The five officers fanned through the smithy like water seeping into cracks—quiet, deliberate, impossible to stop. Two headed up the narrow staircase toward Kael's room, their boots thudding against the old wood.
Captain Darius claimed a stool near the forge, never once taking his eyes off the young man who now wore Kael's skin.
"You'd best be careful," Darius said, his voice calm but edged with warning. "The Blackcaps gang's been unusually active in this district."
Lucien's thoughts jumped instantly to Gareth's earlier words about revolvers—how, in this energy-starved land, they were the great equalizer. A single well-placed abyssal bullet could kill someone one full rank above you.
That kind of tool... that kind of power... could be just what he needed.
His current vessel was laughable. Weak, slow, barely better than a street rat. A rookie Initiate could end him before he blinked.
After a beat, he cleared his throat. "Officer… how would someone go about acquiring a revolver?"
Master Gareth's hammer stopped cold. "Don't you dare—"
But Darius actually laughed, a sound like gravel shifting.
"Illegal for civilians, boy. But you can get one if you join a church, the Royal Academy, or the police force." His eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement.
"Course, you'd need at least a silver star from the Adventure Guild first."
The Adventurer's Guild.
Lucien's pulse quickened. Mercenaries, beast hunters, sea trackers—people who made their living dancing with death and came back with pockets full of coin. His mind was already racing through possibilities when—
Thunk.
Master Gareth's knuckles slammed into the back of his skull.
"OW! What the hell, old man?!"
"Don't even think about it," Gareth growled, completely unimpressed. "Seen plenty of stupid kids deliver themselves as walking meals to those creatures."
Lucien rubbed his head, glaring. "You just don't want to lose your cheap labor."
Gareth's laugh was like cracked stone. "Damn right I don't."
Even Darius allowed a rare smirk, and for a fleeting moment, the tension lifted.
Then Lucien's blood ran cold.
Oh no.
Upstairs. The room. The pillow.
His face drained of color. He turned and bolted for the stairs.
"What's gotten into that boy?" Gareth called after him.
Darius's expression shifted in an instant. His hand slid to his weapon, voice suddenly sharp.
"Stay here." Then he moved—fast, silent, precise.
"Oh, gods," Gareth muttered to himself. "What has that stupid boy done now?"
###
Upstairs
Lucien burst into the room just as one of the officers reached for the pillow.
Okay, act natural. Be casual. Just reach it first and—
He moved forward, feigning calm, but a firm hand clamped around his wrist.
"Going somewhere?"
Lucien froze.
Darius stood behind him, utterly unreadable.
Lucien spun around, stunned. He hadn't felt Darius approach at all.
How did he—? Some kind of concealment spell?
The captain's smile was slight, and sharp. "Looks like you're hiding something, boy."
"It's not what it—"
"Save it." Darius nodded to his subordinate. "Check the pillow."
"Yes, sir."
The fabric rustled.
And then: silence.
Papers slid out and fluttered to the ground like brittle leaves.
Lucien's face went up in flames.
Darius bent down, picked up a crumpled sheet, and read aloud:
"'Oh Elara, oh Elara, you are my flame, my star, my eternal—'" He paused. "—'light in the abyss…'" His brow furrowed as he turned the page. "What the hell is this?"
And then came the drawing.
A crude attempt at Elara's face, distorted and wild-eyed—like a love-struck goblin drawn by a blind toddler.
Lucien closed his eyes.
Kill me.
Please. Someone kill me right now.
The room was deathly silent.
"Officers?" Master Gareth's voice called up from below, tense with concern. "If that boy's done something wrong, please… forgive him."
Lucien stared at the floor, mortified. The previous Kael had apparently been hopelessly obsessed with Elara. Letters, sketches, terrible poetry—the entire shrine of teenage idiocy laid bare for the officers of the law to witness.
If Gareth knew his daughter was the subject of this mess… he'd melt me down into nails.
He opened his mouth to explain, but Darius surprised him again. The man laid a hand—surprisingly gentle—on Lucien's shoulder. His expression had changed, now touched by something unreadable. Not mockery. Not pity.
Understanding...?
"It's alright," he said, voice low and calm. "I've seen worse."
Lucien didn't want to know what that meant.
"Keep yourself in check, boy," Darius said, his tone softer now. "Some things are best left buried."
He motioned for his men to follow, then turned and walked out.
Lucien stood there, motionless, red-faced and stunned. After a beat, he laughed—soft, disbelieving.
He's definitely speaking from experience.