I thought the few minutes I had spent with Kora on the dungeon paperwork ruined my chances of finding Jungu and Gojuck in Daven's sprawling mansion. After tapping back into Void Seer's tether, I found the dining room empty. From there, I snaked my vision through vacant rooms and hallways, keeping my filter cranked up as not to alert them.

  Xodoven had accused me of soul scrying once before. I knew Karma's Gaze was far different from the magic he was referring to, but maybe it gave off an adjacent signal that some folks could detect.

  I was on the verge of giving up my search, when I stumbled upon them in an industrial sized kitchen. They emptied a bag of salt, forming a circle around a marble counter island. Gojuck finished the ritual by dripping a vial of black liquid along the salt circle.

  Jungu sat inside the circle, on the marble counter, with his long legs hanging over the side. Gojuck stepped inside, muttered something under his breath, and clapped his hands together. Flames flickered across the salt ring before extinguishing and filling the room with smoke.

  "Was this necessary?" Jungu asked, as he dipped a sliced carrot in plum sauce.

  "My ward never triggers in error. The unprecedented nature of these events requires caution. Now we can speak without fear of a third party listening in," Gojuck said, unknowingly staring straight through Void Seer as I piloted my vision across the floor.

  Curious to test whether their salt could stop Void Seer, I slid my vision up the wall and over the ceiling, entering the circle as I secured a birds eye view of the tops of their heads.

  "Kelfloss reported a second robed, hooded figure with an odd mana signature that accompanied the phantom during his first assault on the warehouse. You suspect his mage is the one capable of soul scrying at such a range?" Jungu asked with a mouthful of orange mush.

  "Possibly. The only certainty is the phantom's not working alone."

  Kill. Kill. Kill.

  Was that me or the entity? My inability to tell was disturbing.

  "Dobias, is that you?" Gojuck called over his shoulder into the yawning back area of the kitchen, which was suddenly a shade darker than it had been a moment ago.

  The door across from the island burst open, and a man in gold-trimmed plate armor lunged inside. His half-cloak flitted behind him as he looked both ways, sword raised.

  "Dobias, get the fuck out of here!" Jungu shouted. "This is a private conversation."

  "But—"

  "Leave now, Dobias. I'll call you when we're ready to depart," Gojuck said.

  The guard ducked out and Gojuck pulled the cotton strings on his vest, tightening it. “Strange… I thought I heard something.”

  "Step down from the edge you've put yourself on. I sense nothing amiss, not even the fragmented mana from a fart of a spell lingers here," Jungu said. "With the Fated Twins gone, the void in command will create a rush for the throne. The wise course would be to let the phantom have it and watch the Slaver's Union expend their resources dealing with the fallout."

  Gojuck sank his face into his palms and sighed. "I agree. However, our lord will never accept it."

  "We've never seen a single silver from Daven's rackets. This changes nothing. Ingcaster's underworld is a disaster of fragile alliances and monstrous egos that were only kept in check by the Fated Twins power. Convince Eryndorf patience is the only path forward,” Jungu said as he twisted the last of the carrot into a ramekin of plum sauce.

  "He'll see his brother's disappearance as the perfect justification for seizing control. Don't fool yourself. When has our lord passed on an opportunity?" Gojuck asked.

  "I know many curses which arrived as opportunities."

  Gojuck ignored his comrade’s comment, but I saw in his eyes he knew it was the truth. The kitchen's temperature dropped degree by degree, like the entire room was sliding into a dark frigid place. But neither of them acknowledged it, either out of ignorance or the psychological placebo their useless salt circle had provided.

  "First we find Kelfloss. He's the key. Sorting the rest of this mess comes after we've been allotted more coin for our ranks. I’d rather put a mountain of gold worth of specialists between us and the phantom rather than meet him head-on."

  Blood boiling in anticipation, I heard my heart pounding in my ears, the appetite for killing rising like an inevitable tide.

  As the kitchen's magelights began to flicker, I deactivated Void Seer, returning to the corner booth on the first floor of the Gilded Boar. I raised my head from the table and headed for the exit.

  It felt great to get back onto the streets, embracing the cool evening air as I joined the hustling crowd.

  "I am the one in control."

  I repeated the phrase under my breath, like saying it seven times in a row would make it true.

  ***

  Garik raised the loft's hefty door before I reached the end of the street. I stepped inside and he quickly dropped the door closed, locked it, and wrapped the chain around its anchor point.

  "He's been waiting by the door for you all day like a dog," Veigan said.

  "Good evening, Boss," Garik bowed deeper than usual, perhaps extra grateful he was no longer caked from head to toe in powdery makeup.

  "Greetings," I said, wincing at the stiffness in my opening line. "The place looks better."

  The loft's interior had several upgrades. Curtains walled off three separate rooms in the back. A makeshift kitchen had been put in on the east side, which consisted of cheap shelving, a wood burning stovetop, and a counter with a kettle and clay mugs.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Hooks hung from the rafters, holding up old rugs that formed a square around Daven in the loft’s center. It looked like a poor man's recording booth, and the noble had just stopped by to lay down a track. I peeked through a gap in the corner and saw him whimpering, gagged with a dirty cloth in his mouth.

  It's good to see he's doing well.

  "Looks like you've done some shopping."

  "Almost 13 gold in expenses. I'm keeping every coin accounted for." Veigan yawned. "We purchased everything on the elf's list, with some minor additions."

  I was also pleased to see the pile of feces had been removed from the front of the loft. The stone floor looked freshly washed, the grey still darkened and damp. A massive easel now dominated the corner. A scribe's board was propped up with a broad sheet of paper pinned to it with bronze clamps. Cheap wooden chairs were scattered around it, and the wall behind was smothered in notes.

  "Where's Viessa?" I asked.

  "Sleeping."

  I scanned over the paper, noticing a fair amount of question marks and blank spaces surrounding Daven's operation.

  "How did his interrogation go?"

  "For being an agent of Elmheart, the elf's interrogation didn’t last long. He gave up a smuggling route, and the name of a gang. She didn’t get much else.”

  "What happened once you began peeling off his fingernails?"

  "Uh, we didn't do that. She healed him because he kept screaming, 'I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!' Over and over for nearly an hour straight. To be honest, I thought he was going to die. His ankles were eggplant like, both in shape and color."

  "I'm not in the mood for jokes."

  Veigan went wide-eyed. "I told her what you said! Kick him, cut him. Make him talk! But she wouldn't listen."

  "This was a group project."

  Garik bowed. "Sorry, Boss. I've sworn the warrior's code. I can't inflict harm upon those who can't fight back."

  Veigan tilted his nose downward for the world's shortest apology bow. "You know, um, I'm walking a path of redemption like you said. I didn't think peeling fingernails is something a good person does. What would Galdir do, right?"

  I guess I was the only homicidal maniac here, and the rest of the Cabal consisted of saints. I curbed my disappointment with them, recognizing their efforts in making the loft livable, and considering all the strange hours they had worked overtime the past few days.

  Damn. I wish I read the rest of Jaxen's leadership book.

  I wasn't sure if chastising them for not overriding their morals was the correct choice. At least they had a moral compass. Maybe if I surrounded myself with people of higher standards, that would rub off on me?

  "Viessa asked a lot of questions and most of the answers were, 'I don't knows' and 'fuck yous.' It wasn't for a lack of effort on her part" Veigan said.

  "What information are we still missing?"

  Veigan took a seat at a new desk and pulled out Kelfloss's ledger from a drawer, thumbing through it.

  "The elf and I went over it again. Half the names in here aren't real. Most of it's written in a code that we'll need time to crack. I'm assuming the real names Kelfloss left in are people he doesn't care for. Most of their smuggling routes, the gangs they're working with, and drop points are still unknown. So, to answer your question, a lot is missing."

  I sighed as I walked across the loft, into the kitchen space. I grabbed a jar of cooking oil, poured some in a pot and fired up the stove.

  "I shouldn't have let Kelfloss go."

  I stared into the viscous clear liquid as tiny ripples shimmered. Heat brought a haze to the surface.

  "I thought he may have been important," Veigan said. "During the chaos last night, I cast Seeking Sigil on one of the rings he was wearing."

  I almost clapped Veigan on his shoulder, stopping myself when I realized that such a simple congratulatory action would've ended with him exploding into a red mist.

  "Smart move. I'm impressed. Where is he?"

  "Um... Not far. The elf wanted me to wait to tell you the specifics."

  Interesting.

  I stood over the kitchen counter, and retrieved my leather satchel from underneath my arm. I took out the Grimstone Mask, slid it on, and dumped the rest of the satchels contents out, taking a quick inventory.

  Besides broken glass, I had both my daggers tucked in their sheathes and wrapped in cloth, a key with an azure flame dancing in its glass bow, a smashed emergency ration, a silver ring whose effect supposedly kills its wearer, and a chipped pocket glass.

  "Did you also purchase my last minute addition to the shopping list?"

  "Yes, Boss," Garik said, bowing again.

  "Thanks," I said, knowing I'd need to address his excessive bowing problem soon.

  Veigan raised his hand. "What do you need with heavy duty canvas tarps in bulk?"

  I left the pot of oil to simmer, and opened one of the crates lined against the wall. I pulled out the tarp and began unfolding it, as I approached Daven's hangout zone. He squirmed, dangling from bruised wrists bound by rope.

  I unrolled the tarp and laid it out neatly beneath his feet. He thrashed in fear. I met him eye to eye, and gently removed the gag from his mouth.

  "You've made a horrible mistake," Daven said. "My family will never let this stand. They'll take—"

  I stuffed the gag back into his mouth. He was trying his best to come off tough, but his voice was parched, tone quivering.

  "I apologize if this is a bit heavy handed, I'm new at this. I think I'm supposed to ask you a question first. You refuse to answer. Then I'm allowed to hurt you. Right? That's how it's supposed to go. That's how I want this to go. Do you understand?"

  No confirmation.

  I paced back and forth in front of him. "In the movies, the hero usually punches the bad guy a few times or holds him over the ledge of a tall building. I guess the second example is more of a psychological form of torture—one we won't be partaking in. And I can't punch you for reasons I won't get into. Instead, I've prepared a pot of boiling oil, which I'm honestly excited to see what it can do to a level seven's flesh."

  Daven thrashed, panic overcoming the pain in his wrists.

  "OK. Ready?"

  I plucked the cloth from his mouth and he choked out, "I'll tell you everything, I know! I swear—"

  I gagged him again.

  "No! You're fucking ruining it. I haven't even asked a question yet. You can't spill it that quick. Let's try this again. How many smuggling routes do you oversee and who runs them?"

  I pulled the cloth out.

  "I know the gang in charge of the smuggling is—"

  I gagged him once more, and palmed my forehead.

  This isn't working.

  "Which gang oversees your smuggling routes?" I asked.

  He tried answering despite the cloth halfway down his throat. I leaned in, cupped my hands around my mouth and looked over my shoulder, mimicking his voice. "Screw you, Phantom. I'll never talk!"

  I slipped back into my spot, firing back at him. "We'll see about that."

  Armed with the sweet justification I had been seeking, I passed through the wall of dusty rugs and walked into the kitchen.

  "Damn it, Veigan, you were right. He's tight-lipped, won't give me anything. Looks like I have no choice," I said as I grabbed the pot of bubbling oil by its handles.

  "Stop, Cyprus," Viessa said.

  The elf came rushing out from her curtained off room. "What have you done to return in this condition?"

  Her silver eyebrows knitted together in genuine concern.

  "I'm fine. Ran into a dungeon guardian, and picked up Anomaly's first key. We're holding open interviews tomorrow morning at the Gilded Boar. We need two to three more official members to meet the guild’s dumb arbitrary raiding requirements. I came back and now I'm torturing Daven because no one here took the initiative to.”

  "Slow down."

  Viessa grabbed my arm.

  "I didn't torture him because it's a waste of time. He's a rich noble playing pretend—a figurehead that doesn't understand what he's the beneficiary of. He told us the Gifford Fox Gang oversees their liquor smuggling operation, but he couldn't name more than two routes. He’s scared, but doesn’t know anything of use. When I threatened him, he started making up answers.”

  The elf's candor cut through my own bullshit like a sharpened Ginsu. Yes, dunking different parts of Daven into this hot pot would've been a pleasant way to spend an evening. But ultimately, there were bigger fish to fry.

  "Why did you want Veigan to hold back Kelfloss's location?"

  "Because of where he's at," Veigan answered.

  "Cyprus, please don't rush into anything. We should take our time and wait until he moves," Viessa said.

  "Where is he?"

  "Northwest Oarwin, at the Slaver’s Union Central Hall."