In a city where even shadows pay taxes, deals are made in whispers — and some whispers come from things that shouldn't have mouths.
Neon rain streaked down the cracked window of the Blue Ash Diner, the outside world distorted into smears of sickly yellows and radioactive blues. Every drop tapped against the glass with a sound like distant footsteps — faint but relentless. It was the kind of night where the city felt less like a place and more like a living, breathing beast—one that watched, waited, and remembered everything.
Inside, Asher Blackwood sat hunched over a chipped mug of coffee that smelled like old engine oil and tasted worse. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink. His eyes stayed locked on the bitter swirl of liquid, as if staring long enough might reveal some kind of answer.
Nothing.
Across from him, Councilman Rourke looked like a man unraveling thread by thread. His tie hung loose around his fat neck, sweat rolling down his temples in heavy beads. His fingers tapped the tabletop nervously, a rhythm out of sync with the creaky ceiling fan overhead. His breath was ragged—smelling of fear and stale cigarettes.
"Blackwood," Rourke rasped, voice shaking so badly it almost didn't sound human. "We had a deal. I scratch your back… you make sure the Watchers don't dig too deep." His eyes darted around the diner, as if shadows might suddenly peel off the walls. "Now you're turning over stones best left alone."
Asher leaned back in the booth, letting the chair's stiff vinyl groan beneath him. He adjusted his fedora just enough to hide the sharp glint in his eyes. The brim cast long shadows across his face, but the tension in his gloved fingers betrayed his calm facade—they tapped out a slow, precise rhythm on the tabletop, like counting down to something inevitable.
"Funny thing about stones, Rourke…" Asher murmured, voice like gravel. "Sometimes you flip one and find snakes. Other times…" His eyes flicked up, cold and sharp. "You find teeth."
Rourke blanched visibly, swallowing hard. His jowls quivered like jelly. "You don't understand," he hissed, voice pitched high with panic. "The Covenant… it's bigger than you, me, this whole damn city—"
His words snapped off like a broken wire.
A laugh—a low, dangerous laugh—spilled from the booth behind them. Smooth. Velvet, with a blade underneath. It cut through the diner's stale air like a razor.
Asher didn't need to turn around.
He knew that voice.
Lilith.
She unfolded herself lazily from the shadows, legs crossed and lips painted the color of fresh blood. Her golden eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, and her smile curled with practiced cruelty. Tonight, she was dressed like a femme fatale straight out of a noir fever dream—pinstripe suit tailored to kill, silk shirt just a little too sheer, and heels sharp enough to gut a man.
"Let the detective play his little games, Councilman," Lilith purred, brushing nonexistent lint from her lapel. "After all… isn't that what makes this city fun? All these little lies stacked up like rotten bricks?"
Asher didn't flinch. Didn't move. He felt her presence—the way her aura pressed against his skin, sharp and seductive all at once. Her perfume, heady and intoxicating, was laced with something metallic—something wrong.
He kept his eyes on Rourke. "I didn't invite you to this party, Lilith."
She leaned in close, breath cool against his ear, and whispered like a ghost through silk. "Oh, but you did… the moment you put on that mask, the moment you took their bargain."
Rourke's eyes widened in pure terror. His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. "You're—You're working with them? You fool! The Covenant doesn't forgive!"
A sharp crackle filled the diner.
The ancient tube TV bolted above the counter sputtered to life, its screen swimming in static. For a second, the sound was pure white noise—then it locked into a harsh buzz as emergency text scrolled across the bottom.
CITIZEN ALERT:Multiple disappearances reported in the South Ward. Residents advised to remain indoors. Trust no strangers.
Lilith's smile widened, fangs glinting just beneath her perfect lips. "Oops," she purred, her voice mockingly sweet. "Looks like your precious city's cracking faster than you thought, detective."
Asher stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly across the linoleum, making Rourke jump. He dug into his coat pocket and slammed a battered photograph onto the table. It was grainy, almost too dark to make out—but clear enough to see the horror: a man being dragged screaming into a storm drain, something with too many limbs hauling him under.
Asher's eyes burned with quiet rage. "This your Covenant's handiwork? Human trafficking? Demon summoning? Or just another back-alley deal gone to hell?"
Rourke choked on his words, his face ghost-pale. "No—no, it's bigger than that! You don't get it!" His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "The Covenant isn't just criminals, Blackwood. They're the architects. They've been here since before this city had roads. You don't fight them… you join. Or you disappear."
Lilith's fingers traced the rim of Asher's coffee cup, nails clicking softly—deliberate, like little knives tapping out a warning. "Choices, choices, detective…" she crooned. "You can dance with them… or burn with the rest."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Asher's eyes darkened, heavy with something unspoken. His fingers grazed the edge of his mask—that damn mask—the one tied to too many ghosts. His voice, when it came, was low and razor-sharp.
"I've danced with worse partners."
He grabbed his coat, slinging it over his shoulder. He already knew where this road led: straight into the city's rot, down into the heart of darkness where the Covenant whispered behind iron doors and old bloodstains marked the floor.
Councilman Rourke slumped back against the booth, spent, defeated. His eyes were hollow now—like a man who'd already buried his own body. "Then may the Unseen Covenant show you mercy, Blackwood," he muttered bitterly. "Because the city won't."
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Outside, Asher stepped into the night—and froze. It wasn't rain anymore. Thick, oily black droplets fell from the sky, hissing and burning where they hit the ground. From the alleyways, the whispers began—low and guttural, voices speaking his name in languages not meant for human ears. His hand twitched toward his gun—but deep down, he knew: this wasn't a fight he could shoot his way out of.
[End of Chapter 46]
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Next Chapter Preview:Chapter 47 – "Whispers Beneath the Neon"Asher descends into the labyrinthine tunnels of the South Ward, chasing the Covenant's shadow. But underground, where the neon flickers and the walls breathe, every step forward risks tearing his soul apart… and the monsters waiting in the dark are no longer human.