"That's not how you throw a punch! You're leading with your shoulder, you idiot! You're going to telegraph that from a mile away!"

  Akane was shouting at the television again. She was sprawled across my sofa, a bag of spicy chips in one hand and a half-empty soda in the other. On the screen, a group of brightly colored girls in sailor suits were performing a synchronized dance that supposedly doubled as a finishing move. It was some vintage magical girl show-the kind where friendship solved everything and physics was a mere suggestion.

  Kibi was perched on the back of the sofa, his fox ears twitching in sync with the music. Every time a transformation sequence started, he would lunge at the screen, his tiny paws batting at the flashes of light.

  "Shiny! So many shiny bits!" Kibi chirped, his tail wagging furiously. "Misaki, why don't we have more glitter? The pink one has glitter. We need glitter."

  "We don't need glitter, Kibi," I said, my voice flat.

  The small kitchen table was my island of silence in the chaos. Amber liquid in the glass caught the flickering, neon-blue light from the TV. Cheap whiskey-the kind that smelled like industrial solvent and regret-but it had a bite that helped dull the edges of the day.

  The oily legs of the alcohol slid down the side of the glass as I swirled it, my mind already somewhere else entirely.

  My mind was still back in the shopping district. Takeda's gaze. That was the thing that wouldn't leave me alone. It wasn't the look of a man who was curious; it was the look of a man who had found a missing piece of a puzzle. He knew. He might not have proof yet, but he'd seen the soldier behind the mask. A forty-two-year-old mercenary trapped in a twenty-two-year-old's skin.

  The Metropolitan Police had facial recognition databases. Cross-referencing software. If Takeda was even half as sharp as he seemed, he'd already be pulling up every camera feed in the shopping district, running my face through every system he could access. He wouldn't find Nitō Misaki-not the current version, anyway. But searches left trails, and trails attracted attention from people far worse than a principled detective.

  Would he stake out Tanaka's stall? Mrs. Sato's shop? The thought made my fingers tighten around the glass.

  Every place where I'd built something resembling a life was now a potential surveillance point.

  The whiskey burned, and I let it. Better to focus on something I could control.

  "And that 'Power of Friendship' blast?" Akane continued, pointing a chip at the screen. "Total garbage. If they just used a pincer maneuver and focused their fire on the core, the monster would have been down in thirty seconds. Instead, they spend five minutes talking about their feelings while the city burns. It’s insulting."

  "It's a cartoon, Akane," I muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. The burn was grounding, a sharp contrast to the sugary nonsense on the screen.

  "It's a bad influence," she huffed, shoving another chip into her mouth with a loud crunch. "If I tried that 'love and justice' speech in a real fight, I'd be a smear on the pavement before I finished the first sentence."

  Without looking, she lobbed a chip in a perfect arc across the room. It landed on the table next to my glass.

  "You're brooding again," she said, eyes still on the screen. "Eat something. You can't run on whiskey and spite forever."

  The chip was spicy enough to make my eyes water. Maybe she had a point about the brooding.

  My phone buzzed on the table. A private, encrypted line. The vibration was a low, rhythmic hum that cut through the anime's upbeat theme song.

  A single message from a contact I hadn't heard from in months.

  *Horatio: The tide is coming in. Something big just hit the docks. Black market auction. Midnight Exchange. You should be there.*

  My fingers flew across the screen. Horatio was a ghost from my past life, an intel broker who dealt in secrets and blood.

  *Me: Details?*

  *Horatio: Can't say. Too hot. Even for me. Just know that the someone is liquidating their assets. One item in particular is causing a stir. They're calling it the 'Heart of the Abyss.'*

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  *Me: That's not a detail. That's a marketing slogan. What is it?*

  *Horatio: Cryptic is safer, Black Ghost. Just get there. I've left three digital tokens in the usual drop. Don't be late.*

  The line went dead.

  On the sofa, Kibi's ears flattened. His tail, which had been wagging non-stop for the last hour, went perfectly still. For a fraction of a second, the cheerful fox spirit looked like something ancient and haunted.

  "Kibi?" I said. "You know what a 'Heart of the Abyss' is?"

  His ears popped back up instantly-too fast to be natural. "Nope! Never heard of it! Sounds like a very dramatic name for a very boring rock, though. Humans love naming things dramatically." He chittered a laugh and lunged at the TV screen again. "Ooh, the pink one is transforming! More glitter!"

  The deflection was practically wearing a neon sign. Something to file away for later.

  Horatio was many things-a mercenary, a cynic, and a man who would sell his own mother for the right price-but he wasn't a dramatist. If he was being this vague, it meant the item was something that even the professional intel brokers were afraid to name.

  "Akane," I said, my voice cutting through her critique of the anime's costume design.

  "Yeah, boss?" She didn't look away from the screen.

  "Change of plans. We're going undercover."

  Akane finally turned, her eyes lighting up with a dangerous sort of excitement. "Undercover? Like, with wigs and fake accents? Do I get to be a spy?"

  "You get to be a bodyguard," I corrected. "We're going to an auction. A black market one."

  "Ooh, fancy," Kibi added, hopping onto my shoulder and sniffing the air. "Will there be shiny things to steal?"

  "We're not stealing anything. Yet." The digital tokens Horatio had sent glowed on my screen. Three invites. Only needed two for me and Akane. But there was a problem.

  Guns, tactics, a dozen ways to kill a Fiend-none of that helped with identifying raw Abyssal artifacts. To me, a cursed relic looked just like a piece of junk until it started screaming.

  An expert. That's what this mission needed. And there was exactly one place in this city to find one.

  ***

  The air in *Hibari’s Herbs & Tinctures* was even thicker than the last time I’d visited. The scent of dried sage was almost overwhelmed by the sharp, metallic tang of ozone-the lingering ghost of the Abyss.

  Mrs. Hibari was behind the counter, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, her eyes darting to the door every time the floorboards creaked.

  "I told you before," she said as soon as I stepped inside, her voice a brittle whisper. "I don't want any more trouble. The 'Vigor Potions' were a mistake. I'm trying to go clean."

  "I'm not here for potions, Mrs. Hibari," I said, leaning against the counter. My voice stayed low, the shadows of the shop clinging to us. "There's an auction tonight. The Midnight Exchange. They're selling something they call the 'Heart of the Abyss.' I need someone who can tell me if it's the real deal or just a high-grade fake."

  The envelope came out of my jacket in one smooth motion. Thick with high-denomination yen, it slid across the scarred wooden counter-the weight of it a silent argument.

  "I'm offering a good sum for your time," I continued. "Just one night. You identify the item, and we're done."

  Mrs. Hibari’s eyes flickered to the envelope, then back to me. Her hands started to shake. She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white, her breath hitching in her chest.

  "The Midnight Exchange? You're insane," she hissed. "Those people... they don't just sell antiques. They sell nightmares. If I'm seen there, my shop will be burned down by morning. I have a daughter to think about."

  "I can ensure your safety," I said, but I knew it was a hollow promise to someone like her. In this city, safety was a luxury no one could afford.

  "No," she snapped, pushing the envelope back toward me with a sudden, desperate strength. "Keep your money. I won't do it. I can't. Please... just leave. Don't come back here."

  The terror in her eyes was the kind no amount of money could fix. She was a civilian caught in a war she never asked for, trying to protect the only thing she had left.

  "Fine," I said, pocketing the envelope. "I understand."

  The bell chimed a lonely, mournful note as the shop door swung shut behind me. The evening air was cool, but it didn't do much to clear the frustration in my chest. Without an expert, this auction was a blind walk into the dark.

  "Hey! You!"

  A shadow detached itself from the alleyway next to the shop, smelling of sulfur and cheap candy.

  Suzune was leaning against a brick wall, her pink hair glowing faintly in the streetlights. She was wearing her oversized lab coat, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Her dull crimson eyes were fixed on me with a look of pure, unadulterated boredom.

  "My mom is a coward," she said, her voice a flat, sardonic drawl. "She thinks if she hides under the covers, the monsters will go away. But I overheard everything."

  "Suzune," I said, my voice warning. "Go back inside."

  "I'm sixteen, not six," she shot back, stepping into the light. The soot on her face from her earlier experiment made her look like a street urchin, but her eyes were sharp with intelligence. "And I'm the only one in this city who can tell the difference between this thing you called a 'Heart of the Abyss' and a piece of charcoal. You need me."

  "It's dangerous," I said.

  "Everything is dangerous," Suzune countered, a small, cynical smirk playing on her lips. "Living in this neighborhood is dangerous. Breathing the air is dangerous. At least at an auction, I might get to see something that doesn't bore me to tears."

  She held out a hand, her fingers wiggling expectantly.

  "You said you had three invites, right? Give me the third one. Or you can go in there and buy a very expensive paperweight. Your choice."

  Small, prickly, and entirely too confident for her own good. But she was right. This mission couldn't afford blind spots.

  The phone came out. Third digital token transferred to her device, along with the meeting coordinates.

  "Let's meet two hours ahead in this spot," I said. "Wear something that doesn't have soot on it."

  Suzune didn't say thank you. She just turned and started walking back toward the shop, her lab coat fluttering in the breeze like a tattered flag.

  "See you then," she called over her shoulder. "Try not to get us killed before the first course."