Those days were filled with pain, hope, and purpose.

  I still remember the old Court… what happened there…

  Dom sat in front of the fire, his grizzled face deep in shadow, lit only by the soft, flickering glow that danced across the wood-paneled walls of his study. A revolver hung heavy beneath his shoulder—heavier than it had any right to be. It swung gently from its worn leather strap, the pull against his back a reminder: the past still had a grip on him.

  He took it out, the cool metal resting in his weary hands.

  His thumb traced the alien etchings carved into the side. They pulsed dimly with a ghostly blue hue—not from the firelight, but from something buried deeper. Something alive. Something ancient. And angry.

  The flames crackled louder, as if stirred by memory itself.

  Thirteen years ago...

  The grass was cool beneath his back, a rare patch of green carefully cultivated in the university commons. Around it, the city coiled like a stone serpent—walls of dark shale and carved marble rising upward until they kissed the curved ceiling of the great cavern above. At the very top, a single breach in the rock let in sky-blue light, casting the spires and towers in a perpetual midmorning hue.

  Dominic Wolfe lay sprawled across the lawn, coat discarded beside him, arms folded behind his head. His dark hair fluttered in the breeze, eyes half-lidded as he watched a solitary bird drift across the shaft of light—free, for now.

  “Dom, are you going to get any work done?”

  Marcus Halcroft stood over him—tall, thin, and impossibly proper. His coat was a size too big, his round glasses slipping halfway down his nose. But despite his awkwardness, his voice carried weight.

  Dom waved lazily toward him. “Work, work, work. I swear, Marcus, you have a one-track mind.”

  Marcus adjusted his glasses with a practiced nudge of his finger along the bridge. “And that, my dear friend, is how I keep us out of trouble. Now come on—I’ve got errands to run.”

  With a sudden grin, Dom swung his legs forward and popped upright, landing smoothly in a crouch before rising to his full height. His coat flapped in the wind as he scooped it from the grass and slung it over one shoulder.

  “And that, pal, is why I keep you around.”

  Marcus shot him a sideways glare through his spectacles.

  Dom laughed. “Come on—we’ve got groceries to get… and trouble to find.”

  He slung an arm around Marcus’s shoulders and slapped his back with a grin full of mischief.

  The two walked briskly through the crowded market, their coats brushing against passersby as the air thickened with the scent of oil, sweat, and simmering spices. Vendors barked out deals in competing tones—some cheerful, others desperate—while a crew of workers hammered away at the broken road ahead. The sharp rhythm of steel on stone clashed with the dull whir of old machinery grinding beneath half-assembled scaffolding.

  The lower district never rested. It only groaned.

  Dom squinted at the construction zone ahead, his expression souring as a cloud of chalky dust kicked up from beneath his boots. He coughed once, then muttered, “ALL’s certainly a stickler for safety. Who even cares about this part of the city, anyway? It’s not like the Court strolls down here.”

  He gave the ground a swift kick, scattering pebbles across the sunbaked market floor.

  Marcus, as always, didn’t flinch. He merely adjusted the bridge of his oversized glasses with a precise push of his index finger. “ALL is responsible for the entire city, Dom. Not just the gifted few.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  As he spoke, a blur of movement crashed into them.

  A young woman slammed straight into Marcus’s shoulder, nearly sending his bag of groceries clattering to the ground.

  “Oof—!”

  Her hood was pulled low, face obscured, but her small frame trembled slightly. Dom instinctively reached out, steadying her.

  “Watch it,” he said reflexively—though not unkindly.

  “Sorry,” the girl murmured, her voice tight, almost clipped. Then, without another word, she darted past them and vanished into the sea of bodies.

  Dom’s brow furrowed. “You alright?”

  Marcus nodded, as he inspected a few apples off the ground. “I’m fine. Just surprised.”

  Dom’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd. “She was in a rush. Too much of a rush.”

  Marcus followed his gaze. “Think she stole something?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she was running from something worse.”

  The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of something acrid—gunpowder, maybe. Or burnt oil.

  Dom clenched his fists, thumb brushing instinctively against the revolver holstered beneath his coat.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “We’re not here to play detective. But let’s keep our eyes open all the same.”

  Marcus gave him a sidelong glance.

  “You say that like you won’t play detective.”

  Dom smirked with a wink. “Yeah, well. Can’t be helped”

  The two decided to give chase, the image of the young woman’s hooded face engraved in Dom’s mind like a brand he couldn’t shake.

  Their pursuit led them into a narrow alley nestled between two towering buildings. Its entrance yawned like the throat of some sleeping beast—dark, longer than it appeared, and lined with walls stained by time.

  Dom halted at the mouth of it, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You stay here,” he told Marcus. “Keep an eye out in case someone’s following her. I’ll see what her story is.”

  Before Marcus could object, Dom had already slipped between the tight gap, his broad shoulders barely clearing the rusted pipes jutting from the wall.

  At the far end of the alley, the girl sat curled up, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. A dim holoscreen buzzed above her, flickering with a loop of ALL’s latest city-wide address—its voice warped, the words looping: “Serve. Obey. Flourish.”

  Dom knelt beside her slowly, careful not to startle her. He extended a hand, his voice soft. “Can you move?”

  The girl looked up, eyes wide. Then, slowly, she pulled back her hood.

  She couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Her face was smudged with soot, her lip swollen. But beneath the bruises, there was something unmistakably sharp in her gaze. Awareness. Pain.

  “Are you here to help me?” she asked.

  Dom blinked.

  “I can be,” he replied, lowering his hand. “But I need to know what you're running from.”

  —

  Meanwhile, Marcus was inspecting a bruised fruit in his grocery bag when he heard it—a whistle. Flat, tuneless, but deliberate. The sound sent a cold ripple through his spine.

  He knew that tune.

  A figure stepped into view, walking with the slow, predatory grace of someone who knew he belonged wherever he stood.

  The man’s boots clicked sharply against the cobblestone. A white cane twirled lazily between gloved fingers, capped with a blood-red gem that gleamed with every spin.

  Lord Vessian Crowe.

  Marcus froze.

  The man was as impeccable as ever—handsome in a way that seemed carved rather than born, with silver-streaked hair, a perfectly tailored coat, and eyes that glinted like polished steel.

  Crowe smiled faintly. “You’re the Magistrate’s son, are you not?”

  Marcus swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

  Crowe tilted his head, stepping closer. “What, pray tell, is a school aide doing in a back alley in the lower quarter?”

  Marcus straightened instinctively. “We were just at the market, my Lord, and—”

  Before he could finish, Lord Crowe brushed past him without another word. His movements were smooth, fluid, but carried a quiet violence.

  With a single motion, he slipped through the same narrow gap Dom had entered moments before.

  Marcus stood frozen.

  “What has Dom gotten us into this time…” he muttered, fingers tightening around the edge of the paper bag.

  Dom heard the sound of footsteps—measured, too clean for an alley this grim.

  He rose slowly, positioning himself between the girl and the encroaching shadow. She stood as well, her knees shaking, hands balled tightly at her sides.

  Then the figure emerged.

  Lord Vessian Crowe.

  “Ah,” he said, his tone almost amused. “Dominic Wolfe.”

  His voice was smooth and unhurried, like a blade slipping into silk.

  Dom’s fingers coiled around the grip of his revolver beneath his coat. “Didn’t realize nobles took their evening strolls through back alleys these days.”

  Crowe’s eyes slid past him to the girl. “Some creatures scurry to curious places when left unsupervised.”

  The girl flinched. Dom stepped in fully, shielding her with his body.

  “She’s under my protection.”

  Crowe raised a single white-gloved hand, as if brushing away dust. “That’s very noble of you,” he said coolly. “But unfortunately… misplaced.”

  He took a deliberate step forward, the red gem of his cane catching the light.

  “She’s a ward of the orphanage. One of ours. And you…” His voice dropped an octave, almost a growl. “Wouldn’t want your little infraction to reflect poorly on your House.”

  For a moment, only the flickering holoscreen filled the silence.

  “Serve. Obey. Flourish.”

  Dom didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

  Crowe tilted his head, gaze sharpening. “You know what happens to those who stand in my way, Mr. Wolfe.”

  Dom’s voice came low. Controlled. “She’s afraid. That should concern you.”

  Something dark flickered across Crowe’s face—just for a breath. Then the polished smile returned.

  “No,” he said, turning away. “Not yet… she doesn’t.”

  He nodded faintly toward the girl. “No matter. I still have plenty of others.”

  And with that, he turned—vanishing into the alley’s gloom. His footsteps echoed once, twice, then were gone.

  Only silence remained.

  Dom let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The girl clutched his sleeve now, wordless, trembling.

  He looked down at her, eyes shadowed by firelight and memory.

  “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

  She hesitated.

  “…Sara,” she whispered.

  Dom closed his eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Back in the present, the fire in Dom’s study burned low.

  He turned the revolver in his hand once more, the blue etchings pulsing faintly.

  That was the night everything changed.

  The night he chose to protect someone the Court would have erased.

  Across the room, a framed photo caught the firelight—Sara, smiling. Elias, barely a toddler in her lap.

  He had saved her that day.

  But saving her again...

  might cost him everything.