Jaren appeared in the Gray Zone.
The dirty walls closed in around him, the air cooler but still thick with dust from the streets beyond.
The streets were busier today. Faint voices carried from the crowd ahead, but he noticed people laying on the ground, coughing and reeking of sickness.
Was there something he didn't know of? Walking here was normal for him, but now that he had joined the Hawks organization, this was nothing but a road to his new office, not back to the Qing's brothel.
He no longer lived there. And it hurts.
Walking with the crowd, his longsword still hung heavy in his right hand. The blood on his left hand had dried and clotted.
Sweat cooled on his skin now, leaving his shirt clinging to his back and chest. His hazel eyes scanned the faces that passed without really seeing them.
He knew.
He knew Stolas was using him. Anyone with enough intelligence could see through that tired officer's manners.
