The early morning came with the same grey tint as every other day in The Prims. A familiar, rapid tattoo sounded on his door, rousing Damian from sleep. He sat up, stretching his arms, doing his best to avoid pulling at the stitches in his side.

  “I have got to stop sleeping in this chair,” he muttered, glancing over his desk where notes from the previous night sprawled across the surface. After Jay had left, he’d scrubbed himself off and then gone over every detail of their operation, trying to make sense of the chaos. As painful as it was, he knew he had to consider all angles—he owed it to Jay to take his words seriously.

  He rose from the chair awkwardly, stiff and in pain. Glancing down, he saw that his bandages were still pristine, a small relief. That was as good as it would get for now. He reached for the doorknob.

  Pulling it open revealed Shadow, his mild-mannered orc healer, standing there with a serious expression.

  “You should be asleep after all that healing you did yesterday,” Damian said, disapproval creeping into his tone as he eyed the dark circles under Shadow’s eyes.

  Shadow looked pointedly at him and then at the chaotic desk, raising an eyebrow. Damian sighed. “Yes, point made. What do you need?”

  “Just giving you an update on Rem, and then I’m going to sleep,” Shadow replied, his voice weary.

  Damian took a slow, deep breath, working to stay calm. “Go on.”

  “I’ve been monitoring him, and it’s not looking good. He’s slipped into a coma. I don’t have the means to treat him here if he doesn’t wake up in the next couple of days. I wish I could do more.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and he hunched in on himself.

  “Could he wake up in the next few days?” Damian demanded, concern tightening his chest.

  “It’s possible, but I just don’t know enough.” Shadow’s eyes misted, his lip trembling.

  Damian reached out and laid a hand on Shadow’s arm, reeling in his own anger and grief to focus on his friend. “You’ve done your best, and that’s all I could ever ask of you,” he said, meeting Shadow’s gaze. “If it comes to the worst, I’ll handle it from there. But let’s hope for the best outcome.” He patted the orc’s arm a few more times, trying to impart some reassurance.

  “Thanks, boss. Since you weren’t there, I got Scarlet watching over him for now. But if you wanted to go—”

  Damian cut him off. “I appreciate the thought, but I need to focus on figuring out what happened yesterday.” His tone was harsher than he intended. Truthfully, he would much rather be at Rems side right now, with everything uncertain, but that wasn’t possible.

  Shadow gave him a searching look, opening his mouth to speak, but before he could, Lacey appeared at the end of the hallway, her dark hair pulled back and a solemn expression on her face.

  She paused, surprise flickering across her face as she saw Shadow. “Is this a bad time, boss?” she asked, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  “No, Shadow was just going to bed. Come in; we have some planning to do.” Shadow’s expression darkened slightly at the dismissal, but he turned and walked quietly down the hall toward his room.

  As the door clicked shut behind Shadow, a pang of regret twisted in Damian’s stomach. He felt like he’d let both Jay and Shadow down. He needed to get centered again before this all spiraled further out of control. He could already picture the disapproving look Rem would give him once he heard about this.

  But Rem may never give him that look again.

  Damian halted that thought, forcing it away. Rem could still wake up. If there was one thing he knew, it was to never count out a fae, especially with uncertain odds. Once this mess was sorted, he would call in every favor owed to him if necessary.

  Whoever was behind this would pay. Damian would ensure their group came out stronger for it. He would make sure of that.

  “Let’s get to work,” he said, shaking off the heaviness in his chest. With resolve hardening in his mind, he turned back to the desk, ready to chart a course through the chaos.

  Damian and Lacey stepped silently down the road, the grey morning wrapping around them like a shroud. Damian kept his hood up, concealing his distinctive hair. He cursed the size of his horns, which had grown larger as he aged, curving back from above his temples. The once subtle flick upward now betrayed his heritage to anyone who looked closely.

  He could shave them down like many of his kin did for convenience, but something deep within rebelled against harming them. Accusations of vanity had followed him in his youth due to their gleaming black surface and knife-sharp points. Yet, he had never altered his horns; he only capped the tips with small steel covers to prevent them from shredding his hood.

  He glanced sideways at Lacey, who was also dressed discreetly, a cowl pulled up over the bridge of her nose. The tightening of her eyes revealed her discomfort, a common sight in this part of the Prims, shrouded in smog clouds.

  This area lay beneath the industrial heart of The Hub, where factories belched out pollution. The Prims had originally been constructed to house the burgeoning middle class when Shalefort expanded rapidly due to increased trade. While “The Hub” referred to the entire region, most people identified it with Shalefort—the bustling center known for its permanent portals to other realms. It had become the largest trade hub on the planet.

  As the population surged, stark divisions of wealth and poverty emerged. A so-called “intelligent” city planner ensured that the industries that polluted the air were relegated to the far side of the city. However, they had neglected to account for the neighboring city of Prizal.

  Over the years, Prizal had grown progressively filthier, a permanent layer of smog now hovering over it. Those who could afford to leave had done so, leaving large swaths of the city nearly abandoned, occupied only by those desperate enough to stay. Despite the unlivable conditions, the city was filled with what Shalefort denizens deemed “undesirables.” The locals referred to their city mockingly as “primitive,” an ironic nod to its degraded state and lack of high level magic.

  Now, after years of neglect, this was simply how things were. Few from outside dared to venture into the Prims unless they had unsavory intentions.

  Some sections were worse than others, with the sprawling neighborhoods spread across the mountain’s base, trapping the foul air. This neighborhood, in particular, suffered due to a sheer cliff on one side, exacerbating the stench.

  Pulling his cowl tighter over his nose, Damian scowled. He despised this part of the city, but not for the reasons others did. This was where he had been abandoned, and he loathed the memories that resurfaced. He pushed the thoughts aside as he had done countless times before; the mission mattered more than his past. His new family far outweighed the old, and he had a purpose here.

  They were making their way to The Shaft.

  The Shaft was a grimy bar frequented by laborers and less savory characters who called the smog-filled streets home. Known for its cheap liquor, it was a place to procure just about anything if one knew whom to ask.

  It made sense that someone like Seth would be a regular. He was a streetwise kid who shared information for a bit of coin, always eager to trade rumors for drinks.

  Jay had a passing familiarity with Seth, and he’d relayed what he and Lacey needed to know. This was the most likely spot to find him at this hour. If Seth was elsewhere, the patrons might know where to locate him.

  This morning, they’d discussed several plans depending on what they encountered. Ideally, they could stake out The Shaft, listening for rumors until Seth arrived. But if they were unlucky and he didn’t show, or worse, if this was a trap, Rissi might be waiting for them. Damian hesitated to rule out any possibilities after the chaos of yesterday.

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  A dark part of him craved a confrontation with the Rissi, fueled by the anger over Rem’s condition. He imagined drawing his blades, exacting vengeance for the injuries his friends suffered, and finding whoever had betrayed them to do the same.

  Logically, he knew he couldn’t just storm into the bar and ignite a gang war. They had planned to draw the least amount of attention while gathering as much information as possible. If he entered looking for a fight, things would spiral out of control quickly.

  If the Rissi were present and searching for them, they had contingencies in place. They were better than those scum and would not allow innocents to be caught in the crossfire of their conflict.

  Damian doubted they would extract any useful information from a Rissi member, though he wouldn’t hesitate to make one talk if necessary. His fingers brushed the charm in his pocket, recalling Ally’s parting gift—a small etched crystal imbued to sense the truth. While it wasn’t as powerful as their ward at home, he could channel his will to activate it, and it would heat up if the person speaking was lying. He had been warned that it would only last an hour, so timing would be crucial.

  It was an ideal way to question Seth once they found him. If they couldn’t locate the kid, he could always use it on anyone else they encountered. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t force anyone to speak, so if they did run into the Rissi, they’d likely need more than a truth charm to extract honesty.

  If it came to that before finding Seth, they’d have to grab the kid and drag him back with them. Damian was determined to verify anything he said after yesterday’s chaos.

  As they approached the bar’s entrance, Damian fell a half step behind Lacey, letting her take the lead. He hunched in on himself, adopting a less confident posture. In front of him, Lacey mirrored his movements, both of them practiced in blending into the crowd.

  It had been a while since he’d done anything like this, and a thrill coursed through him. Now that he was the face of a group, he often operated using his own identity. Intimidation had become his specialty.

  They stepped into The Shaft, just as crowded this early in the day as it would be at night. A breath of smog-free air greeted them at the entrance, courtesy of small runes etched into the doorway. Unfortunately, the inside reeked of alcohol and filth, smoke curling from pipes and other substances that filled the air with a haze.

  Damian wondered why the establishment would invest in such magic when they allowed the air inside to remain just as disgusting.

  With a quick glance around, Lacey led him to a side table where a few seats sat empty. She gestured to the bartender as they passed, and soon they were settled with mugs of the green swill that passed for a drink here.

  They surveyed the room while sipping their beverages. No one Damian recognized occupied the bar yet, but that didn’t rule out the presence of Rissi. He quickly noticed the subdued atmosphere at several tables. A group of men exchanged hushed words, their expressions tense.

  When his gaze flicked over, he caught Lacey’s eye; she had noticed the same. She nodded before draining her drink and rising from her seat. Slowly, she made her way toward the bar near the group, positioning herself for a better view of the men speaking.

  Eventually, she returned to their table, leaning down to speak quietly. “We should go outside while I fill you in.”

  Curious about her sudden change of plans, he nevertheless trusted her judgment. He finished his drink and placed a few coins on the table, following her back out to the street.

  She led him down the road a few buildings, crossing over to tuck them into the mouth of an alley. From there, they had a clear view of The Shaft’s entrance, but it was unlikely anyone would spot them.

  Turning to Lacey, he waited for her to confirm they were alone.

  “Boss, I think there’s something more going on than we originally suspected.” Her voice was serious as she completed her check of the alley.

  “In what way? I assume you heard something from those men just now,” Damian prompted.

  “If I understood correctly—and I would bet my boots I did—our lead just dried up. The kid was found dead this morning.” Lacey explained, her troubled expression matching the weight of her words.

  “Killed by the Rissi?” Damian demanded, his voice low and tense.

  “That’s the strange part, Boss. He was discovered by his roommates. They found him in his bed, and it just looks like he fell asleep and never got up. Those guys were saying something about black magic. If that’s the case…” Lacey trailed off, her brow furrowed.

  “Then it’s very unlikely to be them,” Damian concluded, his mind racing.

  There were three critical issues as far as he was concerned. First, the Rissi didn’t have anyone powerful enough to wield that kind of magic. Second, they liked to send a message. If they were going to kill someone, they’d make sure everyone knew who did it. Third, this wasn’t the first citizen of the Prims found dead like this.

  Over the past few months, there had been others. Whispers of serial killers, cults, and black magic had been circulating in the streets. Damian had heard the rumors—everyone had—but with everything happening between the gangs and the trafficking rings, black magic hadn’t been his priority. Now, though, he was starting to wonder if there was more of a connection than he’d originally thought.

  “This is too much of a coincidence,” Damian said, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Our one lead turns up dead hours before we can question him. The one person who had information about a rumored gang meeting—which never even happened. Killed in the same mysterious way that’s been going on for the past month. I don’t like this.”

  “Could the Rissi have allied with whoever’s behind the killings?” Lacey suggested.

  “It’s possible. Donovan’s crafty,” Damian admitted. “But if they had someone who could use magic that strong, why were we able to escape yesterday?”

  His mind churned with possibilities, none of them comforting.

  He wasn’t happy. This was the second mission in two days that had gone awry. Something was brewing beneath the surface, and he had a feeling it was worse than they had originally assumed.

  “Change of plans. I want to salvage as much of this as we can. You’re staying here to watch the bar. When those men come out, I want you to question them further,” Damian ordered, his tone firm. “I want to know everything about this kid and more about the others who have turned up dead like this. We need to know if this is the unluckiest coincidence in history, or if there is something much more going on here,” he paused, thinking for a moment. “These guys probably won’t know everything we need, but I don’t want you to follow this too far. Not alone. You can question more people around here if you need- subtly. When you’re done, head home.”

  He considered handing Lacey the charm Ally had made but decided against it. He had a feeling he might need it more.

  “Yes, Boss. Where are you going?” Lacey asked, concern flickering in her eyes.

  “I’m going to find out where this kid lived. I need to see what happened with my own eyes. This is all too much rumor and hearsay. I have a bad feeling this is worse than slavers, and unfortunately, it seems we might be caught in the middle. I’ll meet you back at base when I’m done.” He explained, his resolve hardening.

  Lacey looked uncertain, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “Be careful, Damian. If this is connected to the Rissi, they won’t take kindly to any interference.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “I’ll be careful. Just focus on getting as much information as you can. Trust your instincts.”

  He headed back into the bar, stepping over the sticky floor and sliding into an open seat at the bar. He watched as the bartender poured a round of bright purple drinks for one of the tables before coming towards him.

  “What can I getcha?” The rough voice was familiar, though it had been a while.

  “Well,” Damian started “Just some information and silence.” He briefly moved his hand, which was covering a small brown coin pouch, hidden under his cloak sleeve on the bar. He then tapped a familiar tempo with his fingers, which to any outside observer appeared to be an impatient gesture.

  The bartender glanced at the pouch, swiftly pouring a cheap drink and setting it in front of Damian, swiping the pouch as he did so. The pouch disappeared and the man began to wipe some large mugs, staying right in front of Damian. That was his cue.

  “I want Seths address, and any you have of the other rumored victims of whatever it was that killed him.” Damian said, keeping his voice low enough to be barely heard over the chatter.

  The bartender, an Elven man of unknown age, stared at him for a moment as if considering. Damian almost wanted to squirm in his seat. Of all the times he had bought information here, he had never felt as if he was being judged to be given the information. After a long moment had passed, the Elven man walked away as another customer yelled for a drink.

  Damian knew this man had a hand on the pulse of The Prims- he had never come to get information on someone and been turned away. He always had the answer. It was unfortunate that he refused to get involved in future events. His business was in certainties: names, addresses, facts. If Damian had wanted information about the gang meeting after it had happened, well then this is where he could have come.

  He always wondered if this man had some sort of past-seeing or divining ability. It always baffled him otherwise why he wouldn’t deal in other information as it would pay handsomely. Not like he doesn’t make good money now, since just that information cost me triple what Kiths rate was. But wondering was as far as it ever went—no one, especially the man himself, was offering answers. And it wasn’t as if Damian could ask. Even finding out the bartender’s name seemed an impossibility..

  As the Elf made another circuit around the bar, a slip of paper slid under Damian’s palm, right where the pouch had been. Without drawing attention, Damian pocketed the note, pushed away from the bar, and glanced at it.

  At the top was Seth’s name, followed by a hastily sketched address not far from here. Beneath that were five other names and addresses.

  He tucked the list into his cloak, resisting the urge to get ahead of himself. With a final glance around, he stepped out into the murky streets, the familiar stench of the Prims enveloping him. His eyes flicked toward the alley where Lacey was stationed, casually leaning against the wall with her cloak obscuring her halfling frame, her gaze fixed on the bar. Neither acknowledged the other, avoiding any unnecessary attention as Damian continued deeper into the neighborhood.

  As he walked, a prickling sensation crept up his spine. They were being watched. He could feel it.