Ashlynn checks on Tobyas — what remains of him — while I move to the desk.
The shed is quiet now. Only the distant churn of factories and the slow drip of blood on wood.
I sift through the contents carefully. Loose papers. Tools. Half-finished diagrams. Two things catch my attention.
An alchemical note.
And a personal one.
"Ash."
"Yes?" she replies without looking up, finishing her search of the body.
"Come here."
She walks over, the red bracelet dangling from her fingers.
"Here." I shift aside so she can read.
"Tetherloom," she murmurs.
"The one you're holding seems defective."
She doesn't respond immediately. Her eyes move across the page, absorbing every line. Technical notations. Thread tension ratios. Control limitations.
I watch her expression.
Interest.
Not horror. Not regret.
Simply interest.
"You keep the note," I say.
She looks at me. "Is that really fine?"
"Yes."
I hand her the alchemical note while I keep the personal one for myself.
We gather what might be useful — his toolbox, its contents, the Tetherloom, the research notes. Nothing excessive. Nothing sentimental.
Then we leave.
Outside, the slum feels quieter than before.
Or perhaps it only feels that way because they know now.
Eyes follow us as we walk toward the carriage.
"Who is it this time?" a woman murmurs.
"Mom, why are they so clean?" a child asks openly.
I glance at him and smile.
Curiosity. Not fear.
His mother grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him back.
"Kim, don't look at them."
We step into our carriage.
I tap the glass partition.
"Back to the Northern Outskirt," I instruct. "To the market."
The door shuts.
The carriage rolls forward.
Inside, the world outside fades into muffled iron and smoke.
Ashlynn turns to me. "Why the market?"
"I need to switch carriages," I reply. "From there I'll head back to the Hearthlight Building. I have to report to Gary."
She nods once.
"I can experiment with this then," she says, lifting the Tetherloom slightly. The red threads glint faintly against the dim carriage light.
"Okay but remember to be careful," I say.
She smiles. "I will."
The carriage moves northward, leaving the Eastern Outskirt behind. The smog remains heavy, but it loosens its grip compared to the suffocating east. Buildings regain clearer edges.
Streets grow wider.
After some time, the carriage slows then stops.
We step out before the market district — louder, busier, alive in a way the slums are not.
Vendors shouting. Metal clanking. Fabric rustling. The smell of spices attempting to overpower coal smoke.
"Later," Ashlynn says, already drifting into the crowd.
I watch her go for a second.
She blends easily — confident stride, hand resting near her rapier, red coat cutting through the crowd like a deliberate stroke of paint.
Then I turn the other way. Toward the quieter stretch — the empty alley where my warehouse stands. I unlock the door and step inside just to retrieve my revolver. Nothing more.
I lock the warehouse again and return to the open street. After a short wait, I hail a carriage — one marked with my company's insignia.
If I must travel, I may as well circulate coin through my own hands. Small. Unnoticeable. But legitimate.
The carriage carries me through the Northern Outskirt, past soot stained stonework and thinner smog, until the Hearthlight Building rises ahead.
I enter without pause. Through the lobby into Gary's office.
Gary is already seated behind his desk when I step inside. As always.
"Gary, about the recruit…"
He looks up. "You met him?"
"I did."
"And?"
"I decided he was unfit to join the Order."
He leans forward slightly.
"Unfit?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"I suppose I'll meet him personally and judge for myself—"
"Unfortunately," I interrupt evenly, "you can't."
Silence settles.
Gary studies my face.
"No," he says slowly while shaking his head. "You killed him?"
I don't answer.
I simply meet his eyes then his face turns frown.
BAM.
His palm slams against the desk as he rises to his feet.
"You—" The word hangs unfinished. He clenches his jaw instead.
"Fool!" He steps around the desk, approaching me.
"You killed someone with potential talent in alchemy."
He circles behind me as he speaks, voice low but cutting.
"Do you understand how rare such talent is?"
I consider correcting him but decide not to. His eyes though... Shows flicker of hesitation. Not good. My body remains calm to mask my intent.
"What is your excuse?" he whispers.
"He lied when I asked about the source of his knowledge," I reply.
Gary lets out a sharp breath — half laugh, half disbelief.
"Ah!" He strides toward the window. "Of course he lied."
He turns back sharply.
"No one in their right mind tells the truth to a stranger." His voice rises. "Especially when questioned so precisely."
He points at me. His hand trembles — not from weakness, but restrained fury.
"This is why I do not trust a sword."
He takes a step closer.
"Sharp. But never bright."
The words land heavier than the desk slam.
I just nod.
He exhales slowly, the anger settling into cold disappointment.
"Leave."
I turn and walk out without another word for it is better this way.
Better that he believes I made a mistake.
Better that he thinks I am merely blunt.
Gary is smart.
And I prefer he remains uncertain.
On my way out I see Tanya. She has just finished making her donation, a receipt folded neatly between her fingers.
I attempt to pass without acknowledgment.
She notices.
"Where are you going, Len?" Her thin hand grips my arm — surprisingly firm.
"I was just on my way out."
"Oh." She tilts her head slightly. "Are you still looking for Ashlynn?"
She leans closer.
Her perfume is sharp. Sweet. Almost suffocating.
"I'm trying to move on," I say, letting out a soft chuckle.
Her lips curl.
"That's great," she replies. "I can introduce you to more girls."
"Really?"
"I'm sure you can afford them." She winks.
I gently pull my arm free.
"I have somewhere to be."
I start walking again.
"Let me know if you change your mind!" she calls after me.
I do not look back.
I step out of the Hearthlight Building and move quickly toward the street. The first carriage I see is unmarked. Older. Inferior craftsmanship.
Not one from my company. I can be biased when making judgments.
I take it anyway and instruct the jarvy toward home.
The carriage rolls through dim streets, wheels humming against stone.
When I enter the house, Ashlynn is already waiting in the foyer.
She grabs my hand immediately and pulls me into the living room. Her brow is furrowed, eyes sharp with focus.
"Sit," she says.
Papers are already spread across the desk.
She crouches beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her shoulder against my arm.
"So this is how the Tetherloom works, correct?"
She walks me through her understanding — thread tension, anchor points, control flow. She explains why Tobyas' version was defective. Insufficient reinforcement. Poor material refinement.
I listen.
She's right.
He wasn't incompetent. He was limited.
Given proper backing, proper funding, proper training—
He would have become a problem. Eliminating him early was the correct move.
When she finishes, we tidy the desk together. The room looks neat once again.
Before she leaves the living room, I grab her wrist.
She looks back at me. "Len?"
I pull her toward the couch. She falls onto it with a small laugh, surprised but not resisting.
"What are you doing?"
I climb over her slowly.
No rush. No hesitation.
I kiss her — not gently this time.
She moans in pleasure.
My hand presses against her waist as my lips trail down to her neck.
"I have earned you," I whisper against her skin. "Haven't I?"
Her breath trembles. Her fingers grip my coat.
"Yes…" she murmurs. "I'm yours."
There's no fear in her voice. Only heat. Only certainty.
That night, we don't speak much.
Outside, smoke and blood.
Inside, possession and devotion.
She has proven herself—
And I reward what belongs to me.