The door swung open with a metallic jolt.

  A man in tattered clothes stepped out, shoulders rigid, eyes sweeping the dim warehouse with a feral sharpness.

  “Who’s there?!” His voice hit the empty space like a thrown bottle, loud and harsher than before.

  Silence clung to the rafters.

  “…”

  His jaw worked as he scanned left, then right, hands flexing tight at his sides.

  A sudden clatter broke the stillness.

  “Wha—!” He jumped back as a stray dog bolted between two crates, nails skittering on concrete, completely indifferent to the panic it caused.

  “Stupid mutt… don’t scare me like that.” He pressed a hand to his chest, exhaling shakily before turning inside. The door shut behind him with a decisive click.

  “I guess it really was just that dog,” he muttered, voice fading.

  When the quiet settled again, Zara slipped up from behind a tall crate, the shadows peeling off her like a second skin. A slow breath escaped her.

  That was close... Her pulse still throbbed in her neck; she could practically hear it in the stillness. My blood’s still pumping. Being a spy is tedious work.

  While taking a moment to focus, she kept her wits about her, hiding her presence with void magic.

  The door swung open just as Zara had fully recovered. From within—where a faint strip of light had once leaked from under the door—darkness now poured out.

  A cloaked figure stepped into view, blending almost seamlessly into the shadows. Only trained eyes would have caught the subtle shift of movement as they slipped toward the exit.

  Caught off guard, Zara jerked out of her hiding spot and hurried after them, matching their pace with quiet, careful steps.

  But as the cloaked figure passed through the outer door, they vanished from sight, disappearing into the dark alley.

  Damn it! This was a good lead too!

  She clenched her jaw, cursing herself for the mistake.

  Peering through the narrow gap of the doorway, she couldn’t catch the slightest hint of movement.

  Either it’s a trap, or that person’s gone.

  Opening the door now would be reckless—Zara knew it. One wrong move, and her cover would be blown instantly.

  I can't return empty-handed. I'll at least check inside that room.

  Stepping back, she turned toward the depths of the storehouse. Retracing her path to the small room where the transaction had taken place, Zara steeled herself, wondering what she might still uncover.

  The door hadn’t been closed. Either the other person is still in there, or I missed their exit. She held back a sigh. Really, just my luck. I had to fumble at the best moment.

  Stepping inside with little hope left, Zara seriously considered turning around and leaving.

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  But as her eyes swept across the walls, she noticed another doorway—this one without a door at all.

  “He–Hehaha…”

  A strange, unnerving laugh slithered through the space.

  Zara recoiled as a foul smell drifted toward her.

  What’s this laugh? And why does it smell like urine in here?

  A tight, instinctive dread coiled around her heart, urging her to walk away.

  In the room’s farthest corner, a man sat curled into himself, rocking back and forth with bloodshot, unfocused eyes.

  A warm puddle beneath him made the source of the stench painfully clear.

  This man… The image of the same man opening the door earlier flashed through her mind as she stared at him. What happened?

  So many questions and not a single answer. How had this man, who’d seemed perfectly sane and alert moments ago, become this… wreck?

  Not even fifteen minutes had passed, and yet so much seemed to have happened.

  Zara hesitated, then steeled herself and moved deeper inside. Careful not to make a sound, she approached as closely as she dared.

  Nothing appeared out of place. The room wasn’t ransacked, and the furniture—though slightly rusted—remained intact.

  Guess there really was nothing worth my time in here.

  Turning away, Zara shut her eyes and lowered her head in defeat.

  But something gnawed at her. A faint, bothersome intuition, as if she’d overlooked something vital.

  …

  Instead of walking out, she faced the man again.

  Wait a second. Her eyes narrowed with clear contempt. These symptoms look like a drug overdose.

  As someone tasked with cleaning the “trash” lurking in Noctelagia’s shadows, she knew drug effects all too well.

  If this really is a drug overdose…

  She examined the floor, especially around the man, but saw no pill containers—no tablets—nothing.

  Maybe this isn’t about drugs at all, in the end, she thought.

  Glancing over her shoulder, her gaze caught on a small object lying across the room.

  Oh! Is this it?

  She crossed back toward the opposite corner, where the man continued rocking, and carefully picked it up.

  A syringe.

  Is that what was used to inject the drug?

  This is pathetic.

  Her eyes—sharp, cold, and judging—took in the man’s ruined state, a shadow of what he’d been, reduced to madness by some manufactured poison.

  I will never understand the need to depend on such products. What is there to forget? We all had terrible lives, and yet, we've never depended on drugs to lift our spirits.

  Not a single one of Olivia's maids ever touched or even thought of ever trying a drug.

  Were you so weak you had to destroy your own life? That's what I find irritating. Why couldn't you pull through?

  Clenching the syringe, she kept those thoughts hidden.

  I guess I'm done here. With no second thought, Zara walked out of the filthy room.

  "A drug deal? Interesting."

  Olivia picked up a sealed plastic bag, lifting it closer to examine the blue drop of liquid still clinging to the inside.

  "You've found something quite important. While I'm not exactly thrilled about you wandering through the deepest parts of this city, I suppose it was only a matter of time."

  Setting the bag on the table, Olivia’s brow furrowed.

  "Better now than too late. At least we finally have an idea of what's happening behind the scenes."

  She tapped her fingers against the table in a slow rhythm, glancing at Zara—who still looked thoroughly irritated with herself for losing the dealer.

  "Martha."

  The quiet maid stepped forward.

  "Bring this to Keleanos. See if he can analyze it and extract more details on its effects."

  Martha bowed lightly, then moved to the table. She retrieved the plastic bag and slipped it into a discreet pocket inside her uniform.

  "I will. Please await the results."

  Once Martha left, Olivia and Zara held each other’s gaze for a brief moment before Olivia sighed, a faint smile softening her expression.

  "Go rest. I can see on your face how sour this ordeal left you."

  Zara’s gaze dropped.

  "Well..."

  The faint grind of teeth carried through the room.

  "Do you feel like your way of life’s been dragged through the mud? Like your choices were worthless?"

  Zara nodded, anger simmering in her eyes.

  "You need rest, then. Take a moment to calm down. Not everyone has the strength to fight back the way you did."

  Hands clenched, Zara lifted her head to meet Olivia’s eyes.

  "Without you... maybe we would have suffered the same fate. Just thinking about it..."

  Her expression twisted, raw and disgusted.

  "And such a path does not exist. Stopping around 'ifs' isn’t worth the time, Zara." Olivia’s tone was firm, cutting through the gloom.

  After a few measured breaths, Zara finally eased.

  "You're right." She nodded. "I'll borrow a room and rest for a bit. I hope we get the info we need so we can get out of this awful place and regroup with the others."

  She headed toward the door, following the same route Martha had taken.

  Olivia closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh.

  "Me too, Zara. I hope that too."