Soon, Wretch left, leaving the prisoners alone in the silence of the decrepit clock-tower.

  “He isn’t coming back,” Cynthia said in a hushed tone.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” Victoria muttered, gesturing towards Boris’ corpse lying in a heap of his own darkening blood under an empty cage. “The oaf’s not listening anymore.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Cynthia said, clearing her throat. “Just a habit.”

  It was quiet for a moment, the only noise a continuous ticking from the rusty gears above.

  Then Cynthia spoke again. “I hope he leaves us and calls the officers. Then the professor would truly get what he deserves.”

  Victoria shook her head. “You saw him, ripping himself apart like that. That’s not a man on a reasonable path, not anymore. The professor wanted to create a monster. Well, here he comes.”

  Cynthia nibbled on the dried fruit Wretch had given her. “Do you think he can hurt them? He has only claws and teeth?”

  Victoria scoffed. “After what they did to him, I don't think it's a matter of teeth and claws.”

  Cynthia smiled. “For the first time I’m glad I’m not in their shoes.”

  Victoria ran her five fingers over the filthy, bloodstained shirt that once belonged to Boris. “I never thought I’d miss wearing clothes like this.”

  Cynthia chuckled. “If you come by my tailor store in a year, I will make you something way better. A calm blue would suit you.”

  Victoria’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’d like that.”

  "What color of suit do you want, Ezra?" Cynthia said up to the boy by the glass. Her words didn't elicit the slightest reaction. Ezra did as he'd always done, gazing through the cracks in the ticking clock onto a cityscape available only to him.

  The first rays of the suns pierced over the mountains of the Scar Spines, spraying the light of dawn through the multicolored glass across Ezra’s emaciated face.

  "Let the kid be in his own world," Victoria answered. "I'm sure it's more comfortable than this place."

  The boy chewed on the dried fruit, fidgeting with Boris' pocketknife in his hand. It was polished to a shine.

  His gaze wandered over the sprawling city of Nov Yanosk, the Spires rising in defiance of heaven, and the Lows still seeped with darkness and smog. His sunken eyes stopped, fixed on a familiar house nestled near the base of Saint’s Summit. The sun had not reached high enough to bathe its surface in the morning light.

  He stared for a moment, then angled the knife, letting the rays of the suns pierce down towards the city below.

  “You’re up early! Haven’t seen you up before eight until recently,” Edmund said as he looked up from his cup of coffee with a pleasant smile, tiny wrinkles appearing at the edge of his eyes.

  Elenya scratched the back of her head and poured black liquid from a kettle, then slumped down on the sofa with a yawn. The cat, Whisky, jumped up to greet her with a purr, licking a healed wound on her neck.

  “I’m heading to the Lows. Gonna ask around about new disappearances,” Elenya said, taking a sip from the steaming cup.

  Astrid exited her room in a long black dress and wide-brimmed hat, her round glasses resting neatly on her nose. She trailed her eyes over the room, her expression not betraying her thoughts.

  “You don’t want to come along to the Bureau?” Edmund asked. “Any real leads are more likely to come from there.”

  “I will let you smart-hats handle it,” Elenya said, eyes flickering toward Astrid. “Besides, those bureaucrats make my skin crawl.”

  Astrid crossed the creaking floorboards, then stopped. For a moment she simply stood there, eyes moving between her two remaining co-workers. She removed her hat, tilting her head back to study the ceiling, then drew in a long breath, the same kind of breath one took before plunging into cold water.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I think we should move on. It’s been seven weeks.”

  A sharp crack rang out and Whisky darted under the sofa. It was the ceramic cup in Elenya’s hand, a thin crack twisting along its surface.

  “I don’t give a damn how long it’s been,” she said with venom in her tone. “I liked the kid.”

  Astrid’s voice stayed calm. “So did I, but it’s been almost two months.”

  Elenya replied with a growl, “You know me Astrid, you know me well, and I don't leave anyone behind. Not you, not him, not anyone.”

  Astrid met Elenya’s gaze without flinching, calm against thinly veiled fury. "We can’t chase ghosts forever. If we don’t take on new missions, the Richters go under.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll find him, dead or alive.”

  Astrid took a step closer, her voice gentle and pleading. “Please, Elenya…”

  Elenya shot to her feet, the cup falling out of her hand and shattering against the floor. “He ran away to save us! And you’re leaving him behind?"

  A hand clenched into a fist with enough force to whiten the knuckles. "Well, I ain’t leaving shit.”

  The room grew quiet.

  From the sofa, Edmund exhaled deeply. He shook his head, and for a moment, he looked older than he had any right to be. “My wife was a hunter and she died of betrayal."

  The two Hunters turned towards their captain as he continued, “Why a fellow hunter would strike us down, I’ll never know. Perhaps he was a Gulschak agent, or simply he was unwilling to share the spoils of a successful hunt.”

  He knitted his fingers together, staring through the dimly lit common-room, past the kitchen alcove and beyond. Watching memories that now belonged only to him. “That was the first day I killed a man, and the day my first company broke. Since then, I’ve seen many promising hunters come through my door, briefed dozens of teams at this very table.”

  “Sometimes they break because of the horrors, others from within. But most teams, they burn out like this.”

  His voice grew low as he spoke. “You lose someone and you never move on. The sight of your colleagues remind you of what you've lost. But we have to get through it, we have to turn that grief into fuel for the sake of the city.”

  At last he looked up towards Elenya, the shattered cup at her feet and fury in her eyes, while his only showed fatigue. “One more week, that’s all I can give.”

  “And then?” Elenya answered with a voice as sharp as her weapons.

  Astrid didn’t flinch, her face as unreadable as ever. “And then we take another mission, and bury an empty casket.”

  A shiver went through Elenya, muscles shifting beneath her shirt. A door creaked open, Jonna, one of the twins, stepped out, draped in a white nightgown and rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  Edmund was quick on his feet. He passed Elenya and let his hand brush lightly against her shoulder, a few paces later he dropped to one knee in front of his daughter and gently took her hand in his. “Nothing, love. Go back to sleep. It’s Saturday, no school. Sleep in, little bird.”

  The dark-haired twin yawned. “Okay, but the annoying light is back.”

  Edmund blinked. “What do you mean, love?”

  “The light on the balcony.”

  Edmund’s eyebrow rose. “Light?”

  She nodded, running her free hand through her hair, straightening out tufts from a deep sleep. “Yeah, it comes early, shining through the blinds of my window, something from one of the tiny spires.”

  The room froze, none of the three hunters moved. Jonna tried to turn around but found Edmund’s hand wasn’t letting go.

  Slowly, the trio turned towards the balcony door at the edge of the room. A faint light shimmered over the blooming flowers, weak enough to be overlooked, but too bright to be before dawn.

  The fury from Elenya’s visage was gone, her eyes wide and lips pressed together. “When?” she whispered.

  Jonna fidgeted with her hair, glancing between them. “It was gone for a while…”

  “Try to remember love,” Edmund asked, a strain beneath the calm. “When did it start?”

  “The day of my midterm math test, I remember it because I woke up too early.”

  Edmund gave a look to Astrid.

  “Six weeks and four days ago,” she whispered, eyes locked on the light in an uncharacteristic look of shock. “Three days after the attack.”

  Elenya lunged with fiery eyes, reaching the balcony door with shades of red on her skin a moment later. She ripped it open, glass rattling in the frame, Edmund and Astrid close behind.

  They peered up, as the dawn painted the top of the spires in shades of gold and crimson. From one of them, a light glimmered. It wasn’t strong nor focused, but washed the house in a few lighter hues than the surrounding buildings.

  “That clock-tower is reflecting the sunrise,” Edmund said. "That kid signaled the same way after we fought the horror by the industries."

  “Any piece of metal could produce that effect," Astrid said. “But the timing…”

  Elenya responded only with two words.

  “It’s him.”