem. The Shadows might come after me, trying to end what they¡¯ve started. Not even this bedroom feels safe anymore.


    Well, it never really did, but at least I know I can survive Thayer. I doubt this will always be the case, but he got me here, ordered the doctor to take care of me, fulfilled every wish the doctor had to grant my survival; so I guess I¡¯m not about to die here in the near future. Hopefully.


    I hear his heavy footsteps just before the door sways open and our eyes meet. Gods, he is pissed ¨C no ¨C beyond pissed: He is furious. He stands tall and straight, looking down at me. I¡¯m a nuisance he must deal with while he could invest his time elsewhere. I¡¯m aware of that. As is the doc.


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Eon.¡± He tries to keep his voice calm, but I can hear the anger tremble through his words, ¡°Next time I¡¯ll leave you to rot. Do you really want to die that badly?¡±


    It takes him four heavy steps to tower over the bed, like a dreading doom waiting for the ideal moment to strike. I can¡¯t help but pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated about the fact that he chose to lecture me now of all times.


    ¡°Not really, no. I¡¯d hardly be alive if I did.¡±


    ¡°Then why are we playing this game?!¡±


    Now he is angry, ramming his fist down right onto the nightstand. My gaze wanders past him to the doctor who¡¯s sitting in an armchair. Our eyes meet for a second, then I look back up at Thayer.


    ¡°What are you on about, old man¡­¡±


    I probably shouldn¡¯t agitate him more, but I can¡¯t help it. The more anger and frustration he shows, the more I want to push against it. He couldn¡¯t intimidate me in the past, and my current state shouldn¡¯t change anything about that.


    ¡°First you take on a job I warned you about the last time you walked right into the Duke¡¯s domain,¡± I couldn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about his ¡®warning¡¯, not after asking him why again and again without an answer. All it was to me was another way he tried to control me, a way I wouldn¡¯t accept. He can¡¯t expect me to follow orders or even recommendations without an explanation.


    Maybe there never was an explanation and the whole ordeal just played right into his cards by sheer luck. It could have been any other situation he warned me about and I¡¯ve just been lucky enough to avoid the immediate danger so far.


    ¡°Second, you lock yourself up with wild beasts and conveniently lock my guards out. Who do you think should watch your back if a high-security lock stands between them and you?¡± Fair, it was a concern I had, and I hate that he can use it against me now¡­


    ¡°And third¡­ The Shadows, Eon. What did you expect would happen? I¡¯ve watched your tango long enough.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me like a child, Thayer.¡± I can¡¯t stand how he tries to belittle me, counting my failures to make a point. Shit happened ¨C Shit I paid for.


    ¡°I lecture you as much as I want; your safety is part of our agreement. What use are you if you try to avoid the only thing tying you down.¡±


    ¡°Is that what this is about? Are you afraid I could run from you? Slip through your fingers and vanish into the shadows?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist the pun, even though I don¡¯t feel like joking. But I can¡¯t help but feel like he feels threatened by the Shadows, of all people. Or maybe this is about one specific Shadow, in which case¡­ Is he jealous? Fearsome? Or just pissed that someone else interferes with his possession? My bet is on the latter.


    ¡°I am not afraid, Eon.¡± In the blink of an eye, he suddenly sounds dangerously calm. His anger has transformed into something I have rarely seen: Calm and calculated wrath. Another word, another move, and I could set off his trigger. Or maybe¡­ I already did so.


    Suddenly I feel anxious to avert my eyes. I need to watch him, every move he makes, every step he takes, every little change in his expression ¨C I feel like walking between landmines, and I fall silent.


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡± His voice is as low as can be, foreboding even, ¡°If you want to be so reckless, I should just grant you your wish.¡±


    Formerly filled with raging anger, his eyes grow cold and distant. I know what lies behind this coldness, and for the first time, I contemplate apologizing. I open my mouth and,


    ¡°I would advise against brute force, Bear. I didn¡¯t stitch him up for you to tear him apart again,¡± the doctor chimes in, his voice calm, controlled, as if he¡¯s trying to appeal to Thayer¡¯s common sense. I want to look at the doctor, but I can¡¯t. I absolutely must keep an eye on Thayer¡¯s every movement.


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    ¡°I told you to fix him up, doctor. And if I tell you to fix him up once more, you¡¯ll do it. ¡®Why¡¯ is none of your concern. You may leave now.¡±


    It¡¯s a threat and an order, but he isn¡¯t even looking at the doctor, he keeps his stern gaze on me¡­ And I can¡¯t read him. For the first time ever I¡¯m unable to predict his motivations, let alone his thoughts.


    ¡°I may not. If you tear him apart and want him to get fixed again, I must insist on staying right where I am.¡±


    Thayer turns his head slowly, only letting me go of his cold surveillance once I vanish from the corner of his eyes, just to dart his gaze at the doctor. Maybe this whole situation can still be de-escalated. My eyes wander, cautiously, slowly following Thayer¡¯s gaze to look at the doctor, almost thankful. At least for a second.


    Without a warning I feel Thayer¡¯s way too strong grip on my hair, yanking my head into my neck and pulling me down. The sudden movement sends pain through my body, even more so the moment I hit the mattress with full force. I can¡¯t help but whimper, trying to suppress my voice to not give him the satisfaction.


    But it hurts¡­ It hurts so goddamn much¡­ It¡¯s even hard to force my eyes back open but I absolutely have to, I need to see what he¡¯s doing, need to see his expression. I need to know.


    I force my lids open. The doctor sits on his armchair as calm as can be. Gone is the hope that Thayer could be calmed down by the doc''s words, intimidated by his presence. He is absolutely done fucking around, and he doesn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Your choice, doctor. I told you I won¡¯t be blamed for the damage this may cause.¡±


    My eyes twitch, it¡¯s hard to keep them open, but I must. I gaze back at him, pain written all over my face ¨C and my body.


    ¡°Remember Eon, you asked for this.¡±


    His voice is low, raspy, it¡¯s the voice of a devil in disguise, accompanied by the most dangerous smile I¡¯ve ever seen on his face. But he gives me no time to think about it. I feel the additional weight on the bed as he kneels on the mattress, and a cry escapes my lips.


    The pain hits me without a warning and creeps through my whole body, as he digs his fingers into the bandages over my injury, pressing his nails through the thin fabric right into my wound. It¡¯s the sharpest and simultaneously most numbing pain I¡¯ve ever felt.


    ¡°Stay awake Eon,¡± he whispers with a seducing tone, almost in a sing-song melodic manner. With a heartbreaking warmth on top of that. He is enjoying this. My pain fills his rotten heart. Seeing me hurt fuels his ego. I barely show it, usually. I¡¯ve been drunk beyond recognition every single time we slept together.


    I used alcohol to escape reality, he used incense and smoke to heighten my senses, and yet I¡¯ve always been rather quiet. It was easy to just escape to my mental safe space, letting him do whatever he wanted while I just spaced out.


    But right now, I can feel everything and more. I feel the pain and my senses are altered because of my injuries ¨C I can¡¯t keep quiet. Not even when forced, and he enjoys this. He¡¯s getting something he never got from me for the past 4 years: genuine reaction.


    I try to take a deep breath, to ease the pain, to keep my head as clear as possible, but just as air fills my lungs his hand slips from my hair, landing on my throat to push me deeper into the pillow. With a gasp I hold my breath, my eyes almost pleading to be spared.


    ¡°If you faint, I can¡¯t guarantee you¡¯ll ever open your pretty eyes again.¡± I feel his weight on my throat, and the numbing pain his fingers clawing at my wounds cause, all the while feeling his hot breath against my skin.


    His lips brush mine and I can¡¯t evade it. I want to press my lips together, deny him access, turn my head, but my voice needs an escape. I can¡¯t muffle the whimpers and moans the pain breaks from my lips, even though he controls my breathing. I feel dizzy and I hate this feeling more than anything else. I feel my control slipping away from me right under Thayer¡¯s thumb.


    For a moment, the pain subdues, and even though the pressure on my throat makes it hard to breathe I feel like I can finally exhale. But the only reason his hand released my stomach was to pull away the blanket. In the corner of my eye, I can see it being sent flying to the floor.


    It''s not like I had any clothes here. The doctor had wrapped me up in one of Thayer''s silky bathrobes. It was easier for him to wash me and attend to my injuries while I was knocked out, and had made it so much easier for me to move and wash myself when the doc brought me to the bathroom.


    But now¡­ Now this piece of useless fabric feels like betrayal. It just takes Thayer another motion of his hand to get rid of it. Nothing is holding it in place, and even if there was¡­ I feel like he would just rip it right from my body.


    I want to space out. I want to escape to my mental safe space. But I absolutely cannot. I can''t read him right now, but he made his intention very clear and there is no doubt in my mind that he''s serious. If I lose consciousness this might be the end of me. I need to endure this. I need to get through it.


    I''ve always felt kind of filthy sleeping with him, but it was a feeling I could easily suppress. Our relationship became a habit, something I got used to without feeling much anymore after a while. And here''s to say that Thayer ¨C on a surface level ¨C is an attractive man. If it wasn''t for his appearance, I had never agreed to his offer.


    I thought it would be easier to sell myself to someone I feel physically attracted to¡­ Who had thought how ugly someone can become after their personality starts to shine through? Gone was the handsome, tall man with his sharp facial structures. Gone was the fantasy of holding me close in his strong arms to protect me from all evil.


    I always knew it wouldn''t be like that. The way he tried to intimidate and buy me from the very start was off-putting, but there was a part of me hoping that something could change. That maybe I could become his special someone, the one person he would treasure and respect despite being an awful person.


    But the thing is¡­ Fairytales don''t exist. He is just a rotten person and there is no fixing that. He''ll never cherish me and after so many years of abuse, I don''t even want him to, ever. I still hope he''ll be hurt if I die, I still hope he''ll suffer the loss of something he never knew he had, I still wish he would feel the devastating pain my demise could cause.


    But right now, with his hand on my throat and his dangerous and cold eyes, I know he never will. If he kills me tonight, he''ll just move on and find another toy. He''ll mourn the convenience of having me around, the convenience of calling for me, lay with me, abuse me. But he has other possessions to fulfill his dirty needs.


    Granted, I''ve always been his favorite because of my stubbornness. But not because he appreciated the trait as such, but because he enjoyed getting off on dominating me despite of it. Just as he does now.


    I feel what this situation does to his body, I see the heat of arousal creep into his eyes while his hand locks my leg into position, preventing me from denying him space. My body is so weak that I can''t even fight it. I want to struggle, kick, punch, do anything in hopes of fleeing ¨C but the more I move the more I feel the pain.


    He pushes himself right between my legs, letting me feel just how much he enjoys it seeing me struggle for air while whimpering in pain. He doesn''t care if I cry out in pleasure or pain, he just wants to hear my voice. He doesn''t even have the decency to undress himself, let alone take the time to think about it. I feel how the hand vanishes from my leg and even though the lower part of my body feels numbed because of my wounds, I know exactly what he is doing.


    It takes only seconds till I feel the throbbing, naked heat press against my body and I dread every second of it. There is no alcohol and incense to numb the feeling, there is nothing I can do to ease my body. Even if he wasn''t so forceful my injury is enough for my body to be as tense as I can be. I can only imagine the additional pain he''s about to inflict on me.


    I scream as a sudden pain grips hold of my body. Without realizing it, my hands had found their way to Thayer''s arm pushing me down. I claw at him, trying anything to make him release my neck. The only reason he lets me breathe is to hear me wail in pain and agony while he once again digs his fingers into the bandages.


    I feel like he is trying to rip out my organs, my body is shaking uncontrollably, black specks cross my vision. I feel like blacking out, but I can''t¡­


    I can''t¡­


    All I can do is cry out in pain again and again, with every movement of his body. All night long. With the doctor just sitting in his chair silently watching.


    I¡­


    I¡­


    I feel so broken.

 Chapter 19: If nothing else…

    I''ve been laying here for hours, just staring at the ceiling with not a thought on my mind. The doctor crossed my vision once in a while, but only now I feel the pain creeping in slowly.


    I had dissociated completely at some point. The pain had become so unbearable that I just¡­ mentally spaced out. It was the only thing I could do. But now, after lying here for what feels like hours, my senses finally find their way back to me ¨C for better or worse.


    Thayer has long been gone, left me to rot with a mocking expression on his face and satisfaction in his eyes he went about his day as if nothing had happened. The only thing remaining was me, my hurt, and the doctor.


    I wince as I feel the needle pushing through my flesh, but I have no strength left to move another muscle.


    "Welcome back." I hear the doc''s voice, and for the first time since Thayer had entered the room I close my eyes. I feel the heat rushing to my ears, I hear my own heartbeat loud and clear. I feel a lump in my throat and suddenly, I can''t help but cry in silence. I held back for so long that I just can''t anymore.


    There is no fear, only pain, disgust, and the feeling of betrayal. Not just by the Shadow, but also by the doctor. He sat through the whole thing in silence, watching, observing, unmoved. And even now his movements feel calm, calculated, distant.


    For the first time since they presented my mother''s body in front of me, I wish for her warm embrace. The way she would hold me in the past, telling me that everything will be alright. Her words of encouragement, her uplifting smile, and the way she would shed tears silently while holding me close, feeling hurt herself because I felt hurt.


    Back then I used to feel guilty, I never wanted her to cry, especially not because of me, but now¡­ I wish someone would cry for me, hold me, feel for me, with the passion and empathy only a mother ever could.


    But I''m alone in this world. There is no one crying for me. No one to tell me it will be alright ¨C because it won''t. It won''t.


    "I''m sorry¡­"


    The calm voice of the doctor pierces through the emotions that slowly seem to consume me. Sorry¡­ Sorry for "what?"


    "I''m sorry," he repeats himself. I open my eyes and I don''t even have the strength to wipe my tears ¨C it wouldn''t do shit anyways as the tears keep coming. I can''t do anything about it.


    "I know how you feel." For a second amidst this physical and mental pain I feel a burst of anger, "Do you now?" My voice breaks and my throat feels soar. Go figure. But I can''t keep silent. Not now¡­ Not ever.


    He pauses ¨C the needle between his fragile fingers ¨C to lift his glowing eyes at me, looking at me. Despite my tears I can see his troubled expression. Or maybe that''s wishful thinking.


    "I know the hurt, Eon." How come we''ve met so many times, seen each other''s bruises and cuts so many times, but never spoken? We knew and hence words seemed useless. What good is talking anyway? But right now¡­ If it helps to feel less lonely, less forsaken, I''m willing to listen.


    "I had to stay¡­ See what damage he causes, keep an eye on your vitals¡­ I wish I could have done something. But we both wouldn''t be alive if I did."


    I try to move but the moment my muscle tense up, I feel the cold hand of the doctor on my chest, gently reminding me of laying still.


    "Don''t move or the magic might break. The anesthesia does its work right now but it won''t help much without it." How can he look so compassionate and yet sound so calm? Either his composure or his expression is fake, and I am not in the right mental state to analyze either.


    "How bad is it?" I can''t keep my voice up, but with Thayer and his anger gone, the room is eerily quiet. If it wasn''t for the beat of my own heart still filling my ears, I''d fear hearing the needle piercing my skin.


    "You''re¡­ alive. If nothing else¡­" With that said he returns to his work of stitching me back up. I feel it, my body knows what''s happening and wants to react accordingly, but I feel too numb. At least I now know it''s not my body shutting off, it''s the medical magic and anesthesia.


    "That''s one way to put it, I guess." I can''t help but huff loaded with self-irony. I''m alive. I fought so hard for this but right now ¨C in this very moment ¨C I don''t want to be. I don''t want to die I just¡­ I don''t want to exist. All I want is some peace and quiet, and no more hurt. A warm embrace, a soothing hum, without feeling anything.


    "He¡­ He knew what he did. Or else you''d be in a much worse state. He agonized you but he made sure to keep you alive. However, I''d much prefer to get you out of this house as fast as possible."


    "And go where?" I whisper, it''s the only way I can speak without my voice constantly breaking.


    "I can take you to one of the shelters," he explains, but what good would that be?


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    "Thayer wouldn''t let you."


    "We don''t have to tell him."


    "How?"


    "There''s someone who can help."


    "No." I suddenly feel anxious. I don''t know why but my thoughts jump right to the Shadows and it sends a shiver down my spine. They put me into this agony¡­ He put me into this agony. And there is not a doubt on my mind that I won''t survive another encounter.


    "Eon, if you stay here there''s no telling what will happen."


    "I¡­" The words get stuck in my throat. I know he''s right, but at the same time I feel so, so exposed. I feel dread, I feel lost, I feel like there is nothing to make this hurt ever go away. I feel paralyzed.


    "Shhh¡­" His voice is soft, but it''s all I can hear or sense right now. The next thing I feel is his cold cheek on my forehead and one of the long, white strands tickles my face. But I don''t mind. I feel this wave of frustration and relief at the same time as he tucks my head into a gentle embrace, burying his nose in my hair.


    It''s only now that I realize that, despite no active effort on my own, I still had held back my emotions. I had laid here, crying in silence, spiraling down, but with this sudden touch of compassion and empathy I just break. My walls finally collapse as my fingers find hold on the doctor''s sleeves, holding onto this little bit of support.


    He lets me cry and sob, all while holding me like fragile good. I never liked this way of being touched, I never liked being handled with care like I could break ¨C I''m used to deal with roughness. It became easier for me to deal with.


    It''s an easy concept, really. If someone slaps me there is no lie, there is nothing to hide from me, nothing to gain. I don''t particularly like it, but it is what it is: A clear signal ¨C a signal I can deal with. But if someone''s nice and comforting it''s¡­ It''s anxiety-inducing. When will they turn their back on me? When will they stab me in the back? What do they want from me? Why are they being nice? What purpose does it serve?


    But now¡­ Now this is all I longed for. Someone to hold me, a gentle touch after all the pain, a tiny sanctuary. And I cling on to it as long as he''ll let me.


    "Let me help you, Eon."


    "Why?" I can''t bring myself to form my thoughts into words, I can''t convey what I''m feeling, what I''m wondering about, but here''s to hoping he understands.


    "Because I''ve been there¡­ Years ago. Lost and broken, unable to move, paralyzed in fear, fueled with anxiety. And unlike you I break easily¡­ And if I don''t do anything to help you, you''ll soon be at a point of no return. At a point you will break easily too."


    "Is it your sickness?" I don''t know why I''m asking. I don''t know anything. But maybe¡­ Maybe conversation can help to calm me down again.


    "You mean my affliction? Partially, yes."


    "What is it?"


    "I''m dying, I always have."


    "Running out into the black fog to help others surely doesn''t help¡­" I don''t know where this kind of cynical words are coming from but they force me to focus, to regain my composure slowly but surely.


    "No, it doesn''t. But if I don''t do it, who else will?"


    I shrug, I have no answer. There are doctors in this city, but I don''t know anyone like the doc himself. As far as I know, he doesn''t even get paid for the work he does most of the time. He''s just there, doing things, because he can and wants to.


    I feel him blow air through his nose, causing a warm sensation on my skin with his nose still buried in my hair. Was this¡­ amusement? Well, a sort of self-irony amusement, probably, but still. I never caught anything but a calm expression from him in the past.


    "Thought so," he says. He''s right, there''s no answer to his question, and if no one else does his job that only leaves him. Meanwhile poor Miss Morell, Mr. Ockwell, and Ash are probably drowning in the work I can''t attend to.


    I sniff one last time and slowly raise my head ¨C not that I could move much, but it''s enough for the doctor to lift his head from my air and give me the space I need to look at him. I don''t feel like my head is clear, my thoughts have been all over the place, and while I caught everything he said, my mind of got hung up on the most curious things. Like the doc''s sickness¡­ or as he calls it: Affliction.


    It takes me a few seconds, but I finally find my way around, "who did you allude to?"


    "You know." So this sudden gut feeling suffocating me in anxiety was right after all. Sometimes I hate myself for my intuition.


    "I wouldn''t be here without them."


    He looks at me calmly, but there is a hint of confusion in his eyes as he lets go of me slowly, as if to make sure I won''t just break down again. I¡­ I feel this heat raising back up, but I try to push it down, enough to let go of the sleeves I had clung onto like I did when Thayer had his way with me.


    I take a deep breath and flinch as I feel a sting in my stomach. Right¡­ Anesthesia, medical magic, don''t move too much. Got it. I exhale, pressing the air slowly out of my lungs to not make reckless movements.


    "I fear you''ll have to explain."


    I know the Shadow holds the doc in high regards, or at least that''s what he wanted me to believe¡­ And maybe that''s what he wants the doc to believe. What a beautifully spun web of deception. If I wasn''t so done with life itself, I would admire his efforts.


    "I met him in Betty''s cage. The lock of the entrance was jammed when we tried to escape. We weren''t just unlucky doc; we were locked in on purpose," my voice breaks and so do my words. But he''s patient and gives me time to gather myself, "One of us ¨C if not both ¨C were meant to die that day."


    He eyes me up and down, then he averts his gaze. He almost seems lost in thought, as if this little detail is shaking up everything he believed in. I know that feeling, I''ve been there just recently and don''t blame him.


    But then he shakes his head and looks back at me.


    "That''s¡­ Never mind. I still need to get you out of here. As soon as possible. I can''t carry you, and you can''t ¨C and definitely shouldn''t ¨C walk. If they use us, we can use them."


    His calmness is back to what I''m used to, but what I am not used to is his way of calculated though process. I didn''t expect him to face this whole revelation and what it could mean for people like us so callously. Then again¡­ I never really bothered to think about the doc and how he survives in this city.


    "I can''t say I trust you."


    "You don''t have to, Eon. You only need to trust my abilities to stich you up again if need be."


    "I don''t know if I can."


    "You will. We''ll move at dusk."


    And with that he is done talking, I can see it on his face, the expression of a doctor who won''t accept any ifs and buts. It unsettles me. But what can I do? Nothing¡­ Nothing at all and I feel this numbness creep back into my thoughts. This all-consuming darkness, the dissociation.


    I''m bed ridden and broken. If nothing else, I can at least decide how I''ll break further and I don''t want it to be by Thayer''s hand.

 Chapter 20: A Void of Azure Stars

    I''m standing on the edge.


    Before me lays a bottomless void, behind me the city of decay is sleeping in its rot. It''s a clear-cut line, the houses are just cut off if part of the city has fallen into the void.


    There''s no one around, it''s just me. Lost¡­


    I''m lost.


    If I take a step forward, I will be consumed by the void, I''ll be gone. Peace at last. But I hesitate. There is nothing in this void, no thought, no feeling, but also¡­ no comfort, no warmth. It''s just nothingness.


    I squint my eyes, trying to see the end, trying to see what lies beyond the void. Is there anything at all?


    I turn just enough to see the city over my shoulder. It''s towering, intimidating, repelling. It doesn''t want me.


    But weirdly¡­ I want it. It''s been home for so long, the center of my life, everything I ever knew. Looking up one of the tall buildings I see a light burning in one of the apartments.


    It''s Thomas'' apartment.


    It doesn''t make sense.


    I see shadow figures behind the milky glass. Thomas'' silhouette is unmistakable. I would recognize it everywhere. The short hair he tries to comb back whenever it just wants to bend out of shape due to his natural curls. His hair is so short that the ends twist and turn and there is nothing he can do about it.


    I''ve heard him mumble to himself so many times when he tried to get the chaos that is his hair under control. The mere thought gives me a little warmth. That''s Thomas, alright? I wouldn''t change a thing about this man.


    As if he reads my thoughts, his silhouette is combing his hair, just to be interrupted by his lovely wife. She''s a gem unlike any other. I believe they met when he was recovering from the black fog. She was one of the nurses taking care of him.


    We never talked about it, but once in a while, I do catch some bits and pieces of information at the station ¨C if it''s about people I care.


    Huh¡­


    I care about Thomas.


    Funny, isn''t it? I have such a hard time admitting it, but I really do care. Losing Thomas would feel familiar, like losing a parent all over again.


    I watch this play of shadows, how she puts her hand on his shoulder, taking the comb from his hand to attend to the chaos on his head. And slowly but surely, she gets it under control. It''s lovable to see how grateful he is.


    It''s not his fate, I can''t see it, but I see his body relax, his shoulder slumping down in defeat of his hair, and rises back up in confidence. I see the way he embraces her, thankful. Not just for her help, but for her sole existence.


    Is this what love is supposed to look like?


    She breaks loose from the embrace, just to pick up their little baby girl, sandwiching her right between them for another hug, I can hear her giggles.


    It baffled me. The one time I met his family, I mean. Despite this city and the society we live in, Thomas and his wife managed to raise a radiant little girl. She called me funny that day and giggled right into my face, with half her teeth missing.


    I couldn''t admit it, let alone show it back then, but looking at her I wanted her to keep this spirit. I felt annoyed but deep down I wanted to hear her giggle. This illusion of a world where things can be alright. The illusion that this city isn''t out to drown every spirit.


    The light goes out, Thomas and his family vanish into the dark, and I hear a squeaking laugh. I look around, but I can''t see her ¨C and I don''t have to. I know it''s the laugh of Miss Amber. As annoying as her voice is, and as much as I can''t handle her high-pitched voice, right now her laugh feels reassuring.


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    Despite everything her spirit has never been tainted. If she struggles in her personal life she doesn''t show it. She comes to work every evening with her best self. Maybe her life is as grim as mine, maybe she forces herself to be happy and uplifting the moment she enters the station, knowing fully well how hard our work often is.


    But maybe¡­ She''s just like that. Maybe she is proof that a somewhat normal life is possible. Maybe.


    Maybe.


    Maybe.


    It''s silent again and I take a deep breath. The smell of freshly baked pastries fills my nostrils, and I close my eyes. I know this smell. Even if Mrs. Sinclair doesn''t bring anything to work the smell accompanies her. It''s a love letter to her hobby and her skills.


    I know why she bakes a lot, and I feel it pulling at my heartstrings, but at the same time, there is deep appreciation. She could just hoard all the goods at home, she could bring them to the market, trying to make some money with them.


    But without a second thought, she''ll bring it to the station every time. I never thought about it that way, but maybe it lifts her spirit seeing us enjoy her pastries and cakes. If she bakes when her spirit is low, maybe it''s us rebuilding her without even knowing it. I taste this sour aftertaste from my mouth that crept up whenever I ate whatever she brought to the station.


    Knowing what I know it was hard to enjoy her gifts, it was proof of her struggles, and eventually, I had a hard time even looking at the sweet delights she brought us. Maybe I hurt her even further with it.


    With the smell still lingering, I hear voices and lighthearted banter in the back. I hear the Morell siblings. I can''t make out their words, but I don''t have to. I can hear Andrew''s boastful voice and Nancy''s lecturing tone. It''s a slow back and forth, with Andrew''s confidence slowly crumbling under her strict demeanor, and suddenly they laugh.


    I remember¡­ I never paid attention to their words, but I remember I heard their voices just as I do now, back at the station several weeks ago. I didn''t care enough to engage, but I remember the lingering feeling their sudden laughter left me with. It''s care. Love. Love only siblings will ever be able to experience it. Love I can''t relate to.


    I couldn''t pin down that feeling, this annoyance I felt. I wanted them to shut up, so I left. But¡­


    I was jealous.


    No matter how grim this city is they have each other. And if nothing bad ever happens, they''ll always have each other.


    I have no one. My only escape lies in alcohol and cigarettes to numb my senses while I give my body to a man I came to hate. There never was anyone watching my back, looking out for me, caring for me.


    No.


    That''s not true.


    Thomas cared. The doctor did. Miss Amber did. Mrs. Sinclair did. Dorothy, bless her heart, did. I think¡­ maybe even the Morell siblings did.


    I open my eyes and hold my breath. The void in front of me has grown, the tips of my toes are already over the edge. I hear a faint voice, the low, soothing vibration of the bass. Blue shimmering specks start to appear. They are so dim I almost can''t see them, but they slowly grow brighter.


    "I care."


    A low voice in the distance.


    My eyes are caught by the mesmerizing scene that unfolds. The void lays beneath my feet, ever-growing, but so are the blue stars all around me. And the closer I look, the more I realize: They are no stars.


    They are blue petals. Hundreds of them. Covering the void in what I imagine a night sky full of stars looks like.


    Is this the point where I have to make a decision? Fall into the void and be gone forever? Feeling nothing ever more? Or do turn? Face the hurt, but also the people living in this city?


    I feel the suffocating heat in my throat that pushes the tears into the corners of my eyes. I''m not ready to make that choice.


    "His heart rate is sinking. Wake him up."


    Is this¡­ the doc''s voice? It feels so distant, so far away. I''m sorry doc. I can''t¡­ I wish I could but I don''t feel ready to face the pain. I don''t feel ready to face him.


    I feel the fall. But it is slow, dream-like even. Oh, right, I''ve been dreaming all along, haven''t I? This city right here¡­ It''s not real. Nor is the void beneath. But it still is a decision I have to make. It feels so much easier to just fall. To give up.


    I feel warm all of a sudden. Is this what death feels like? A warm embrace to tuck me in, to give me a feeling of comfort?


    ¡­


    ¡­


    No.


    This is not death. Because, despite everything, I don''t want to die. I can''t just go without knowing. I need to know. I always needed to know. It''s been the one red lining in my life ¨C Answers.


    I stopped in my fall as if frozen still. I''m facing the void as I open my eyes again. The whole scene seems to shift around me. It''s not a bottomless pit anymore.


    I feel like I am standing up straight, but when I look back I see the city tiled. It feels like I didn''t fall, but the city and the void rotated, and now the pit became a portal. I can''t fall, but I can walk.


    But I don''t. I stay still.


    From the void emerges a short figure. It''s hard to see but the closer it gets, the better I can distinguish the black void from the just as black hood. It''s the doctor, no doubt.


    Funny, I always thought he looked like death. Swift and silent on his feet, covered by layers of fabric to hide his pale skin and piercing eyes. I¡­ I never paid much attention to it. But the doctor is unlike any other person I have ever met in this city.


    But I felt too numb to think about it. He did the right thing, saving lives. I never questioned him, nor his person. But right now I feel like I should have.


    Just¡­


    Who are you, Doctor? Are you really death itself?


    "Eon, wake the fuck up. This is not over yet."

 Chapter 21: Not yet. Not ever.

    My eyes snap open, whatever dream I had vanished in an instant, overshadowed by the pain that suddenly fills my body. I yelp and feel my hand clinging to something.


    The sudden pain leaves my head empty for a moment, I can''t grasp my surroundings or what is happening to me.


    I''m being held. I''m feeling¡­ warm. Despite the pain.


    "For God''s sake, Eon."


    I hear the doc''s voice but my head needs a moment to process his words, my breathing is heavy, exhausted, and honestly, that''s how I feel. I didn''t even realize how I was trembling till now. I can''t stop my body from shaking.


    "I''m sorry, you have to bite through the pain." My vision focuses, I see the glowing eyes of the doctor, kneeling in front of me, slowly retracing his hands covered in blood.


    "You sure?" I freeze. My head just comes around to understand what it means to be held while the only person I expected to see is in front of me with his hands nowhere near my body.


    "If I put him to sleep again, his heart may stop for good."


    "Dosage?"


    "No. He was willing to part. We need to keep him awake. Can you get up?"


    I feel unable to react. A sudden fear mixed with the pain prevents me from moving. I want to protest, I want to break free, get far away from the man holding me, carrying me. But I can''t.


    And that''s not reasonable thinking either. I don''t care if I couldn''t even stand on my own legs ¨C if I could move at all, I just don''t want to be held by him of all people. I''d rather crawl through the black mud of this city than be held by him, but¡­ there is nothing I can do.


    The fear leaves me frozen, and the pain disables me from sudden movement. But I feel every muscle in my body tense up. I don''t want to be touched by him. Suddenly, I feel... nothing anymore. Only the pain that shakes my body violently.


    The only thing that reaches me is the voices around me, the doctor''s analytical tone, "He''s dissociating."


    "Probably for the better." And this low, gentle voice vibrating through my shaking body. I hate it.


    I feel movement and flinch due to the pain it causes me. There is no chance I could walk on my own but part of me would rather sit it out in Thayer''s apartment. That''s the sound of anxiety and pain ¨C I know full damn well that I wouldn''t survive Thayer another night ¨C but moving away from here is just¡­ Too much right now.


    "We should move fast, the longer he has to endure this, the riskier it gets. Can we trust your people?"


    The Shadow chuckles ever so slightly at the doctor''s question, "They will do their part just fine. Eon has a way of making friends among us."


    "He would probably argue that."


    "Of course he would." God damn right I would, but I can''t ¨C The only thing I can do is pant in vain, trying to regulate my breathing be it just to have something to focus on besides the lingering anxiety.


    "Hm¡­" The chuckle has faded into this sound that''s filled with a sense of reverie.


    "What is it?" Of course, this sudden shift doesn''t escape the doc either, and other than I, he is in a position to ask.


    "I remember carrying you to safety all these years ago." The Shadow''s voice seems softer than usual, gentle even. As if the memory is both hurtful and reassuring.


    "That''s one reason why I contacted you."


    "I''m glad I''m still someone you trust, despite everything."


    "Sometimes that''s all we have left. Good faith in the wrong people for the right reasons."


    I wish I could pull myself together enough to look at them, see them, evaluate their expression, their body language, but while I can catch little glimpses my head is barely up to the task. The bits and pieces of information stick but I don''t find myself able to make sense of them. Not yet anyway.


    They remain silent and I can only assume that there is an unspoken agreement to not dwell on it, to not further speak about it. I would probably do the same; no one likes dwelling on the past. Not even someone as open and easy-going as the Shadow. There is a deeper layer to every person in this city.


    I see the high walls passing by as I am carried through this massive apartment. Funnily enough none of Thayer''s staff members crosses our way. It''s like they are just conveniently absent wherever we are, and yet the doc and the Shadow move fast.


    They are determined to get out of here with me in tow, and I can''t stop nor hinder them. I''m being kidnapped and I don''t know how I feel about it.


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    Thayer¡­ will eventually kill me. For years this thought was lingering in the back of my head, resurfacing every time I woke up in the morning in his empty bed assessing the damage. And every time I wondered if he would care.


    Now I know.


    He wouldn''t. If he kills me, it will not be an accident. He kept me alive through the torture, made me feel everything and more, he could keep me in a cage and abuse me for days, keeping me on the verge of death and life. And he would enjoy watching me taking my last breath under his power.


    It would be the pleasure to end all pleasures. And then¡­ He would move on. Just like that.


    I know his life is paved with corpses, I know I''m just two steps away from becoming one of them. But¡­ The thing is¡­ I know. I have a perfect picture of what all this means, now more than ever. I know what the pain feels like, what the torture feels like. I know what he is capable of, and while it is gruesome it''s the only thing I know for certain.


    I can calculate it, I can brace myself for the impact, I can prepare. I can''t imagine anything worse than dying by his hand but at the same time, the fear that something worse is possible makes me want to stay here. Stay with the well-calculated risk and danger instead of heading into the unknown.


    I am scared. With every step they take me further away from the bedroom, I feel the knot in my throat growing. My nails dig into whatever I hold onto and I realize how hard it suddenly is to breathe.


    I feel dizzy, overwhelmed by emotions and tears. Everything in my body is ready to jump out of the Shadow''s arms if it wasn''t for the crippling pain.


    My thoughts are racing, as is my heart.


    "Sunshine, focus on me." I can''t. This voice betrays me yet again, my eyes move through the room, searching for something to latch onto, something to focus on. But the only thing they meet are deep green eyes, so dark they almost seem brown.


    "Breathe. In," he takes a deep breath, "and out," and exhales loudly. Again, and again. And my own breathing falls into his rhythm slowly, but surely.


    I breathe in and I breathe out.


    In.


    Out.


    I feel my senses slowly coming back as my vision starts to clear up a little. We came to a halt, I''m somewhat leaning against a wall, the Shadow kneels in front of me, covering me with his body while keeping his distance. He let go of me, gave me space to collect myself, gave me room to get back to my senses¡­ Why?


    The hands I feel on my back and shoulder to keep me in a somewhat upright but careful position, aren''t the hands of the man who had just carried me.


    It''s the doc carefully making sure I sit in a way that won''t further harm my body.


    I¡­ I can''t recollect the past two minutes. I can only puzzle together what must have happened, and how it came to this situation.


    My gaze is locked onto the Shadow''s. There is something deep beneath the green I can''t really catch. There is a sense of stoic calmness that puts me more and more at ease, and he keeps looking at me as if to make sure I won''t jump right into the next panic attack.


    "I know I have given you no good reason to trust me thus far," his voice is low, calm, gone is the nonchalant undertone he carried throughout all of our conversations. It''s the calm I need right now to keep my thoughts in check.


    "But I am here to help you. If you stay¡­" he shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was about to say. "I know it is scary, but you can do this. I know you can. You''re strong, stronger than you think. You''re still breathing despite everything, and you will keep on breathing."


    I take a deep breath, try to collect myself, keep the tears contained. I cried so much since Thayer had entered the room and yet there is still so much more I could shed.


    I feel like there is no stop to the grief and pain I feel. But¡­ what exactly am I grieving? The things I lost or the things that could have been?


    "I try¡­" These are not the words I wanted to escape, but they did so anyway. I want to yell at him, be mad at him, curse and swear, and chase him into damnation. But his words resonate with me, they speak to a part of me I thought lost.


    A part that is still fighting, a part that is still stubborn, persistent to move on, to reclaim my emotions and my autonomy. A part that''s willing to survive no matter what and fight for it to the bitter end.


    I''m just too exhausted and hurt to let this part take control¡­ For the first time in my life, I need to let others fight for me. After all, I still need answers. And I will get them, no matter what.


    "I need to carry you, tell me when you''re ready." I swallow hard. I still don''t want him to touch me, but I have to allow it. I close my eyes.


    Ironic, isn''t it? I''m used to being tossed around, stripped of my own voice. It would be easier if he would just lift me up on his arms again and dismiss my feelings about it. Just get me out of here and be done with it.


    But here we are again¡­ I''m confronted with a concerned and careful approach, completely overwhelmed by the fact that I have a choice.


    Well¡­ Partially. He made it pretty clear that he won''t leave me behind. But for a moment, I absolutely don''t doubt that he would just sit down next to me and wait for however long it would take.


    I don''t tend to find out and therefore will never get proof of it but¡­ Just thinking about the possibility that he would try anything else before going against my wishes is suffocating.


    I don''t know how to feel about it, not with the betrayal I feel. Would he be so considerate and risk so much just to gain my trust? Other people would, I''m sure. But¡­ what about him?


    Gods I want to know. I can''t explain why, but not knowing is adding hurt to my physical pain. Is this¡­ heartache?


    "I''m ready¡­" I whisper. "I''m ready," I repeat to myself.


    With the assistance of the doctor, he takes me back onto his arms before slowly getting up. I keep my eyes closed but I feel the doctor pulling and pushing my body and the Shadow''s arms gently into place, making sure I am carried in the least painful way.


    I feel the pain, I try not to flinch and gasp with every movement, but it seems more bearable without my whole mind fighting this escape.


    The fear lingers, the anxiety keeps a hold on me. We slow down every so often on our way out of this huge complex to assess my state.


    We barely avoid the old tailor setting up his shop at this late hour due to being slowed down again and again by my rising dread of the unknown. But the moment we step off Thayer''s property, I feel the tension fall from my shoulders.


    The anxiety of losing the control I could still hold in a well-known environment mixed with the fear of being caught without me realizing it.


    Just now it becomes apparent how much of this dread was filled with the fear of Thayer''s reaction. The thought of staying ¨C although fatal at its core ¨C instilled the disillusion that I could calm his anger.


    There was a tiny voice in my head that told me that staying would be safer, that I could appeal to the Bear''s common sense, to his humanity, that I''d survive it if I just submitted properly. This disillusion gave me a false sense of security, something that''s completely lost if I try to run.


    For the first time since I woke up I feel like I''m not just inhaling and exhaling air, no, I feel like I''m finally breathing.

 Chapter 22: Of Anger and Trust

    It''s been days and I''ve lost count of them. I haven''t seen the Shadow again since we reached this little shelter but I hear him talk to the doc occasionally just outside the room. This place is not what I had imagined of a shelter, to be fair.


    We''re far in the lower-city district, in an old abandoned factory. It''s a place I have heard of but never visited before, not even job-related. And I''ve seen many places on my job, good and bad ones. But I would remember this little sanctuary.


    The big hall with the heavy door has been repurposed into a place for the poor and homeless, with a lot of tables to sit at, chairs and pillows to sit on. In the far back, they built a food bank. Volunteers cook food daily and distribute it to whoever finds their way here.


    Some bring food from home, but most people cook here in one of the repurposed old staff rooms.


    The main hall is the heart of this sanctuary, it''s filled with people almost around the clock. Even late at night, when the doors are closed, there''s someone around to help those in need.


    The upper floor of the main hall was turned into sleeping quarters. It''s hard to see them up there, but it''s easy to look down and observe what is happening.


    This gives many people dealing with anxiety and paranoia the possibility of feeling safe, to feel in control. Most of them couldn''t be locked up in a small room, and yet some of them struggle to be among so many other people.


    I''m one of them, and I''m kind of glad I am kept in one of the smaller rooms.


    I assume the smaller rooms were for storage back when the factory was still running, but now they are filled with makeshift beds for the sick and wounded. The doctor comes to see me every so often but I came to understand that he is attending to many people here. Most of my time I spend alone, which is good, to be honest.


    The first few days I wasn''t in a state to think clearly. Mainly due to the pain but my mental state played a big part in it as well ¨C it still does.


    I¡­ I hate to admit it, but I am anxious. With every passing day, I should feel safer but I don''t. I''m counting the days till Thayer will find me. There is no way he doesn''t know of this place.


    Maybe, and that''s the only thing I can cling onto, he just doesn''t expect the doc to bring me to such an obvious hideout. Is this what my life is going to be from now on? Am I going to be on the run for the rest of my days?


    A knock at the door, then it slowly opens.


    "Good morning, Sunshine." His voice is too carefree and I can''t say I am happy to see him. I haven''t worked through all the things that had happened, and I haven''t forgotten about the betrayal. Every time I heard his voice outside I could feel my body tense up as the fear settled in my guts. And it''s no different now.


    "Look at you, your face finally got some color," he chuckles, but I can''t really answer. I know I should address it, the one thing that keeps me awake even when I''m exhausted beyond salvation. Lately, he''s been on my mind way too often in a negative way.


    I was annoyed by his presence more often than not, but I also appreciated it. Secretly. He turned boring, lonely jobs into something not as numbing, and while I really wish he would find his sense of personal space, I stopped to bother at some point.


    But now¡­ His presence feels like an ill omen. Part of me wants to get rid of that sinking feeling of distrust and disgust, and part of me doesn''t.


    What if I confront him? What if he explains everything that happened? What if I''m blinded yet again? I have no way to prove if whatever he tells me is true, and I don''t want to believe his words solely. Because¡­ Trust is fatal.


    "I brought you some things from your home, thought it makes your stay here a little more homey." He''s holding a small box with no lid, and yet I fail to see what is in it. It just goes to show that there is little I possess of value.


    "Why?" I can''t stop myself from asking, and I don''t even know what I''m asking exactly. He pauses and eyes me up and down, then a smile crosses his lips. I''m used to his smug face but, to be fair, I have rarely seen him smile this way.


    "Because I can only imagine how isolating and unfamiliar your situation must feel. Your daily life was ripped away from you, so bringing you something that feels familiar seemed like a good thing."


    I look at him. I feel this knot in my stomach, this settling feeling of angst and distress. My fingers are buried in the thin blanket, hiding from his sight. I feel the trembling that slowly creeps into my limbs and I don''t want him to notice.


    Being in a room with him all alone sets off my anxiety. There''s nothing stopping him from killing me, nothing stopping him from betraying me yet again. I feel my breathing getting shaky.


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    "I''ll just leave it here." He talks to me like one does to a scared child. Soft, calm, he moves slowly, thoughtfully. He notices my body language, of course, he does. I am not well enough to mask my mental or physical state. The wounds may have healed well so far thanks to the doctor and Mrs. Blair, but they are still there.


    The doc''s magical abilities are only an assistance, not an instant cure. I still feel the piercing pain whenever I move too much. I haven''t been able to get up yet without collapsing under the agony, let alone walk. I''m dependent on Mrs. Blair bringing me food every day ¨C but at least I recovered enough to eat.


    But still¡­ I am trapped here. Unable to get away, unable to move on my own past this bed. And the more I try to focus and mask the signs my body displays, the more I tense up and feel the pain rising from my stomach. I can''t face the Shadow with my usual demeanor of annoyance, cynicism, and indifference.


    I''m watching him closely, unable to avert my eyes. I need to see every movement; every step he takes. It eases my mind at least a little bit to be able to keep an eye on him and his doings. He places the box on the makeshift bedside table.


    Okay, to be fair, it''s a crate that doesn''t even try to look like a bedside table, but I couldn''t care less as long as it serves its purpose.


    He sends another smile my way, warm, reassuring. I hate it. Why can''t he just be as ugly as Thayer? Violent, dismissing, distant, sadistic? I was always able to read Thayer and even in the rare instances when I couldn''t, I could imagine what to expect. Well¡­ almost. I wouldn''t be here otherwise. But that''s beside the point.


    But I can''t read this annoyance right in front of me. It bothers me more than I am willing to accept. I''m vigilant, looking out for anything that could give me a clue to his intentions, to his real self. But he''s just¡­ He''s¡­ Understanding, and cautious, and calm, with this warmth coming from within. He treats me like a person, an injured, troubled person ¨C which I am, I know ¨C but it angers me.


    "You look like you''re about to jump me. In a way I didn''t anticipate," he chuckles so light-heartedly that it throws me out of the loop. I take a deep breath, clawing the blanket so hard my knuckles turn white, then I slowly let this tension go, feeling stings and pinches in my abdomen slowly rising.


    Calm down, Eon. You''re here, you''re safe, for the moment, thanks to him. At least try to appreciate that much. "That''s because I really do want to jump you," I mumble, exhausted from the sudden anger that still lingers.


    I try to swallow it but I can''t. There are so many emotions bottled up. Fear, anxiety, dread, hurt¡­ I feel lost and betrayed, abandoned and locked in. And all these emotions are boiling up to something I can''t contain. I inhale deeply once more, but I can''t get a hold of this feeling.


    "If it helps."


    He throws me off once again¡­ What even is this godforsaken man?! For a second the anger subdues, solely because confusion gets a hold of me ¨C and that''s exactly what my face shows.


    I¡­ I can''t even ask, just look at him, baffled while still ridden by this sudden anger. Standing next to the bed he just opens his arms, almost inviting me, and if I could move I probably would have snapped. But the pain keeps me firmly seated.


    Instead, we lock into a staring contest. While my gaze grows angrier by the second, he remains calm and collected. If I don''t get a hold of myself, I may really jump him. I can feel my finger twitching in anticipation. I feel how my body gets ready to move, to bolt right at him. I¡­


    Huh¡­?


    I blink. The deep green eyes are suddenly so close. I''m pinned down, holding my breath, while this mountain of a man is towering over me, and yet the way he holds my hands down is¡­ gentle? Suddenly, the anger is just gone, lost to the sudden situation that had occurred.


    "My apologies, but you really shouldn''t move that abruptly," his voice isn''t more than a whisper, low, warm, sincere even. Though I can''t trust my own perception right now, for all I know I could read way too much in the tone of his voice and the expression of his face.


    "What¡­?" I still try to wrap my head around what has happened just now. One second I felt angry, ready to jump him, and the next I''m pinned down, unable to move.


    No¡­ I''m not unable to move¡­ The way he had locked me down feels more like a suggestion, not an order. It feels like he would let go of me, let me move the moment I decide to do so.


    And just because of that, I twist my wrist under his warm grip. While he doesn''t let me go just yet, his hold on my hands loosens up, gives me space to move, to twist and turn.


    If it wasn''t for my overall physical limitation, I could just slip away. That''s it. My anger has been replaced by irritation and confusion for good.


    "I''m amazed you even manage to move that fast," now he chuckles again but his voice remains a low whisper. "But I really suggest we wait with the jumping until you can at least stand on your own two legs."


    Did I move? Another blink, a moment to think about the situation, then I feel it. The velocity of everything and the confusion it left me with had numbed the pain, but suddenly it hits me with all its force and I flinch, gasping for air.


    I feel his warmth releasing me, I hear his steps leading away from me. The door opens and closes. I couldn''t care less. This sudden agony fills every inch of my body and forces me to twist and turn. I hear the door open again, two sets of steps rushing in, cold hands trying to keep me still.


    It''s a wave of overwhelming pain I can''t navigate.


    The grip pinning me down this time is firmer, trying to hold me still and prevent me from moving. But I know it serves its purpose. I just have a hard time keeping my body from holding still myself. I''m making this so much harder for the doc but no matter how hard I try; I can''t help but want to curl up.


    If it wasn''t for the magical aid, I would lie in agony for hours ¨C but luckily the wave washes over rather quickly the moment I feel the doc''s cold hands on my abdomen. I remind myself to breathe, to get the twitching and jerking of my muscles under control to make this easier for everyone involved.


    The pain hadn''t gone the past days, it lingered, reminded me of my injuries with every movement. But it had subdued enough for me to feel more comfortable in my body again. Yes, sometimes it would hurt, but I would just grit my teeth, let the wave of pain wash over me, and collect myself afterward.


    I guess I just forgot at some point how severely I was injured. It became bearable to the point where I became reckless again. That has always been the problem, hasn''t it? Reckless people do reckless things because they have nothing to lose. Despite everything, I''m still reckless. I''m an idiot.

 Chapter 23: Confrontation

    I haven''t seen him again the past 3 days, for better or worse.


    There wasn''t much in the box he brought me. A book I had started to read after the job at the Lane mansion to pass the time, my cactus, two sets of clothes, and some stuff to keep myself clean and groomed.


    The latter of which was necessary and highly appreciated, as was my cactus. It''s the last thing I have from my mother ¨C and while I know it would survive just fine for weeks without water, I don''t know if I''ll ever be able to just return home. My life has changed drastically because of one incident.


    Could it have been avoided? With the days coming and passing I found myself lost in thoughts more and more, detaching from my current situation whenever I was alone. There is a grudge festering in my chest. I''m angry at myself, angry at the Shadows, angry at the doc.


    I should have been more cautious, more vigilant. I should not have trusted, should have postponed the crime scene clean-up when I met the Shadow. I''m angry at him for his betrayal, yes, but I''m most angry about how easy it was for him to get closer to me. Why was it so easy¡­


    The way he just knew so much about me, how he managed to enter my home more than once. The audacity to even let me know with his little gift. It must have been fun watching me, knowing how easy I am to manipulate.


    And then there is the doctor. He tries, he tries so hard to make me feel physically better, assists me in my recovery, brings me food, or makes sure Mrs. Blair does. Yesterday we started with some exercises, to get my muscles accustomed to moving again. It''s still painful but I can endure it. My will to finally be able to move again is stronger than the persisting hurt.


    But I can''t forget how he was just there, watching, assessing my situation. After Thayer had shut him up he just¡­ he did nothing to help, nothing to intervene. Part of me knows he''s right. Part of me knows that we both wouldn''t be here if he had done anything. Thayer probably would have slaughtered us if he had just made as much as a noise.


    But it doesn''t change anything. I know he''s right but my head can''t accept it. The hurt can''t understand how someone can just sit by and watch, unmoved, unchanged. I would have had such a hard time to just sit back and let it happen. Everything inside me had tried to help, to do something, or I would have needed to remove myself from the scene.


    But he just sat there, with a cold, analytical expression, waiting for it to be over. Is that what it takes to be a doctor for the lost and forsaken? I try to rationalize it; I try to find an explanation. But I can''t.


    I''m angry. I''m hurt. I''m devastated. And I''m locked in place. If I could move, if I could do something to get my mind off of these thoughts it would maybe change something. But I have to sit it out. And I don''t know how much longer I can bear my own thoughts.


    A knock at the door. "Yes," I whisper, barely loud enough to reach the door. At least speaking became easier the past days and as long as I don''t move too much, my energy is well preserved. Gone are the days of countless hours of sleep and rest. Now I''m just sitting here, awake and idle.


    I hate being idle. But my hope that the doctor would enter the room for our exercise session is shattered the moment I lay eyes on the Shadow. I squint my eyes in annoyance. He''s the last person I want to see right now.


    "Hey Sunshine, doc told me you''re making progress."


    "Not fast enough."


    "I bet," he snorts amused. He knows I hate being idle, he knows how much I dislike being here, locked into position, unable to do anything. He knows. And I don''t want him to know. I don''t want him to know anything. I want him to forget me and everything that connects us.


    "He has to attend to an emergency downstairs, but don''t worry, he didn''t forget about you."


    "Reassuring." My answers are cold, short. I want to distance myself from him or else I may try to jump him again, hurting myself in the process.


    I watch him enter the room properly, closing the door behind him. On his way towards me, he grabs one of the two chairs and drags it up to my bed. The old wood screeches under his weight as he sits down. I wish I had his confidence and trust in daily objects to just do their job well enough.


    The poor chair looks and sounds like it would break any moment under his heavy body, but it holds. That''s more than I could ever expect of myself¡­ Huh, that''s a weird thought, isn''t it?


    "We have to talk, Sunshine."


    "Do we? I don''t really feel like talking if I''m honest."


    "I thought as much. You''re both so extremely stubborn it''s palpable."


    I can''t help but soften my expression. He has a way of catching my focus. I wanted him to turn around and leave but I find myself yet again curious of whatever he is implying. It''s not just his words, it''s that soft expression on his sharp face. This stupid face that always seemed so relaxed. Looking at him I always felt like life''s too easy, at least for people like him.


    "Then again, that''s maybe why I care," he chuckles, and now I am confused ¨C again. I hate it. The way he just throws my thoughts and feelings around is annoying. I find myself stumbling whenever he''s near. When did this start exactly? And what does it mean?


    "Alright, talk then. It''s not like I could stop you, even if I tried," I sigh. There is really nothing I can do about it, is there? He''s close enough so we can talk comfortably, but far away enough to make sure I won''t try to launch at him again. And something tells me that''s a precaution he takes for my well-being and not his.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Little birdie told me I betrayed you."


    I take a deep breath. Of course, the doc and the Shadow seemed familiar with each other from what little I could gather. It makes sense they would talk about it, but maybe the doc was hesitant to mention it. At least that would explain the Shadows'' remark about our stubbornness, I guess. I''m speculating, but it keeps my mind busy.


    Because honestly, I don''t want an explanation. I wouldn''t be able to believe it anyway, so what good does it do? It doesn''t change anything. He''ll just make it harder for me to absolutely despise him. And that''s the only thing keeping me from doing irrational things and plummeting deeper into this mess of emotions right now. Being angry and disappointed is easy.


    And still¡­ I want answers. I always do. I''m conflicted and therefore unable to talk. I can''t say anything so I keep silent.


    "There are things I can''t tell you, Sunshine. Not because I don''t want to, but because it would put you at risk."


    "I already am at risk. Don''t worry about that," I huff. At risk, right. Thayer is already a danger to me, the moment I leave this place I might die by his hands. The fear of him finding me hasn''t vanished yet, it''s lingering, keeping me awake. Sometimes I hear steps outside of my door and expect him to burst through my door at any second.


    What more risk could there possibly be? The Shadows? Laughable. I am already broken, if they wanted to they could just sneak in here and get it over with. The only reason this though hasn''t reoccurred is due to their help during our escape. I still think they want me dead, but I also think the doc has a play in why it didn''t happen yet.


    "Don''t think I don''t know Sunshine, but there are layers to this city you can''t even grasp. There is someone out there who wants you dead, that''s for sure. But giving you any more information will just result in your stubborn head running right into a trap."


    I knit my eyebrows in irritation. What does this even mean? I''ve always been in danger some way or another, but that comes with my job. I''m meddling with the dangerous affairs of dangerous people almost daily. I always knew that or else I would never have partnered up with Thayer, the most dangerous of them all.


    "You want to tell me I''ve been set up at the Duke''s?"


    "Sharp as always. I knew I may come to this, but in the end¡­" he shakes his head, and there is something on his face I can''t quite place. He seems¡­ troubled? I never expected to see anything like it countering his usual laid-back expression. But there it is. What game is he playing?


    "I wasn''t really able to get you out of there."


    "You want to tell me you''ve been there to protect me? You know that sounds like bullshit, you could have told me when we met."


    "Right, we both know you hadn''t believed me."


    "I had."


    "You hadn''t. Don''t fool yourself, Sunshine."


    I feel anger rise inside my chest, the same anger that''s been brooding over the past few days. Who does he think he is? I feel my muscles tense up and the moment I feel the sting in my stomach I try to loosen up again. It''s not worth it. Calm down, Eon, calm down.


    "I''ve warned you before and you ignored it just fine. Thayer had warned you, and you ignored it. If you don''t listen to him why should you listen to me? You''ve been so lucky up till now-"


    "Wait a second," I interrupt him. My anger subdues, makes place for a sudden burst of fear that shakes my voice.


    "How would you know?" I feel the tremble creep into my fingers. I did suspect him to have some kind of connection to Thayer ¨C potentially even working for him. While I know that the Shadows'' network is massive and that they could know basically anything if they just wanted to, I can''t reason with my anxiety right now.


    There is nothing I can tell myself to ease the knot that''s forming in my guts. And even worse... I can''t hide, I can''t run. Is this it? The moment he''ll unmask his intentions and just end me?


    "Sunshine¡­" His voice is suddenly calm, assuasive even. I know I can''t hide my emotions very well, not since Thayer¡­ not since he¡­ broke me. Is this what trauma feels like? Being absolutely powerless in the eyes of fear? Is there nothing I can do to get a grip on myself?


    "Eon¡­"


    "Answer the damn question!" I can''t hold the fear locked up. I didn''t want his apology, I didn''t want his explanation, but right now I need answers. Even if these answers came in the form of a knife.


    "The Bear profits from our network once in a while. We keep it tight and never let anyone know where the information really comes from. We go by many names when handing out pieces of information, we distribute it to the ones who need it most ¨C or can make the most out of it."


    This doesn''t help. It just adds oil to the already burning fire within me. I avert my eyes, let them scan the room rapidly for a mere second, then I close them. I try to breathe deeply; I try to keep my composure. I really do.


    "When I learned about certain things I made sure he would be informed accordingly. Just enough to maybe prevent you from taking on a job that could potentially kill you."


    "It didn''t help much, did it now? Why would you think he was in a position to order me around?" I whisper, my voice crumbling, but this is important, I need to get through this. This may be the only ¨C maybe even the last ¨C chance I''ll ever get¡­


    "I didn''t. I hoped you wouldn''t be so stubborn to go against his warnings, hoped that a warning from him may come so unexpected that you''d at least grow suspicious. And when I realized that you would I tried to be there."


    "If you really wanted to protect me you didn''t an awful job." I click my tongue annoyed, though my annoyance is only a fa?ade trying to mask my insecurity, my hurt, my doubts.


    I hear him sigh, but before he can even get another word out my anger breaks loose yet again, "You elevated him, you gave him the goddamn high ground to punish me for ignoring his warnings. You enabled this¡­!"


    I''m furious and yet my words dwindle. I want to scream and yell, but while my head is shouting at him, my voice can''t. I can''t. It feels like there isn''t enough air in this room to speak as much as I want to.


    Maybe¡­ he didn''t betray me. Maybe he tells the truth. Maybe he really tried to help me, to protect me, but I''m still here, in this bed, hurt and crippled, ridden with anxiety and dread because of him.


    "Eon¡­ Look at me." He leans towards me; I can hear it. His voice just got ever so slightly closer, softer. I bite my lower lip, trying to collect myself. I''m trying to sort this fear and anger out or else he''ll see it.


    Who am I fooling? He already knows, doesn''t he? Or else we wouldn''t have this conversation. I open my eyes; my lids feel heavy. Suddenly I feel exhausted, drained. Giving up would be so much easier and maybe¡­ that''s what I''m doing right now. I''m giving up my stubbornness and face him.


    There''s still quite a distance between us, while he leans towards me, his elbows resting on his knees. But somehow it feels different, closer than it actually is. Safer even. It''s hard drawing a knife in his current position.


    He looks me in the eyes and I feel the anger retreat. It leaves behind my sorrows, my loss, my fear¡­ And this longing for comfort. Ever since that night, I miss my mother so dearly. She was always in my thoughts but recently it''s been so hard without her. How did I manage all these years?


    "I am sorry¡­" His voice is a mere whisper and I can''t tell if he''s really sincere or if it''s just me who wants to hear something in his tone that might not even be there. But if it''s the latter there is nothing I can do about it, right? If sincerity is what I want to hear I may as well take it even if it''s just a soothing lie.


    "I can''t right this wrong. I can''t patch you back up together. I can''t take away your pain, your fears, and your doubts. All I can do is try to help you through this, try to be someone you can trust. If you let me I want to help you. And if you don''t¡­ All you have to do is tell me, and I''ll be out of that door."

 Chapter 24: So many Questions, so little Answers

    Seconds felt like minutes while we fell into silence. It would be easy, wouldn''t it? Just tell him to fuck off and I wouldn''t have to deal with this anymore. But I bit my tongue. I may be hurt and broken, but I am not stupid.


    For all the turmoil I have to endure there is one thing I know for sure: I can''t survive alone. I can''t crawl back to Thayer and apologize, hoping that he''ll accept it. We can''t go back to how it was before. Even if we tried¡­ I wouldn''t be able to be close to him anymore.


    How would I look him in the eyes after what he has done to me? How would I remain myself, the personality that entertained him? How could I ever sleep in the same bed again?


    At the mere thought I choke up.


    He finally got what he wanted; he planted the fear and respect of his power in me. The one thing he could never even faze me with became the one thing I dread the most. I should have never left. Should have stayed, confronted myself with the situation. I had too much time to think about everything.


    No. Shut up¡­ Shut up shut up shut up!


    I bury my face in my palms, overwhelmed. My fear tells me to run back, beg for forgiveness. It tells me that everything can go back to normal, and even if it doesn''t it''s still better than whatever other option I have.


    But my rationality tells me that it''s wrong. That I wouldn''t survive it, and even if I did he got everything from me he ever wanted. I''m of no use anymore. It''s probably why he hasn''t shown up yet. He discarded me just like that. And that should be a good thing.


    It''s just¡­ so hard to feel that way. The danger I know is a danger I can adapt to, no matter how bad. But is this really something I could do? Could I dissociate that much? Could grow used to it till I don''t care anymore, don''t even feel anymore?


    And what then, Eon? What happens then?


    "Stay¡­" I finally answer.


    It''s been silent long enough. I can hear him move ever so slightly but I can''t lift my head to look at him just yet. I don''t want him to make up for it, I don''t want him to prove anything. I couldn''t care less. But I need all the help I can get. Thayer''s protection is out the window; I need someone else who can watch my back.


    ''If they use us, we can use them.'' ¨C doc was right. I don''t need to trust anyone, I only need to regain control, use whatever help I can get. That''s all there is to it.


    I sigh deeply, rubbing my eyes softly before I slowly lift my head. I''m exhausted and I look the part.


    "I don''t know if I can ever trust you. But you and the doc are the only people who can help me survive the hell you helped create. I wish I was dumb enough to reject it but I''m not."


    "Never were," he chuckles.


    Right¡­ I can''t trust my emotions right now ¨C the clearer my head the better. I can deal with all that shit once my injuries have healed. I''m making good progress thanks to the doc''s magic; I hope I won''t be locked up here for much longer.


    "You owe me answers." I try to speak as clear as possible, but my voice is still trembling. It''s better than it was minutes ago, but this anger hasn''t vanished yet nor have all the other way too complicated emotions.


    "Do I now?" He asks in an amused tone, yet he still sounds serious given the situation. He tries to soften the mood, and it kind of works. I don''t know why but despite the serious undertone his lighthearted way of speaking and his calm voice help me relax.


    If he were anymore agitated, it would probably send me places I can''t even imagine. I really don''t want to imagine it, let alone experience it. It''s a realization best left uncovered.


    "You know you do," I huff.


    "And you know there are things I can''t tell you," he counters nonchalantly, as if speaking about the weather.


    "Then tell me whatever you can. Truthfully."


    "You''re asking a lot, but sure. I can try."


    "Don''t try, if you can''t answer then don''t and tell me you can''t. I don''t need vague answers and any more riddles."


    We lock eyes, and the way he''s looking at me I suddenly feel uneasy. He''s exploring, I know he is. Once again he is searching for something and the mere thought of what he may uncover makes me feel small and vulnerable.


    I can''t hold his gaze for long and avert my eyes. I can''t remain indifferent. I don''t know why but the way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable, he could as well check me out all naked. I never cared about such things, so why do I now?


    Is it my mental state? The very fact that I already feel like an open book? Or¡­


    "Here''s a deal: You ask, I answer, I move closer. The moment you can''t take it anymore, you stop, I stop."


    I knit my eyebrows in confusion. What weird proposal is that even? What''s going through his mind? For all I care he could sit right next to me in bed. I would hate him to, but it''s not like anyone ever cared what I wanted. I can ignore my own discomfort.


    "Can do," I shrug. What is he expecting?


    "I mean it, Eon. You feel uneasy, you stop. No pushing your limits. We''ve all the time in the world as long as you''re hiding out here."


    I''m¡­ I¡­ don''t even know what to say or think about this? It''s just stupid, like we''re some bored kids. But fine, if that''s how the Shadows do it so be it, I guess.


    "I got it," I sigh, this is adding so much to my exhaustion I already don''t feel like asking anymore. Maybe that''s his goal; annoying me so much that I''ll just drop it. But here''s the thing, I am stubborn. And I need answers, long awaited answers.


    "Then ask away," he prompts me. I''m still so confused that I have to recollect my thoughts first. I can''t look at him but I need to look at something. It helps me focus and stay focused since I can''t do anything else to keep my mind occupied.


    My gaze wanders through the room. It''s a very small room. It probably used to be a janitor closet or something similar. The walls are relatively low compared to most other rooms and I have already spent hours on contemplating why that is. It''s not like I can walk around and make sense of this place and the architecture.


    I don''t even know what''s outside the window. Sure, the curtains are open whenever there is no fog approaching but the glass is so milky that I can''t see anything. It''s enough to fill the room with light but that''s about it.


    My bed is located on the opposite of the window, as far away as possible. The doc told me this place is safe from the fog but still nobody wants to take the risk. Maybe we''re just too used to it to just trust our structures to actually keep us safe as they should. Then again, most of the city''s buildings are extremely old as is this factory.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    It may be safe now, but maybe tomorrow it won''t be anymore. Hence the curtains and the distance. Better safe than sorry. I won''t stop me from looking outside though. The window is huge, filling up almost the whole wall. This place was clearly built in better times.


    Next to the bed is the makeshift nightstand inhabited by my cactus and a small nightlight, next to it a door that leads to I-don''t-know-where, and finally there''s a door in the wall to my left, leading into my room.


    I shake my head ¨C enough distraction. My eyes linger on the small, potted cactus. There isn''t much else to focus on besides maybe the old and worn rug.


    "He knows where I am, doesn''t he?" I finally ask, though scanning the room hasn''t consumed more than a few seconds.


    "He does," the Shadow answers and I hear him drag the chair closer. Not much though; I doubt I would be able to see the difference if I were to look at him.


    "Why hasn''t he come for me yet?"


    "Because he can''t, we''re outside of his territory." Again the sound of the chairs legs scraping over the floor.


    A curious answer I must admit.


    "Who''s territory is it then?"


    "Scarlets."


    "Scarlets?"


    I hear him chuckle, my surprise amuses him, rightly so, "Is this a question you want answered?"


    "No," I confirm his suspicion, "I was just¡­ When did Scarlet make it here? She''s far from home."


    "I can''t answer that," he admits and his stair remains where it is. I''m getting used to this. It keeps my mind busy.


    "You can''t or you shouldn''t?"


    "I can''t." Now I hear the chair. Right, he''s playing this game perfectly. I don''t know what I expected, probably nothing and yet I''m still annoyed. At least that''s a feeling I''m used to. I can handle that.


    "Because I don''t know. None of us does."


    Now I have to look at him; I need to see his face, his expression just to make sure he isn''t shitting me. And¡­ He isn''t. Or he is playing the charade like an absolute master, which I know he is capable of without an effort. But why should he if he could just have told me that he shouldn''t answer.


    "You don''t know. As¡­ In you, the Shadows. As a whole," I have to clarify it, speak it out for myself, but before he can answer that rhetorical question and get closer yet again I continue, "I would really like to know why, but I know better than waste my questions on that or else you''ll be sitting on my lap before I know anything I actually want to know."


    "I doubt we''ll get that far," he snorts and if it wasn''t for the constant calm in his demeanor and voice I would feel attacked by that statement. Is he doubting my persistence? Does he really think he can get on my nerves that easily? Even if ¨C I won''t stop asking, not now anyway. But despite these thoughts I feel okay.


    I feel okay. That''s better than I felt¡­ For a long time. I don''t feel threatened, only maybe slightly challenged. It is, however, extremely bothersome that it''s because of him of all people. But I guess it could be worse. Granted, it could be a lot better but also vastly worse. I try to look at the bright side even if it''s hard.


    "Pff¡­" I can''t help the sound that escapes my mouth, rolling my eyes ever so slightly. Fucking annoyance. I don''t even know why he bothers me so much. But it has been this way from the start, he always got on my nerves one way or another. Before this all happened it was just less¡­ welcome on my side.


    Like¡­ I hated it, but I came to weirdly appreciate it. It''s hard to explain. And now I feel myself getting comfortable with it yet again and that''s something I don''t want to happen. Not after everything I went through. I want to be angry and uncomfortable and upset ¨C better yet: plain indifferent to it all. But here I am, pretending.


    Am I pretending? If I am then what''s my truth?


    "Why do you care?" Better to move on with my questions or else I''ll spiral down again. I''ve had enough of that. It''s just a godforsaken downwards spiral all over again, in each and every situation. It''s constantly reoccurring, drilling deeper and deeper. When will it hit my bare bones?


    "About you?"


    "Do I have to move if I answer that?"


    "I wouldn''t if I were you," he snickers and moves his goddamn chair. I can''t help but throw him an annoyed glance. Why did I even ask? What''s the point Eon, what''s the fucking point?


    Huh.


    I''m back to swearing.


    Good. Good!


    Or not ¨C because it''s because of him but¡­ Whatever. I already have to deal with him, I don''t have the energy to deal with myself as well.


    "Yes, about me," I almost hiss at him; this little stupid game amuses him way too much. Why did I agree to it?


    "Because I can."


    "No vague answers."


    "Fine, if you insist." He repositions, his body relaxing. He''s not intending to move that chair any time soon, that much I can tell. And it doesn''t sound like he wants to avoid the question either. So the only conclusion is that he''s getting comfortable for a long answer. I already regret asking but then I also want to know. No, I must know.


    "I didn''t at first. When we met I mean. I contemplated getting you out of the way but you were basically¡­ Non-existent." I couldn''t say the same about him.


    "So I didn''t bother getting my hands dirty. You didn''t get in my way and I had something pretty to look at once in a while. But if you had turned out to be a little snitch we wouldn''t be sitting here now. Well you wouldn''t." Fair, I guess. I expected as much. But why did he need to start that far back? I know how we met and why we made it out alive.


    "Meeting you again and again you became rather pleasant to be around, and amusing I must admit. My missions were just ever so slightly better when you were around." Probably because he could mock and tease me, and get on my nerves. I don''t even question it at this point. He wouldn''t have been such a menace if it wasn''t entertaining.


    "I already told you I would hate if you were to not do your job anymore. I would notice it if you weren''t around and I wasn''t the only Shadow. There was just something about you that made working alongside you easier for most of us."


    Even that I already assumed. It''s easier to work with a cleaner present that can be trusted to not rat the thieves out. With everyone else they have to be even more alert than they need to anyway. It''s harder to not be seen or heard when sharing a space ¨C and these spaces can be godawful small.


    "Following this I did what I could. Just like you I like having a clear picture. If there was something that could hinder you from attending your work, I wanted to know. Needless to say we found out that you were the Bear''s possession. It made things more complicated. We may hand out pieces of information here and there but we aren''t on good terms ¨C far from it even."


    Now I''m all ears, he''s getting closer to what I really want and need to know.


    "But you know danger is intriguing. It tickles every nerve in your body, it beckons you to get involved more and more." Now he pauses, blowing air through his nose as if amused about his own¡­ stupidity? Foolishness? These aren''t words I''d ever seriously apply to him but it does seem like he is aware of something stupid he did.


    "And involved I got. I thought I would get bored rather quickly but you made one mistake, Eon."


    I tilt my head slightly to look at him in a seriously confused way. What is he on about? Why is this my fault now?


    "What?" He is straining my nerves so hard right now, I''m confused but also irritated and it shows.


    "You got used to me. At some point, you stopped to try to get away from me. It''s almost like you grew comfortable around me. It felt like a victory at first but back at the Lane''s when I saw you and your miserable state I was worried. Genuinely worried. I realized that my involvement could put you into serious danger."


    "So you let Thayer know that something was cooking somewhere?"


    "No, that happened before the Lane''s. I told you I would hate for you to disappear." He shakes his head, a slight smile on his lips but it seems rather sad compared to his usual expression


    "No, this was worse because that was the moment I knew that I could actively put you in danger just by interacting with you." His smile grows wider, calm, warm, sincere, and as it does my irritation wanes. Suddenly I feel uneasy. For some reason I don''t want to hear what might follow.


    "The plan was easy. A Farwell gift, a warning, the need to look out for you this time, to protect you, and then go back into the Shadows to keep you safe. But I failed. There was nothing I could do to protect you." His voice grows lower, softer, "I hold her off as long as I could, hoping you''ll make it out but¡­ This moment haunts me, Eon. Don''t ever think otherwise."


    There is nothing more than a whisper. Deafening loud ¨C not because of his volume but the honesty and what it conveys. Suddenly I feel empty.


    "I care because I gradually got to know you on more than just a professional level. I know we are in no position to label it as a friendship but I care about you as I care about a friend."


    I don''t know what to say, there is some clarity but at the same time I can''t really accept it. No one ever cared except Thomas, maybe. Because he''s a compassionate person and a father. Sometimes the though he may see me as some kind of estranged son crossed my mind, just because of the time had spent together over the years. But that''s about it.


    Why should some Shadow care? It makes no sense. And at the same time I feel weirdly hurt. I didn''t want to hear it, and yet the thing I dreaded the most isn''t even the case. And still¡­ It''s this heartache again, that sting in my chest I can''t explain.


    No, I can. I just don''t want to. Everything is already complicated enough. So this is a good thing, isn''t it? I don''t know how to handle friends but I can''t really forbid him from feeling that way.


    "You''re not moving closer?" I need to distract my thoughts.


    "Do you want me to?"


    Good question, do I want him to? Yes, kind of.


    "No."


    "Alright." And he''s back to his usual demeanor, chuckling and laid-back in his answer. What just happened?


    No¡­ What is happening? To me, specifically?


    "See you tomorrow, Sunshine." With these words he gets up, and while they sound so basic it implies a lot. Another chance to get more answers, another chance to collect myself. I nod and watch him leave the room.

 Chapter 25: The Thing that isnt

    I dreaded the day after our¡­ conversation till the end, but up till now I have been spared his presence. Part of me is relieved. There''s a lot I have to sort out and it doesn''t help that I keep being stuck in his room with nothing to do.


    A knock on the door puts my body in a tense posture and my eyes dart over as said door slowly opens. Only as I exhale deeply I realized that I had hold my breath in anticipation, but the figure appearing in the room is small and fragile.


    "Doc," I greet him to reassure myself and my senses. It''s not the Shadow, it''s alright. Relax Eon, relax. My shoulders drop.


    "You seem agitated," his voice is faint yet calm. In the past I would have just seen it as normal but after all the time I was stuck here, I came to understand that he does have a range of tones. This one seems rather exhausted.


    "And you tired," I counter.


    "Comes with the job." I watch him coming closer. His cold palm lands on my forehead as he eyes me intensively.


    "Cabin fever, I assume?" He retracts his hand as he couldn''t feel a change in temperature, which only leaves some options.


    "Yeah. It''s better than being trapped in a huge room but still¡­ I''m restless, nervous. I''ve trouble sleeping, I feel like I''ve been sleeping too much for days."


    He nods and from a small pouch that emerges from within the layers of black fabric, he pulls a small vial. I''ve grown used to his ointments by now, I don''t even question the content anymore. It became too much stress added to the already existing pile.


    "Eases the mind a little. But I fear there isn''t much I can do but to help you get back on your feet again."


    "I know¡­" He could numb me, but we had this talk already. My body would slack off in the healing process if he would sedate my mind and body and that''s the last thing I need right now.


    I take the vial and store it on the nightstand table for a later use. I feel¡­ a lot of things even though I try not to. And since our talk yesterday new questions have formed. Questions I can''t ask the Shadow but the person in front of me.


    "Doc, do you mind if I ask you something?"


    "Go ahead. However, I can''t promise an answer."


    "That''s alright," I sigh. I''ve been there already, done that already. Although the doc has a whole other feeling to him than the Shadow does. And while I know him since a while we never spoke about much outside of our work. I just assumed him to be in similar position to mine and we left it at that.


    But things have become more complicated lately.


    "You seem to know the Shadow since a while," I start, only pausing because he throws his glowing gaze at me. I can''t really analyze his expression; he doesn''t stop me from asking but it seems like he tries to find out where this is going. Maybe to prepare himself or his answers in advance.


    After a moment of just looking at me he nods and places his hand on my shoulder. I know this already and try to lift my upper body just enough for his hand to slip on my back. His other hand lands on my lap to hold me down.


    "Since when exactly?" I ask, but I''m still focused on the exercise as he slowly helps me sit up. Such a basic thing to do and yet I need help so my muscles don''t strain too much. It''s pathetic.


    "A very long time. He was just a young man when I met him."


    "I''m sorry, that sounds like he''s a grandpa now." And I know that''s not the case. He''s older than I but I don''t think he''s that much older.


    I see the corner of his mouth twitch but it fades before it can grow into a smile.


    "Well, he is going to hit his forties soon." His voice has grown even calmer, but I guess we don''t need to talk loud by how close we are. And I stand corrected. I thought the Shadow to be in his early thirties but¡­ Wait a minute.


    "How old are you ¨C uff." Air escapes my lungs out of reflex, as he pushes my limits a little further by helping me getting into a slightly bent over position.


    "I don''t know," he answers, his voice calm, his gaze focused on what he''s doing and the reactions of my body. Then he lets me lean back a little bit again. I feel the sting in my abdomen but it doesn''t hurt just yet. It''s hard to tell if it''s due to the injury or my numb muscles.


    "That''s not what I expected to hear," I have to admit. He looks so young. My age maybe, possibly even younger.


    "I''ve been like this for a while. I''ve been like this when I first met him."


    I knit my eyebrows in irritation. But then again, he is capable of magic and for all I know it can mess with a human''s aging process. There aren''t many with his abilities and studies are often kept secret by the Arch, as are people like him. But here he is, out in the open world, doing his thing.


    Is this why he''s dying? Is his body so fucked up that age has caught up to him internally? Is this the price of magic?


    "I think," he pauses and I look at him from the corners of my eyes. I am focused on his words as I am focused on my body ¨C this is good. It''s stimulating my mind, takes my thoughts off heavier things. It gives me something to do, it gives me some kind of balance that has been missing recently.


    "He was 18, maybe 19 when we first me. Already part of the Shadows but so much more na?ve and reckless. Up till then they have only sent him out run errands as they often do with their new members."


    I''m not too sure if he should let me know such things, but then again ¨C what should I do with these bits and pieces of information? He knows that I have neither use nor interest in such knowledge.


    "Think you can move up a little?" He asks in a much lower voice as if to keep instructions separated from the overall conversation. I nod and with a little help, I manage to scoot up closer to the headrest of the bed, only then he lowers his hand on my back to lean me slowly against it.


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    "I was his first big job," he continues with the matter at hand once he made sure I''m positioned just right. He sounds so casual and calm, it''s beyond me.


    "What do you mean?" I let him guide and position me, I''m so used to it by now. I can''t say I trust him much as a person but I trust him as a doctor.


    "Their mission was to steal me from the Arch," now he looks me in the eyes, searching for something. The silver glow from his eyes is stronger than usual; I wonder if it''s connected to his magical energy.


    I remain silent. Curiosity has taken a hold of me but I can''t find the words to prompt him to continue. This is dangerous territory and I don''t think there is a question I could ask. I''m open to whatever he decides to tell me, but anything else could just end this conversation right here, right now.


    "I don''t have to explain you why the Arch locked me up." I shake my head he really doesn''t need to. They will lock up everything valuable: Artifacts, relicts, people with magical abilities or properties¡­ Two of three things which are human beings with human feelings.


    "To this day I don''t know why the Shadows stole me. But I am free because of them."


    "Is this why you trusted them to¡­ steal me?" I was so close to just say kidnap. Because that''s what it was, wasn''t it? They kidnapped me from the Bear''s cave. But it would have sounded so ungrateful.


    I''m still struggling with this whole thing, there are still so many thoughts telling me to go back and apologize, so many voices in my head telling me it was wrong to leave. But these are my concerns, my fears, my doubts. He did what he thought right, it''s not my place to blame him for it.


    "Yes," he answers. He switches his hands ¨C The hand he takes from my back replaces the one in my lap, which in turn moves down on my left shinbone. He slowly moves my leg. I try to tense my muscles lightly to remind them of the feeling of movement. Gradually, he helps me bend my knee and pull my leg toward my body so that I can clearly feel the muscles in my abdomen and legs working.


    "You aren''t really free though, are you?" I''ve seen the signs of abuse on him many times, blue bruises covering whatever I was able to see of his face.


    "I am as free as you are now." His voice remains calm, but it sounds abrupt, as if the whole discussion was done. I have more answers, but I accept it. I watch my own leg being brought closer to my upper body until I flinch. He stops moving but keeps my leg in position.


    It''s not so much pain as a very uncomfortable feeling rooting from my muscles and the injury. I''m just sitting here doing necessary exercises and already I''m hitting a limit. When will I be able to move again, to stand and walk again? I''m making progress, yes, but not fast enough.


    I take a deep breath. Is this my life now? What if it won''t get better? What if I''m stuck like this forever? My injuries had been fatal if it hadn''t been for the doc''s magic and knowledge. So¡­ Who''s able to tell if I''ll ever be able to walk again?


    I close my eyes and bite my lower lip while a sense of just giving up washes over me. What good is this anyway? Thayer won''t take me back in this state, I can''t do my work, I can''t even tend to myself. I¡­


    "Stop it, Eon. You''re going to be alright. Give it time." He speaks softly, reassuring. I don''t want to hear it but at the same time I do. I hate that everything has to be so complicated.


    "I try; I try¡­ It''s just¡­ It doesn''t feel like it''s getting any easier¡­"


    "And it will get even worse before it gets better. You''re processing, something you haven''t done for years. You''re not just dealing with what has happened recently, you''re dealing with all the things you have suppressed in the past."


    I can''t tell if his words are comforting or just egging me on, but at least they appeal to my sense of logic. God grief, when will this be over? I just want everything to go back to how it was, including Thayer''s abuse. It hurt, but I was safe. Pain can be numbed with the right substances, but safety is rare.


    "Eon," his voice is suddenly more pressing, more serious while still calm. It''s enough to force me to look at him.


    "When they stole me from the Arch I couldn''t walk, I couldn''t see nor hear, it was so hard to breathe. I was afraid, I haven''t seen the city in such a long time I couldn''t remember what the sky looks like or what the city smelled like. I forgot how wind and the timid warmth of the sun feels like on my skin," he slowly releases my leg into a more relaxed position while I keep my eyes on him.


    I can relate to these feelings. Not that I could ever forget what this city looks, smells, and feels like, but I resonate with his experience of feeling lost.


    "I didn''t know about the Shadows. They were just strangers dragging me from the only place I knew. It took years before I learned to live again. He stopped me so many times from just walking right back to the Arch." He slowly retracts his hands and sits down on the chair next to the bed.


    "He was so young, so raw in his emotions and sympathy, different from what he is now. He saw a person in need and he cared so much it almost hurt. If it wasn''t for him and his persistence I wouldn''t be here. I had gone back. The Shadows had the job to steal me but that was it. There wasn''t more to it. They just left me to fend for myself."


    I watch him, sitting beside my bed like death himself sharing tales of long forgotten times ¨C or that''s what it feels like.


    "He has changed, he had to. We need to grow colder in order to survive, we need to distance ourselves. There are so many people dying in this city daily, I have to decide who to ignore and who to help or else both will die. The same goes for you, for the Shadows, for everyone."


    I can''t really say if he tries to lift me up or just came around to answer my question in a more understanding way but I feel my resignation shift slightly. If he made it, I can too, right? I still can see the sky, I can still smell the air, I can still hear the sounds of the city. I haven''t forgotten what the wind or the sun feel like. I''m not numb. I am still feeling. That''s more many could ever ask for.


    "Thanks," for taking my mind off the doubts and redirecting it ¨C is what I wanted to say but I can''t muster more. I don''t know if I prefer that direction but it is a new perspective. He just nods but doesn''t move, as if to make sure I am fine enough to get back to exercising.


    "He likes you, you know?" Now his eyes wander to the window, as if he''s gazing past the milky glass far into the distance. A tingling feeling arises within me, "Do you like him?" I can''t help but ask.


    "Hm," the corner of his mouth twitches yet again, but instead of a smile a rather melancholic expression emerges, "I used to love him."


    I feel my heart skip a beat ¨C what the fuck was that just now? Am I alright?


    "What happened?" Despite the weird sensation I just felt, I can''t help but feel sympathy. Something must have happened or else¡­


    "We grew apart. I''m not getting older but he does. I''ll forever be grateful for all the things he did for me, but at some point understanding grew into annoyance, love into despair. Sometimes we cling to the only comforting thing we can reach and we fall in love for the wrong reasons. I guess we just realized that we didn''t love each other the way we thought we would."


    Is this what I am experiencing lately? The heartache, the weird sensation just now? Am I clinging on to something that feels like safety and comfort, building towards a false sense of¡­ love? I don''t know what love feels like, so¡­ maybe?


    "Do you regret it?"


    "Falling apart?"


    "Whatever you had in the first place?"


    "No. Experiences are there to be made. You can only grow confronting them, if you hide and keep running you''ll get stuck. There is no progress to be made. It may feel safer that way but it really isn''t."


    I watch him gazing outside the milky window as if he''s watching a memory invisible to any other eye but his own. I feel weirdly calm, but not in a positive way. It feels¡­ suffocating.


    I had enough trouble with breathing lately ¨C whenever the fear and dread got a hold of me ¨C but this is different; I''m breathing just fine, and still I feel a heavy weight on my chest. Just to make sure, I take a deep breath effortlessly.


    This is no fear, no anxiety leading my body to tense up. His words¡­ They resonate with something deep within me, they latch onto something. This is no physical thing ¨C it''s something else. But I can''t name it, let alone navigate it. The doc shakes his head slightly then turns to face me again.


    "What do you think? Want to try to stand up?" he asks and I nod without hesitation. I need my freedom back, my movement, my mobility. The faster the better.

 Chapter 26: Finding Routine

    I haven''t seen the Shadow again. It''s been a week ¨C I think ¨C and I haven''t seen or heard of him. Doc told me he had to attend a mission. With him gone our last conversation still hangs over my head without any conclusion.


    I hate that, but there was a lot to keep me busy and to keep my head from dwelling on it. But it''s days like this one where I can''t find anything else to do but sit in this big hall, watching other people come and go, all alone with my thoughts.


    I lost count of the days but each day grew colder. Winter is approaching and the sanctuary is busy gathering enough supplies to get as many people through the cold months as possible.


    During my time here, I have heard the fog horn countless times and whenever the ear-deafening sound hit us, the doc or Mrs. Blair would come into my room to draw the curtains.


    While I can walk and get around, I still feel my energy dropping rapidly whenever I''m up too long. The doc also advised me to not move too fast or abruptly.


    I don''t like being restricted in my movement but it is so much better than lying in bed all day long, unable to move at all. I prefer this. It''s not ideal but a massive step forward. I click my tongue in annoyance.


    Something so easy as getting around on my own two legs feels like an accomplishment now. This is such a joke.


    The people depending on this place are people from all over the district. Some just need a little food at the end of the month when their earnings have run out, others are fully dependent on sleeping here, with no other place to go.


    Whoever is healthy and strong enough to help contributes something. They help gather supplies, cook the meals, clean and wash the rooms, or entertain and educate the children as best as possible.


    There is a little nook in the main hall, sectioned off by improvised curtains. It''s a place where children of all ages gather with someone who can teach them something. They have no other ways to learn, no access to education.


    This place isn''t just a sanctuary, it''s a community. I don''t feel like I belong here. I''m leeching off of the things they dearly need to survive just because I can''t provide for myself right now. And most of these people are so friendly.


    I appreciate it, but at the same time, it annoys me. I¡­ I haven''t been like this before, have I? They try to include me, provide for me. They bring food to my table when they see me sitting here during eating time, they ask me about my recovery, they ask me to join their conversations, or want to share some company.


    And it makes me feel anxious as if every nice thing I accept from them could come back to bite me in the ass. They don''t hold it against me and this makes it even worse. I tell them off and they still care enough to look out for me.


    I don''t want to feel this way but I am constantly expecting them to stab me in the back. To sell me out. It hasn''t happened yet but there is no guarantee Thayer or one of his goons won''t show up in the near future.


    I''ve always been cautious about whom to trust, always been vigilant, and I never liked big groups of people, let alone crowds ¨C but it never made me so nervous to be around people.


    Sometimes I flee just for Mrs. Blair to tell me yet again that I need to confront myself with such situations to not let this dread fester and grow. And I know she is right. It''s the same with the emotions we absorb when cleaning the Weave at crime scenes.


    It is extremely important to get rid of these unfamiliar emotions before they can plant themselves deeper and start to root. Because at some point, it becomes impossible to keep them and one''s own emotions apart.


    It''s like a parasite. It consumes. I know that. It''s just so hard sometimes. Because this fear is mine I can''t just cleanse and get rid of it.


    At least I''m somewhat successful in suppressing this urge to return to Thayer. My logic is winning that battle, if nothing else. But sometimes I still think about it, talking to myself like a madman split into two parts.


    One part is begging to go back to the familiarity, painting perfect pictures of what could be if I just tried to fix it, make up for it, apologize, submit. The other part is calling bullshit, acknowledging that I wouldn''t survive shit if I ever were to return.


    It should be so easy, but¡­ There is no proof for either situation and this makes it so extremely hard.


    "How are you feeling?"


    "Leave me alone," I answer without looking up.


    "Good, I see." Wait a minute. I know this voice. I turn my head to look at the man who is standing in front of the table I''m sitting at, two steaming bowls of rice in his hands.


    "Ash?" I sound more surprised than I intended to, but here we are. Why is he here?


    "Some Shadow came by to inform Thomas of your location and well-being. So the old man asked me to come see you," he smiles at me, his appearance rugged, tired. But his eyes are telling.


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    He places one bowl in front of me then he settles into the chair across from me at the table. He has lost weight since I last saw him.


    "Why you of all people?" I ask, not really paying attention to the food he just brought me. But I won''t stop him from eating.


    "Because I''ve been hiding out nearby."


    "Still running from the Snakes?"


    "Ya, it never gets boring, you know."


    "This makes two of us now, I guess."


    "Yeah," he pauses to shove a spoonful of rice into his mouth, eating in peace, taking his time to not speak with his mouth full. "I heard about it, shitty situation you''ve got yourself into."


    "Tell me about it," I sigh. He would know - probably the best of all the people. Ash is a prime example of what can happen when something goes wrong at a crime scene.


    He took a high-profile job in the upper city, meddling in the Snakes'' poison business ¨C or at least that''s what they thought when they returned to the scene to retrieve their belongings. They thought he was there to steal their goods and dispose of the evidence.


    He''s been on the run ever since. He''s still working as a cleaner for the station though, just¡­ differently.


    "It''s not so bad." He waves his hand as if to dismiss the seriousness of his own situation.


    I wish it was that easy but he has something I don''t: Experience with such situations. He''s been on the run for approximately a year. I guess he just got used to his new circumstances of living and working.


    "That''s what you say. There is still a difference between a group of venomists like the Snakes and a crime lord like the Bear." I don¡¯t want to downplay his situation, but it¡¯s hard not to.


    "And still they have things in common that make dealing with either easier," he says before shoving another spoon between his lips, taking his sweet time. I don''t mind at all but can''t bring myself to eat.


    "For example?" We both sound like we''re discussing stocks or the weather, but that''s the normalcy I desperately longed for.


    Maybe that''s just a common thing about cleaners. We''ve seen and dealt with so much shit that most of our conversations are rather level-headed and matter-of-fact. With his mouth full he raises his hands gesturing into the room, as if to present this place to an audience, the audience that is me.


    Only once he swallows his food he answers, "Scarlet. They both can''t do shit in her territory. Though the Snakes do try it occasionally."


    "So that''s where you''ve been hiding out," I huff. It''s ironic, isn''t it? Getting away from one dangerous entity while hiding in the shadow of another.


    "Wish it were that easy."


    "Oh?" Now he piqued my interest. I''m in a situation here, and I''m no fool, I know a person who can give me valuable information to improve my own situation if I see one. And Ash is such a person.


    He snorts as he picks up on my interest. He can read me well but I wouldn''t expect anything else from one of the people who contributed most to my training back when I was just a rookie.


    "This is not for you, Eon. You don''t swing that way." Now he laughs, his voice raspy due to the cold. It''s a lot warmer inside this factory than outside thanks to the big boilers and heating bodies, but it is still not warm.


    "Don''t tell me¡­" No, he didn''t. Did he? He did. What an idiot.


    "That I became an obsession? That''s exactly what I''m saying," he confirms and I can''t help but eye him up and down, searching for¡­ I don''t know. Marks? Bruises? Cuts? Anything, really. I know there is a difference between being a man''s possession and a woman''s obsession, but it''s Scarlet we''re talking about.


    However, he is tightly wrapped up in warm clothes. If it wasn''t for eating, even half of his face would be covered by the thick, old wool scarf around his neck to keep his nose and cheeks warm.


    "I did not expect that," I have to admit.


    "It''s not that bad. Scarlet is quite the skilled lover, to be fair."


    "So was the Bear."


    He snorts again and looks me dead in the eyes, "The Bear is an abuser, not a lover, Eon. Don''t get that mixed up. I don''t really know what your relationship looked like, but I know what happened," he points towards my stomach and I can''t help but glance down for a second. "No lover does that, kiddo."


    I have heard similar words before. Even before all this happened. By someone I haven''t seen in a while. Was it so obvious, I wonder? Was what I endured the past years hinting at something I should have expected to happen?


    My eyes settle on my untouched rice bowl. It''s just rice with nothing. The only thing this place can afford. I sigh and pull the bowl closer to me, sinking the spoon into it.


    "Thanks," I mumble. I''m not ungrateful, not if people give me something or care for me in some way, even if I tend to send them away. But I can''t deny them my please and thank you, especially not if it''s Ash or other people I already know.


    The rice tastes like nothing much; someone made an effort to squeeze out whatever was left in some thrown-out herbs. It''s enough for a hint of something, but not enough to form a proper taste. But it fills the stomach and that''s the only thing that counts, especially during winter.


    "How are things at the station?" I ask, intentionally changing the topic. I''ve been so overwhelmed by my situation that it has rarely crossed my mind. Thomas must have been sick of worry.


    And here I was, not even thinking about him much. No wonder I don''t have friends¡­ I''m a terrible friend to have, am I not?


    "Well, you know, things must go on. They suspended Mr. Morell. Seems like they can''t really decide what to do with him as long as they don''t know how you are doing."


    "They wait it out in hopes I''ll file a report eventually."


    "It''s the only thing they can really do, you know. They could just fire him but cleaners are rare. They need the whole picture to assess the situation and make the right call," he answers calmly, a little bit lost in thoughts by the sound of his voice.


    "Tell me about it, I remember the complexity of what has happened to you. It was pure chaos," I sigh, eating only small portions to keep my mouth focused on the conversation. I don''t feel hungry anyway but I know I must eat.


    "It''s never easy. And no matter how many protocols the Arch rolls our way, if something happens none of these mighty protocols cover a situation from start to finish."


    "A wonder they even give us protocols to begin with," I huff. It''s a joke if I think about it. At times it seems like they couldn''t care less but they know we are important. The job we do can''t be done by everyone so they have to care on a personal level.


    But all they ever do is hand out protocols to follow after something happens, so we can act accordingly the next time. But next time it will be different. It always will.


    "Ah, one fine day something will happen that fits one of these protocols to a tea," he snorts, stuffing another spoonful of rice into his mouth.