Amir looked at the Cog Master, something nagging at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch. "It's weird," he muttered, his gaze drifting toward the café window.
Outside, steam-wagons rumbled past, their engines hissing and coughing black smoke into the already grey morning. Pedestrians shuffled through the streets like ghosts—heads down, shoulders hunched, moving with the exhausted rhythm of people who'd long since stopped expecting anything good from the day. The whole city looked like it was drowning in its own industrial exhaust, choking on progress.
Amir took a deep sigh, the kind that came from somewhere deep in his chest. The kind that carried weight.
The Cog Master studied him from across the table, his monocle catching the weak, filtered light. His grey-green eyes were sharp, analytical, the eyes of someone who made a living reading people. "What's wrong?" he asked, his tone casual but probing. "There's something going on in that rotten brain of yours, isn't there?"
Amir turned back to face him, pulling his gaze away from the depressing view. "Not really," he said, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. "I was just thinking about a girl. Nothing else."
The moment the words were out, the Cog Master's eyebrow shot up so fast it was almost comical. His entire posture shifted—leaning forward slightly, his mechanical hand resting on the table with that unsettling, too-perfect stillness. He looked Amir over from head to toe, his gaze sweeping across the worn coat, the flat cap, the tired eyes. It was the look of someone who'd expected one answer and gotten something completely different.
He stared at Amir for a long moment. Just stared. No words. No movement. Just that piercing, calculating gaze that made Amir feel like he was being dissected under a microscope.
Then, slowly, a smirk spread across the Cog Master's face.
And then he started to laugh.
Not a polite chuckle. Not a restrained, gentlemanly laugh. This was a full, genuine, belly-deep laugh—the kind of laugh you'd give if someone told you the most absurd, ridiculous joke at the crack of dawn. His shoulders shook. His head tilted back slightly. The sound echoed in the small café, drawing a few curious glances from the other early-morning patrons.
Amir just sat there, watching him, completely baffled. His brain was trying to process what was happening and coming up empty. What is so funny about this?
"Why are you laughing?" Amir finally asked, his tone somewhere between confusion and mild irritation. "What's wrong?"
The Cog Master wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning like he'd just heard the punchline of the century. "I never expected," he said, his voice still tinged with amusement, "to hear a man who doesn't even know proper dress code sit here and tell me about a woman." He gestured vaguely at Amir's outfit—the worn coat, the slightly too-large trousers, the boots that had seen better days. "But you know what? I don't judge." He took another sip of his coffee, composing himself. "In this line of work, looking perpetually depressed and poor is actually the best disguise a detective can wear. Makes you invisible. Forgettable."
Amir blinked. "Oh, so I'm a detective now?"
"No," the Cog Master replied flatly, his tone shifting from amused to matter-of-fact in an instant. "You're not even close to being a detective. Not by a long shot. But..." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "If you manage to survive long enough working with me, then maybe—maybe—you'll get there."
Amir felt something stir in his chest at that. A small, fragile thing. Hope, maybe. Or ambition. He gave a small, awakened smile, the kind that crept onto your face when you started imagining possibilities you'd only ever read about in comics and manga. Detective. The word had weight. It had meaning. It was something real, something tangible, something he could actually become if he didn't get himself killed first.
For a moment, he let himself imagine it. Amir Zen, Detective. Solving mysteries. Uncovering conspiracies. Maybe even getting a cool coat and a pipe like those old noir detectives he used to read about back on Earth.
The Cog Master's voice pulled him back. "So tell me," he said, leaning forward slightly, his mechanical fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the table. "Who is this woman? The one who managed to steal the heart of the most dried-up, lizard-looking man in all of Steelhaven?"
Amir's smile faltered. He looked at the Cog Master, genuinely unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.
Probably an insult.
"I don't know her," Amir admitted, his voice quieter now. He could still see her in his mind—those amber eyes, the way her hair caught the light, the subtle point of her ears. "I just met her. She bumped into me on the street, and..." He trailed off, struggling to find words that could possibly do her justice. "My brain just froze. It was like I'd never seen such beauty before. Or... the word 'beauty' isn't even enough to describe her appearance. There's no word that covers it."
The Cog Master's expression shifted into something between amusement and skepticism. He set his coffee cup down with a soft clink. "This sounds like the beginning of some sort of fairy tale," he said, his tone dry. "Did you drink last night? Some heavy whiskey? Maybe something stronger?"
"No," Amir said, shaking his head. "After your test, I went straight back home. Crashed. Woke up this morning and came here."
"Hmm." The Cog Master leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. His eyes never left Amir's face, studying him like he was a puzzle that didn't quite fit together. "So tell me—and I'm asking this purely for diagnostic purposes—did you ever get...?" He let the question hang deliberately in the air, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "...laid?"
Amir stared at him.
Just stared.
For what felt like an eternity, his brain refused to process the question. It was like his entire mental operating system had just crashed, the blue screen of death flashing behind his eyes. He sat there, frozen, awkwardly thinking there was something seriously, fundamentally wrong with this man.
The Cog Master broke the silence, seemingly oblivious to—or perhaps enjoying—Amir's discomfort. "Listen," he said, his tone shifting to something almost paternal, though still deeply uncomfortable. "I'm not very good at this kind of thing. But looking at you... you seem like you're in your twenties. That's the average age to do such things, you know. If you hold off too long, even ugly starts to look like a goddess." He paused, letting that sink in. "I think you might be facing the same scenario. Your brain's playing tricks on you because you've been... neglecting certain needs."
Amir's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The Cog Master continued, seemingly on a roll now. "Although I haven't worked with your Inquisition very much, there's a man who specializes in these kinds of things. Recommendations, introductions, that sort of affair. Hmm..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think his name is Pyotr."
That snapped Amir out of his stupor. His brain finally rebooted, the system coming back online with a vengeance. "I'm not dreaming," he said, his voice firmer now, almost defensive. "I didn't get drunk. And I definitely, absolutely, do not need to get laid." He leaned forward, meeting the Cog Master's gaze directly. "She was real. I'm sure of it. And..." He hesitated for just a moment, then committed to the full truth. "I think she was an elf, too."
The Cog Master went very still.
The shift was instant and absolute. The casual amusement drained from his face like water down a drain, replaced by something sharper, more focused. His entire demeanor changed—the relaxed posture tightened, the playful smirk vanished, and those grey-green eyes locked onto Amir with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
"An elf?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, more controlled. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Amir said, nodding. "I'm sure. I swear on it." He could still see her in his mind—the way her hair had fallen just enough to reveal the subtle point of her ears. "I saw her ears. They were pointed. Not dramatically, but definitely pointed."
The Cog Master was silent for a long moment. His mechanical fingers resumed their slow, deliberate drumming on the table—tap, tap, tap—a rhythm that felt almost like a countdown. His eyes had that distant quality they got when he was thinking through something complex, piecing together a puzzle that only he could see.
"Hmm," he finally said, his voice thoughtful. "Elves are quite rare in Steelhaven, but not mythical-rare. They exist. They move through the city sometimes. But..." He trailed off, his gaze sharpening as it refocused on Amir. "One thing's clear—you're not dreaming. If you were, you'd be talking about a human woman, not an elf. The mind doesn't conjure details like pointed ears when it's making things up. It goes for the familiar, the expected."
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. "An elf in Steelhaven city? In the Ironheart District, no less? And I don't know about it?" A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face—the smile of someone who'd just found an unexpected puzzle piece that made the whole picture more interesting. "This just got interesting."
"What's interesting?" Amir asked, leaning forward as well. "What does it mean?"
The Cog Master's smirk widened, but he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up his coffee cup, swirling the dark liquid inside as if reading tea leaves, his expression unreadable. It was the kind of look that said I know something you don't, and I'm deciding whether or not to tell you.
"You'll know soon," he finally said, setting the cup down with a soft clink. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it now—something calculating, something that suggested wheels were already turning in his mind. "But for now, let's ignore her and get back to the case, shall we?" He smiled, but it wasn't the warm, amused smile from before. This one was sharper. More purposeful.
Amir shifted in his seat, trying to refocus after the bizarre conversation about the elf. The coffee was getting cold in front of him, but he barely noticed. "Okay," he said, his tone more businesslike now, though there was still a lingering unease in his chest. "So we're back to this so-called combined case?"
The Cog Master tilted his head slightly, his monocle catching the weak morning light. His expression was patient, almost professorial. "Do you know why it's called a combined case?"
Amir thought for a moment, pulling on what little he'd learned from his time with the Inquisition. "Yeah," he replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice to mask his uncertainty. "When two cases get combined into one massive pile of bullshit."
The Cog Master's lips curved into a faint smile, and there was something almost approving in his gaze. "Good. You understand the basics. That means we can skip the boring explanations." He reached into his coat with his mechanical hand, the movements fluid and precise, and pulled out what looked like a photograph. But the quality was different—sharper, almost unnaturally clear. The image seemed to shimmer slightly in the light, as if it had been captured with something far more advanced than a simple camera.
He laid it on the table between them.
Amir leaned forward, studying the image. It showed a man in his late forties, well-dressed in an expensive suit with a high collar and brass buttons. His face was round, his expression confident—almost smug. There was something about his eyes, though. They were cold. Calculating. The eyes of a man who saw people as nothing more than numbers on a ledger or obstacles to be removed.
"What's that?" Amir asked, his curiosity mixing with a vague sense of dread.
"An Aether print," the Cog Master replied, tapping the image with his mechanical finger. The gesture was deliberate, precise. "Of Mr. Alistair Finch."
Amir's eyes widened. His entire body went still for a moment as the name registered in his mind. The connections started forming immediately—the tannery, the hostages, the ritual. Alistair Finch. The name Salena had mentioned. The name that had been whispered in the darkness.
"Wait," Amir said, his voice rising slightly. "Alistair Finch? That guy?"
The Cog Master looked at him, genuine surprise flickering across his face for just a moment. His eyebrow arched, and he leaned forward slightly, his entire demeanor shifting into something more focused, more interested. "You know him?"
"Yeah, I know about him," Amir replied, his mind racing through the connections, trying to piece together the puzzle. "He's the owner of the VIC Plumber Company. And Mayor Valerius's daughter—Salena—she talked about him too. During the debrief."
The Cog Master went very still. For a moment, his professional mask slipped completely, and Amir could see genuine shock in his eyes. It was only there for a fraction of a second before the mask snapped back into place, but it was enough. Enough to tell Amir that this information meant something. Something significant.
The Cog Master maintained his composed demeanor, though there was a new sharpness to his gaze now, a new intensity. "If you know Salena..." he said slowly, his tone careful and measured, "are you absolutely certain you've never slept with a woman?" He said this while smiling, but there was an edge to the smile now. A knowing quality that made Amir's skin crawl.
Amir felt a flash of irritation surge through him, hot and sharp. His jaw clenched. "What the hell?" he snapped, his voice rising slightly, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons in the café. "Why do you keep talking about sex? I just know Salena because Johnathan and I saved her. From the tannery. That's it."
The Cog Master's smile widened, but there was something darker behind it now. Something that suggested he knew far more than he was letting on. His mechanical fingers drummed that slow, deliberate rhythm on the table again—tap, tap, tap—like a countdown to something Amir couldn't yet see.
"Ohhh," he said, drawing out the word with theatrical slowness. "So you two were the Inquisition agents who investigated the tannery. I see." He paused, and in that pause, Amir could feel the weight of unspoken knowledge hanging in the air between them. "I apologize for the harassment. But you see..." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something more conspiratorial, more intimate. "Salena is what you might call... a woman of considerable appetites. There's hardly anyone in this city who hasn't shared her company, if you understand my meaning. And you're telling me you two saved her... and she didn't repay the favor?"
The word "interesting" hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.
Amir's brain stuttered to a complete halt.
He stared at the Cog Master, his mouth slightly open, trying to process what he'd just heard. The words didn't make sense. They couldn't make sense. His mind was desperately trying to reconcile two completely incompatible images: the frightened, traumatized woman they'd pulled from the tannery—crying, shaking, barely able to speak—and what the Cog Master was describing.
The mayor's daughter. The one who'd looked so innocent, so vulnerable, so utterly broken by whatever horror she'd witnessed in that place.
Steelhaven's greatest whore.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. It wasn't just shock. It was something deeper. A sense of betrayal, maybe, or disillusionment. The realization that nothing in this city was what it seemed. That every face wore a mask, and beneath that mask was something darker, something uglier.
His hands, resting on the table, clenched into fists without him realizing it. His jaw tightened. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm too fast, too loud.
"Are you..." Amir started, his voice barely above a whisper. He had to clear his throat, force the words out. "Are you serious?"
The Cog Master just watched him, his expression unreadable. There was no mockery in his eyes now, no amusement. Just a calm, clinical observation, as if he were watching a fascinating experiment unfold.
The Cog Master looked down at his coffee cup with deliberate calculation. While Amir calmed himself down. "This is not important right now we should focus on the case," he said, his tone shifting back to business. "The thing is, this old man—Alistair Finch. As you know, the VIC Plumber Company, which is owned by this guy, was going through a massive financial crisis. And this company also took loans from nobles too." He paused, his grey-green eyes locking onto Amir's. "You said you and another Inquisition member went to Galloway & Sons Tannery, right?"
"Yeah," Amir replied, though a knot was already forming in his stomach. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going.
"Surprisingly," the Cog Master continued, his tone carrying a note of grim satisfaction, "that tannery doesn't even belong to Galloway. I checked the property documents myself. It belongs to Alistair Finch."
Amir's eyes widened. The shock hit him like a physical blow. "What?" His mind was already spinning, trying to reconcile this new information with everything he thought he knew. "Then why is it abandoned? And why is it called Galloway & Sons Tannery?" He paused, a thought forming. "Wait... maybe the locals just call it that because they've been using that name for so long. Old habits die hard in a city like this."
The Cog Master nodded slowly, as if approving of Amir's reasoning. "Good point. A logical one. But here's where it gets complicated." He leaned forward, his mechanical hand drumming that familiar rhythm on the table. "Galloway is dead."
"Dead?" Amir repeated, though something in the Cog Master's tone suggested it wasn't that simple.
"His body was never found," the Cog Master said flatly. "And his sons—they don't remember their father selling that tannery to Alistair Finch. In fact, they claim they never knew about any such transaction."
Amir started to scratch his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as he tried to piece things together. The connections weren't forming cleanly. There were gaps. Holes. "So you're telling me his sons didn't even know about the property sale?"
"Negative," the Cog Master replied.
The word hung in the air like a death knell.
"What about Galloway's wife?" Amir asked, grasping for another thread to pull. "Does she know anything?"
The Cog Master's expression darkened. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, more measured. "Galloway's wife committed suicide last week."
Amir felt the blood drain from his face.
"The moment the Cog-Watchers failed to find her husband after their long search—when they officially declared him dead—she committed suicide that same night," the Cog Master continued, his tone clinical but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. "Not only that, but the moment when Alistair disappeared, she went completely insane. Also She muttered unknown words from unknown language. Scratched at the walls. Pulled out her hair. Ripped apart her finger nails. She became a complete mental patient."
Amir's stomach twisted. He could picture it—a woman driven to madness, her mind shattered by something she couldn't comprehend or escape. The image was horrifying.
"Okay, it's weird and disturbing now," Amir said, his voice tight.
"In this line of duty, finding disturbing things is common," the Cog Master replied, his tone almost philosophical. "There's always magic or dark magic involved in such cases. But this is a little different." He paused, his fingers steepling together. "When I checked on his wife, I couldn't sense any type of magic or Tuner-based abilities. There wasn't any sign of it. I tried different methods, but nothing worked."
Amir leaned forward, his curiosity overriding his disgust After thinking for while
"Then what's the issue?" Amir asked, his mind already racing through possibilities.
The Cog Master's expression grew more serious. "There's a guarantee she was affected by magic," he said slowly, "but I can't prove it yet. And that's what bothers me. In my experience, when magic is involved, there are always traces. Residue. Harmonic signatures. Something." He tapped his mechanical finger against the table. "But with her, there's nothing. It's as if whatever happened to her was so thoroughly erased that even my methods can't detect it."
Amir felt a chill run down his spine. The idea that magic could be used so cleanly, so completely, that even an experienced investigator couldn't find evidence of it—that was terrifying.
"As for Galloway's sons," the Cog Master continued, "they're students at Steelhaven University. There's very little chance of them being directly involved. They seem genuinely confused about the whole situation. But that doesn't mean they're not being used, or that they know something which they're not telling us."
Amir rubbed his temples, trying to process the weight of all this information. "So what should we do now?"
The Cog Master stood up, straightening his coat with precise movements. "For now, let's forget about Galloway and his wife. We need to focus on what we can actually investigate." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, placing them on the table with deliberate care. "We go to the VIC Plumber Company and that tannery. We find out what Alistair Finch was really doing there. We find out why he needed that place so badly that he was willing to hide the purchase from everyone."
Amir stood as well, his legs feeling slightly unsteady. The fear was creeping back in—the memory of the tannery, the Shadow Demons, the headless woman in white. But he pushed it down, forced his composure back into place. He'd learned that much, at least. In this world, fear was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Are you sure?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. The Cog Master didn't strike him as someone who second-guessed himself.
The Cog Master adjusted his monocle, his gaze sharp and focused. "Yes. Although both places have been investigated by your Inquisition and are mostly safe, there's still a high signature of magic in both locations. The Inquisition and we might be missing something. Something important."
Amir nodded, though his stomach was churning. "Okay. Be careful though. Even though Harmonic Inquisition checked it. There are still few Shadow Demons left in the tannery. They will try to swarm you if you're not careful."
The Cog Master's lips curved into a faint smile—not the playful smile from earlier, but something sharper, more predatory. "Don't worry. I know what I'm dealing with."
"You've been there before?" Amir asked, surprised.
"Yes," the Cog Master replied. "After the Inquisition cleaned up that place, I came to visit my friend Rustof. In that chance, I also explored the tannery. But I couldn't explore properly at the time. Too many people around. Too many restrictions." He adjusted his top hat. "This time, I'll explore properly. Thoroughly."
Amir nodded, though unease was settling over him like a heavy blanket. There was something in the Cog Master's tone—something that suggested he knew more about the tannery than he was letting on. Something that suggested his previous visit hadn't been purely social.
"Okay then," Amir said. "Good luck."
The Cog Master nodded, his expression growing more serious. "After you're done finding clues at the VIC Plumber Company, meet me at Steelhaven University."
Amir's eyebrow shot up. "Steelhaven University? Why though?"
"Don't ask unnecessary questions," the Cog Master replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Just meet me there, okay?"
"Okay," Amir said, though curiosity was gnawing at him. Why the university? What was there? What did Galloway's sons have to do with any of this?
The Cog Master turned and walked toward the café's exit, his movements fluid and purposeful. Amir followed, and as they stepped out into the grey morning air, the weight of what lay ahead settled over him like a shroud.
The streets of Steelhaven were already filling with the morning crowd—factory workers heading to their shifts, vendors setting up their stalls, the endless machinery of the city grinding on. The Cog Master paused on the sidewalk, turning to face Amir one last time.
"We split up here," he said. "It will be faster. More efficient. We can cover more ground."
Amir nodded, though fear was creeping up his spine again. The idea of going into the VIC Plumber Company alone, without backup, without the Cog Master's sharp mind and mechanical precision—it was daunting. But he understood the logic. Two investigators moving separately could gather more information than two moving together.