[Jevan Perspective]
I walked Darius back to his home. I wanted to comfort him, but well I'm not good at that. And I was sure any attempt from me would be like pouring oil on fire. So I stayed silent. Sometimes silence speaks louder than a thousand empty words of consolation.
When we arrived, Darius said his goodbyes. Despite everything that had happened, he looked deeply grateful.
I walked back toward the apartment. Beside me was Iris.
"Did you finish talking to the old lady?"
"Yes."
"And what were you talking about?"
"Some private matters."
"And what are those oh so private matters?"
"None of your business. Just keep walking quietly."
"Alright, alright, no need to get so angry!"
We continued in silence. I felt that one more word might get me punched in the face. But suddenly, without even looking at me, she said:
"What is your goal in life?"
"Turned philosopher, have you?"
She didn't respond. Was she serious? I sighed and said:
"Right now? All I want is to leave the Lower District. That's my only goal."
"That's it?"
"That's it?! Do you realize that this dream is exactly what half the people in this pit are chasing? A large number of them are willing to literally sell their organs, and the rest would sell their mothers. Actually scratch that all of them would. As for me? I'd prefer to keep my kidneys if possible. And I don't even have a mother to sell."
Iris tossed a small card into my face. I caught it quickly before it hit the ground, stared at it for a moment, then said skeptically:
"What's this? A wedding invitation?"
"Go to the address written on the card. Look for a man called Rusted Corvin. Tell him you came on my behalf he'll help you get out of here."
"Just like that? That simple? If you've had this ticket out all along, why haven't you used it yourself?"
"I have revenge to carry out."
"Revenge? What's the point? Take this advice from me: leave revenge behind and get out of this miserable place. Go to the Middle District. Live a happy life. You could even buy a cat if you feel lonely."
"Do you want me to take the card back?"
"Kidding! Do your revenge, open a restaurant, who am I to judge?"
She didn't reply, so I kept walking silently. Then I muttered:
"Rusted Corvin… what a beautiful name."
...
When I reached my apartment in that old housing complex, I turned to Iris before she left and asked:
"Why are you helping me? And don't give me the usual answer: pity."
"A returned favor."
"A returned favor? I don't recall doing anything for you worth returning."
She didn't answer. She just turned and left, ignoring my words as though she hadn't heard them. I muttered: "Do you enjoy playing the mysterious lady? At least answer properly instead of these cryptic responses."
I pulled the key from my coat pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. I hung my coat on the crooked stand. Hunger hit me hard I hadn't eaten all day. I headed straight to the kitchen, opened the cupboard with naïve optimism… only to be greeted by stale bread. I sighed in defeat, grabbed a piece, and began chewing.
As I walked down the hallway toward my room, I bumped into Raven.
"Can't you watch where you're going, idiot?" he snapped.
I looked up, ready to curse him out, but changed my mind at the last moment. Instead, I said:
"Sorry."
"Sorry?" he echoed in surprise, then turned his face away, grabbed his coat from the rack, and left.
Lately, he had been acting very strange since waking from his coma. At first, it seemed normal, but with time his behavior became… unusual. Normally, in a situation like this, he'd shower me with every curse imaginable. But now? Just a strange look, a single "idiot," and he walks off.
Does coming close to death actually make people less stupid?
***
Inside the Broken Glass Tavern, Garrod sat behind the bar as usual. Across from him sat Iris, while Lionel Gray, Inspector Graves' assistant, leaned against the nearby wall, arms crossed. All of them were waiting impatiently for Raven's arrival.
Iris leaned back in her chair and said irritably:
"Why do we have to wait for that bastard? We can move without him."
Garrod lifted his glass to his lips, then answered firmly:
"Our target is to bring down Valentine Crow. Don't underestimate him he single handedly destroyed the Wardens. We need every ounce of strength we can get, including Raven's."
Iris slammed her palm on the table.
"And where's the rest? Don't tell me you plan on sending just us against him."
Garrod set his glass down and replied:
"The Lower District is in utter chaos. The Wardens' fall left a massive power vacuum, and I can barely keep control of what remains. I can't muster more men right now."
Iris frowned, gestured toward Lionel, and said:
"And what about the Bureau men? Where's that inspector of yours? And why is his stupid servant here instead?"
Lionel straightened immediately.
"Who are you calling servant, street rat?"
Iris' hand went to the dagger at her waist.
"And who are you calling street rat, arrogant servant?"
They were about to clash when Garrod raised his hand to stop them.
"Enough. We're not here to fight like children. Graves was assigned to an urgent mission in a remote village, so he couldn't attend. As for you, if you don't want to join, you can leave the mission altogether. But I've received confirmed intel: Valentine is planning to leave the city soon."
Silence fell until Raven finally entered without a word. He dragged a chair and sat beside Iris.
She asked:
"Why are you late?"
He didn't answer, didn't even look at her. He only glanced sideways at Lionel, then said:
"Did you find out where Valentine Crow is hiding?"
Garrod replied in his deep, emotionless voice:
"In the Eighth District."
The Lower District is divided into twenty three districts. Each resembles the other, with only minor, barely noticeable differences. But the Eighth was an exception. It was the only uninhabited one. Unlike the others, filled with people, the Eighth was shrouded in silence.
Some twenty years ago, it was struck by a mysterious plague. It spread like wildfire, killing more than half the residents in no time. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished without explanation. Since then, no one dared to return.
Raven asked:
"When do we move?"
He tried to hide the impatience in his tone, but failed.
Garrod answered:
"At midnight."
Raven lost his temper.
"We should move now! Valentine could flee at any moment!"
For the first time in a long while, Garrod's calm disappeared. He slammed his fist on the table, shattering it. Wooden splinters flew, glasses fell from the shelves, crashing to the floor.
In a deep voice, he said:
"Do you plan on dying?"
Then he added, pointing a finger at Raven:
"The only reason I agreed to this mission was because I knew of your desire for revenge. But if you intend to act with such stupidity, I will not let you go."
***
Lionel Gray left the tavern. He walked through the winding alleys of the Lower District, adjusting the hat on his head as he went. After half an hour, he finally stopped at a small house on a side street. He raised his hand and knocked.
Valentine himself opened the door.
"Inspector's servant? What are you doing here? Come in."
Lionel's jaw tightened. He shot him a glare of suppressed rage, but in the end said nothing. He knew well enough that he was dealing with a man long since driven mad. With a slow exhale, he adjusted his hat and stepped inside.
...
"So, what brings you here, inspector's servant?"
Valentine asked in a soft voice as he poured what looked at first like tea. But the liquid flowing into the cup was no such thing it was a deep crimson red. He carefully set the cup in front of Lionel, then sat across from him.
Lionel didn't touch it. Instead, he pushed the cup away and said:
"They'll move today. The stage is set, everything is ready. All you need to do is finish the performance."
Valentine's smile widened.
"Oh? At last? The end of this little play that's lasted over forty years? Has your master finally grown tired of this pitiful farce? Or is he simply afraid that the actors might start straying from the script?"