Good Wednesday.
After breakfast, I dress for the morning. A crisp white shirt and dark trousers, layered with a dark frock coat. My dark, ornated fedora sits neatly on my head. I sling my favorite bag over my shoulder, completing the look.
I carry the box of tea with me today. Before I leave, I bend slightly, pressing a quick kiss to Ashlynn's lips. She likes it—the touch is brief, but the softness lingers, a quiet warmth that stays with me as I step outside.
A jarvy bows to me, one I haven't seen before. Different from yesterday, yet also efficient. My personal carriage remains unused. That privilege is for Ashlynn.
I walk through the neighborhood toward Xandar's Mansion, slipping small rocks into my bag along the way.
Outside the mansion's gate, the scene is solemn. Men in dark clothing stand silent, some women hidden beneath veils, faces drawn and pale. Some stare blankly, others wipe tears that refuse to stop. Grief hangs in the air, heavy and tangible.
I join the line, moving with the others. Step by step, we pass through the gates, filing into the mansion's grand foyer. The air inside smells faintly of lingering perfume, the quiet punctuated by soft shuffles of shoes on polished stone.
Standing to one side of the foyer, near the wall, is Xandar, flanked by his servants. He keeps his composure, observing each guest as they enter the grand hall.
I walk toward him.
He notices. With a slight motion of his fingers, two servants step forward to block my path.
"Who are you?" one of them asks, though Xandar's gaze never leaves my face.
"Monsieur Xandar—" I begin.
"Monsieur Thadeo?" he cuts in.
I nod. He gestures for the servants to step aside.
"My apologies. I didn't recognize you. I've never seen your face."
"That happens," I reply evenly. "After all, it was a masquerade." I glance around, letting my gaze drift over the mourners. "Everyone is grieving. Who is it?"
He doesn't answer at once. His eyes lock onto mine, searching for something—shock, guilt, curiosity. I give him none.
After a moment, he speaks. "That's a strange question to ask."
My heart stammers once, sharp and sudden, though my posture remains still.
"My son," he continues. "My boy, Rehzar, died."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."
"That's alright."
"I will pay him my respect."
"Why are you here?"
"Oh right. I'm here to pay my debt. And you asked me to bring you tea." I extend the box toward him.
His servant moves swiftly, accepting it without waiting for instruction.
"You're very quick to pay your debt," Xandar says, his tone almost pleasant. "I like that. Many people prefer to delay. They wait until I send… a visitor. To collect. Their phens—or something else."
The faintest pause lingers after his words.
I swallow once and nod. I understand perfectly.
"I prefer to settle matters promptly," I reply.
"That is wise."
I step toward a nearby table and spill the rocks onto its surface. They scatter with a muted clatter. The servants count them carefully, fingers precise and practiced. Just enough.
Xandar gives a small nod.
"My condolences for your punctuality," he says quietly. "Your debt is cleared."
I incline my head.
Then I enter the hall to pay my victim a visit.
At the center stands a closed casket of polished mahogany, intricate carvings lining its surface. Figures of influence surround it, dressed in dark fabrics and heavy perfume. Some sob openly, shoulders trembling. Others hold their grief too carefully, as if rehearsed.
When my turn arrives, I place my hand against the smooth wood. It is cool beneath my palm.
I bow my head once.
No more.
Then I step aside.
On my way out, I bow toward Xandar once more. He watches me leave without expression.
I do not look back.
I cross the vaporgates, leaving the neighborhood behind, and turn north.
After a short walk, I arrive at the Custodian building. It is busy as always—police officers moving briskly through corridors, clerks hunched over ledgers, citizens waiting with stiff impatience. The morning hums with routine authority.
I head straight to Arjuna's office.
He sits behind his desk, leisurely enjoying a cup of coffee.
"Good Wednesday, Len," he calls as I enter.
"Good Wednesday." I close the door behind me. "About Aram's disciples—"
"Straight to the point," he says, setting his cup down. "What is it?"
"I've identified both of them. They're sons of Xandar Valazam. One of them died recently."
"That is great." His tone brightens immediately. "I hate rich people."
I let that sit for a second.
"So…" I say.
"What now?" he asks.
"Do I get something? A bonus, maybe?"
He leans back in his chair, studying me with mild amusement. "Len, I like your honesty. But here's the problem—you're not a Custodian agent. Not even police. Even if I could persuade Gary to increase your salary…" His eyes narrow slightly. "Tell me. Did you kill one of them?"
"No."
"So how did he die?"
"Suicide, I heard."
"You want a bonus for reporting a suicide?" He snorts lightly. "That's not going to happen. If the next one dies without your interference, don't even bother reporting to me. Just tell Gary both of Aram's disciples are dead. Now go."
He dismisses me with a flick of his hand before I can respond further.
I leave without argument.
Good thing Arjuna isn't that bright.
I exit the building and hire a carriage to take me to Valazam Hotel.
After a while, we arrive. I step out, cross the vaporgates, and head inside. Without lingering in the lobby, I go straight to my room and change into my Hearthlight uniform. My gentleman attire folds neatly into my bag.
Then I take the elevator down.
In the lobby, I spot Mynar standing alone. He wears a grin that lingers too comfortably on his face.
He notices me approaching. "Good Wednesday, Monsieur Len."
"Good Wednesday, Monsieur," I reply evenly. "You seem happy."
"No, no, no. Nothing serious." He waves a hand lightly. "I'm simply enjoying myself."
Xandar's half brother.
If anyone knows the undercurrents of the Valazam household, it would be him.
I activate my Abyssal Eye.
Our gazes meet.
For a brief moment, the world narrows to the space between his pupils and mine. I press just enough.
He is marked.
Now, all that remains is patience.
"I see. Enjoy your day, Monsieur," I say smoothly, stepping past him as though nothing has passed between us.
I leave the hotel and walk toward the plaza, toward the Hearthlight building.
The rest of the day passes in routine work.
When evening settles and my duties end, I return to my manor—my home. Back to Ashlynn.
We sit across from each other at the table in the living room. The liquid lanterns are lit. The house is quiet.
"How was your day?" I ask.
"Not much," she says softly. "I just sat in the carriage the whole time."
"You went to City Heart?"
"No."
"You explored the Northern Outskirt?"
She shakes her head.
"Don't tell me you only rode around Eldenmere neighborhood?"
"No."
I pause. "What?"
"I asked the Jarvy to drive from the front courtyard to the back courtyard," she admits. "Again and again. We never left."
I look at her for a moment.
"I see," I say. "I understand."
"Thanks, Len."
We talk a little more after that. Small things. She explains she is still adjusting—to the speed of everything, to the fear that still lingers at the thought of Tanya, of Xandar, of powerful families who can crush lives without consequence. To this new life that arrived too quickly.
I listen.
When her voice grows quieter, I move closer and pull her gently into my arms.
Later, we lie together in the master bedroom. The bed is wide, the blankets smooth and warm. She rests against me, her breathing slowly evening out, her body finally relaxing under the steady rhythm of safety.
Tonight, she sleeps without flinching.
And I hold her until sleep takes me as well.
—
I am inside my abyss, standing above the vast body of water. The water doesn't reflect my face, as always. I watch the endless horizon as time passes, though time itself feels meaningless here, stretched thin across the dark surface.
Then he appears in the reflection. Mynar's face isn't confused this time. His breath is slow. He is on his guard.
I choose to do something different. Instead of tapping the water to go to his side like before, I concentrate my control on the water itself, letting my will sink downward into its depth.
The water starts to ripple. Not on my side—but his side.
The disturbance spreads outward from beneath his feet.
He starts to panic. As he moves his feet, the water thickens and turns into tendrils, rising without splash, without sound, before swallowing him whole.
The water pulls him down and then spills him up to my side, as though the abyss itself has decided to deliver him to me.
He falls on his fours before me, coughing water out of his mouth, though none of it touches my boots.
Slowly, he looks up.
Our gaze meets.
"You-you-you!" he says, fear clear in his tone, the memory returning to him all at once.
"Oh, you remember me?"
He slowly rises and bows his head once. "Monsieur Abyss," he says, swallowing hard.
His reaction gives me a better understanding of my power. My victims can remember me not as Len but as the entity of this space—Monsieur Abyss—if I meet them here more than one time.
Interesting.
I need to be selective when giving commands from now on.
"Tell me why you're happy recently."
"You want to know my source of recent happiness?" he pauses, waiting for confirmation, afraid to continue without permission.
I stay quiet, letting my silence answer his question.
He licks his lips, then continues. "One of my nephews died recently, probably of suicide, I'm not sure. Because of that, my brother is grieving right now."
"HAHAHAHA."
I laugh, because I have found a good pawn.
The sound spreads across the water and echoes endlessly.
He copies me, laughing as well, though his laughter is thinner, uncertain.
Then I stop.
So does he.
"Monsieur Abyss."
"Yes?"
"If you help me kill his other son, I will become the sole heir of Valazam Firm."
"What is it in for me?"
"I will become your servant!" he falls to his knee and bows his head. "I heard Xandar is locking his mansion from visitors to protect his remaining son, Xarxar."
"For how long?"
"Until the day of the funeral—on Friday. Maybe longer than that."
"Good. Now rise."
He quickly rises.
I focus on my left eye. It starts pulsing from within, slow and heavy, like something waking.
For the first time, I learn something else that is new.
My Abyssal Eye can activate within the Abyss.
So this space is not separate from my power.
It amplifies it.
"Look at my eyes. You will come here when I demand you to do so."
"Understood."
Friday.
—