"Alright, Zoran, out with it," Lysska said, sifting through a mess of papers. "What dumpster fire did you dive into this time to get some enforcer breathing down your neck?"

  The kid—a wiry little rakari, lion-kin with a mop of unruly golden hair—shifted uncomfortably, his yellow eyes darting to me, then to Quickpaw perched nearby, before finally landing back on Lysska. He swallowed hard. "It’s about Greg. He’s… missing."

  Lysska paused mid-sort, one eyebrow arching like a bridge to nowhere. "Greg? Greg Whittaker?" Her voice was part curiosity, part disdain, like she’d just remembered an old recipe she hated but couldn’t help respecting. "Sharp instincts for a human, I’ll give him that. But we’re talking about the same Greg who thought hiring a runaway was sound business strategy?"

  “Intriguing,” Alice murmured, her voice a silver thread in my mind. “Her disdain wears too fine a polish. Beneath it—concern, perhaps? Shall I unravel the undercurrents?”

  I gave Alice the faintest shake of my head. No need for her to dig in. Not yet, anyway. This felt like something I could handle. Probably.

  Zoran’s jaw clenched tight, but he let Lysska’s jab pass without a retort. Maybe he was smart enough to know better. Or maybe he wasn’t sure it was a jab. "He didn’t have to hire me," the kid said. "But he did. And now he’s vanished."

  Lysska tilted her head, her quill hovering mid-air. “‘Vanished’ is a generous term for men who owe debts in every tavern from here to the Spires. Define your absence.”

  Zoran took a breath, his hands fidgeting like they wanted something to hold. "Subtle signs. His place—there were disturbances in mechanisms only we knew about. No sign of him, no messages, no orders. He wasn’t even there when I showed up to report. He wouldn’t just… disappear like that."

  "Maybe he decided babysitting isn’t his calling anymore," Lysska said, twirling the quill between her fingers with indifference. Her eyes, however, narrowed like blades drawn just enough to catch the light. "Or maybe you caught a whiff of enforcers snooping around and decided you’d rather deal with me."

  The kid stiffened at that, his tail twitching in agitation. "I’m not lying. I came to you because you helped me last time." His voice wavered. "A few days ago, I noticed two enforcers following me. They weren’t up to anything good—I could feel it. You helped me shake them. Greg always spoke highly of you, said I should come to you if something felt… off. And now this."

  Lysska’s gaze sharpened as she leaned back in her chair, the quill coming to rest on the desk. She didn’t speak for a moment, her expression distant yet calculating. Meanwhile, my own thoughts churned. Why would enforcers be tracking a kid like this? And why did Zoran seem so oblivious to the fact that Lysska was Whisper herself? Dual identities, layered like armor. It was almost enough to make me feel a touch dishonest wearing my own mask in this room. Almost.

  Not that she’d offered me a glimpse of her “civilian” life either. Detective Lysska or Whisper—it didn’t matter which mask she had on. Either way, she played her cards close to the chest. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to ask her about it. But not now. Not with the kid here. Later, when the room was a little less crowded with secrets.

  Before Lysska could get a word in, Alice’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Fascinating.”

  I frowned, catching the faint hum of amusement in her tone.

  “The kid’s affinity for water is remarkable, Mistress,” Alice continued, her voice almost purring with intrigue. “So strong, in fact, that the element’s underlying concept resonates deeply within him—Reflection. He could likely glean a person’s intentions just by studying them. Shame he’s fumbling down the wrong pathway to fully realize it.”

  I turned my gaze to Zoran, now seeing him in a slightly different light. I was only just starting to grasp the bigger picture of concepts myself, but Alice seemed to have no qualms about dishing out tidbits. So water held the concept of Reflection, like Lightning aligned with Judgement. Another breadcrumb for the ever-growing pile of things I’d need to grill Alice about later.

  Lysska’s quill twitched in her hand as she finally spoke, her voice dripping with skepticism. "And what makes you so sure Greg’s disappearance is ‘weird’? Could just be debt collectors finally catching up to him. Or maybe he decided to skip town for some much-needed quiet."

  Zoran fidgeted. His ears twitched. "I had a hunch my run-in with the enforcers was tied to Greg somehow," he started hesitantly. "So I went to his place to check on him. At first glance, everything seemed normal, but Greg was… cautious. Paranoid, even, especially with the case he’d taken on recently."

  He hesitated, as if unsure how much to share, then plunged forward. "Greg had all these tiny safeguards—layers upon layers of them. Things most people wouldn’t even notice. For instance, the lock on his door wasn’t just a lock. It was keyed to a specific series of knocks, and if done wrong, it would trigger a subtle but noticeable shift in the placement of the carpet inside the entryway. That was disturbed when I got there. His chair by the desk—it was always left at an angle, positioned to make a clear grab for his blade if needed. That was off too. And his files… he always locked them away, but I found one slightly ajar, like someone had rifled through it in a hurry."

  The kid’s voice grew quieter, but his urgency didn’t waver. "I haven’t seen Mr. Whittaker since that day. Something’s happened to him—I know it."

  Lysska leaned back, watching the boy with a narrowed gaze as he continued. "I wanted to report it to the enforcers, but the disappearance hasn’t hit their required time threshold. And the detectives I know in the lower district… they all turned me down. Not enough coin for their liking, I guess." He swallowed hard, and for a moment, his expression softened into something raw and vulnerable. "I tried reaching out to Greg using the methods we’d agreed on—the drop-off point, the signal—but nothing. When I checked the spot, there was an enforcer lurking nearby. The moment he saw me, I bolted. He chased me, like he knew exactly where I’d turn."

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  Zoran took a steadying breath, his hands balling into fists. "I thought about who I could trust. You came to mind, Miss Lysska. You helped me before when no one else would. My gut told me you’d listen. So I ran here, weaving through the crowds to shake him off, but… he always seemed to know where I was."

  Lysska tapped the quill against her desk, her expression unreadable. "Lurking enforcers. Subtle disturbances. A job that left someone like Greg paranoid. Sounds messy." She tilted her head slightly, her voice laced with curiosity. "Any idea what kind of case he was tangled up in?"

  The kid shook his head. “No idea, Miss Lysska. I just did what I was told—gathered information and nothing more. Mr. Whittaker was always careful about what he let me know, and I didn’t press as long as I got paid for my work.”

  Lysska leaned back slightly before pulling out a sheet of paper. “You know how to write?”

  Zoran nodded, his ears flicking nervously.

  “Ink every task. Every whisper. Omit nothing—not even the stench of the slums or the shade of a suspect’s cloak. Memories are puzzle shards; even the dullest glint holds light. Start from about a week before he went missing.”

  Quickpaw materialized at Zoran’s elbow, her grin a crescent knife, “Write pretty, little tidepool. Or I’ll help you remember.”

  “I’ll—I’ll try.”

  Without hesitation, Zoran sat down and started scribbling. His hands trembled slightly, the quill scratching the paper in jittery strokes. As he worked, I found my own focus fraying, impatience clawing at me. I had my own needs—specifically, information about that elusive underground market in the lower district. The one dealing in contraband, illegal ingredients, and rare oddities. It was the last key I needed to make Belle my supplicant using the ritual Lotte had provided. But for now, I shoved those thoughts aside. This wasn’t the time.

  Finally, Zoran set the paper down, his face still pale and taut with anxiety. Lysska tapped her quill against the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm before speaking. “Now, let’s get to the practicalities: how much are you willing to pay? This job could get messy.”

  Zoran’s expression soured, and he reluctantly reached into the folds of his oversized robe. Shaking hands retrieved a small bundle, and when he unwrapped it, I saw five gold coins glinting in the lamplight. Gold Kron. The standard currency of Vraal’Kor. That much gold wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect from a lower-district kid scraping by. Even the thug I looted today only had two silver Kron to his name.

  The boy placed the coins on the table, his voice strained. “Saved these over two months working for Greg. I was going to buy a few spell scrolls or maybe an elixir to help advance my pathway and core.” His shoulders slumped as he added bitterly, “This is all I’ve got. I know it’s not enough, but I’m willing to sign a contract—pay you back with interest, whatever it takes.”

  Lysska didn’t reach for the coins right away. Instead, she studied Zoran’s face, her piercing gaze lingering long enough to make him flinch. Finally, she picked up one of the coins, rolling it between her fingers. Then, with a flick of her wrist, it vanished.

  “Gold is a language even corpses understand.” She said. “But I prefer… dialects.”

  Her hand swept over the table, and the remaining coins disappeared in an instant, leaving Zoran visibly startled. When she opened her palm again, the five coins reappeared in his hands. His jaw dropped.

  “I’ll hunt your ghost,” Lysska purred, rising like smoke from a snuffed candle. “In exchange, you’ll render two services—when I require them. Within your skills, sans discomfort. Unless,” her fangs glinted, “discomfort amuses me.”

  She picked up the paper Zoran had written on, her eyes scanning it with a faint smirk. “You’ve got sharp observational skills, better than most. No wonder Greg paid you above the going rate. Keep your gold. Buy the spell scrolls you need. You’ll need them.”

  Zoran blinked, teetering between disbelief and relief. Tears pricked at the edges of his yellow eyes, but he quickly brushed them away with the sleeve of his oversized robe. “I’ll leave it to you, then, Miss Lysska,” he said, his voice firmer, as though the weight on his chest had lightened just a bit. For the first time, a flicker of hope danced in his gaze.

  “Alright,” Lysska said brightly, clapping her hands like she was kicking off a game rather than a likely dangerous investigation. She pulled out a quill and began jotting down the details of the contract. After finishing, she handed it to Zoran, who didn’t even spare the text a glance before signing, his trust—or perhaps desperation—written all over his face.

  With a satisfied nod, Lysska set the document aside. “Now that that’s handled, let’s talk about you. If Enforcers are sniffing around, we need to make sure you’re not dangling yourself like bait on a hook.”

  Zoran shook his head, his tail swishing behind him. “You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Lysska. I was just caught off guard this time. I’ll keep my head down and avoid drawing attention. Thank you for your help, truly.”

  “Fair enough,” Lysska said as she stood and extended her hand. Zoran hesitated for a split second before shaking it. “I’ll start the investigation right away. Hang tight.”

  “Thank you again,” Zoran murmured, pulling his robe tightly around himself as he turned toward the door. Outside, the evening had already given way to night, and a thin veil of snow was beginning to fall. The boy stepped into the cold, his figure vanishing into the shadows just as Lysska closed the door behind him.

  For a moment, the room was still. Then Lysska turned to me, her expression shifting into something playful. “Apologies for the delay, Venom,” she sighed, draping herself over the desk like a sated panther. “Alas, my talents for multitasking are criminally underappreciated. Do regale me—how many near-death experiences did you endure from ennui?”

  I flinched slightly, not because I was bored—far from it. If anything, I’d been thoroughly intrigued by the whole exchange. But there was a question burning at the edge of my thoughts, one I couldn’t let go unanswered.

  “Why?” I asked, my voice steady but sharp. “Why reveal your face and identity to me? We could’ve kept this behind the masks.”

  Lysska’s smile deepened, all vulpine cunning. “Trust, dearheart, is a tango. One partner leads, the other mirrors. You’ve seen my face—now I’ve glimpsed yours beneath the… masked veneer.” She lingered on the word. “Balance. Equity. Chemistry.”

  Huh?

  “Chemistry?”

  “Oh, don’t pout. You’re practically radiating intrigue.” She leaned closer, voice dropping to a purr. “A woman of your… talents? You’d have sniffed out my face eventually. I merely saved us the choreography.”

  Where the hell was she going with this?

  I crossed my arms. “And if I prefer choreography?”

  “Then consider this our opening waltz.” She chuckled. “Besides—masks are stifling. Don’t you crave a little… ventilation, Jade?”

  My brain froze. For a second—no, several long, excruciating seconds—it felt like the entire world had stopped spinning. How the hell did she know that?!?

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