The heavy iron doors of the city guardhouse slammed shut as Ash handed over a trembling Mr Labon to the armored sentries. The barista was still tangled in a few stray glowing strings from Eevee and he looked like he was about to faint. Ash didn't give the man a second glance as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his expensive coat.
"See that he is kept in a standard holding cell" Ash commanded his voice cold. "He is no use to the high council as a prisoner of war. He is just a petty criminal guild leader. But he might know where the real threat hides."
The guards bowed deeply as Ash turned and began the long walk toward the Upper District. He left the rest of the group standing in the smoggy street not offering a single word of thanks or a goodbye. He had a reputation to maintain and he had stayed in the industrial fringe far longer than his status allowed.
The walk to the Sterling Estate was lined with silver leafed trees and marble statues that stood in stark contrast to the soot covered walls of Bolt Cafe. When Ash stepped through the towering gold trimmed gates of his home the air felt thinner and more refined. But the silence of the palace was broken the moment he entered the main hall.
"Young man!"
The voice boomed from the top of the grand staircase. Ash's father Lord Alistair Sterling stood there with his face a deep shade of crimson. He clutched a cane made of the finest of wood and his eyes were narrowed into slits.
"Father" Ash began his voice losing its usual edge. "I was conducting an investigation into—"
"Investigation?" Alistair roared descending the stairs with heavy thundering steps. "I have reports that you were seen sitting in a hovel! A greasy industrial fringe dump called Bolt Cafe! And worse... you were seen in the company of imps! Dirty peasants and common trash!"
"They were necessary for the mission" Ash tried to explain but his father stepped into his personal space pointing a trembling finger at his chest.
"You do not have permission to go play pig with those imps! You are a noble of the Sterling line! Our blood does not mix with the oil and grime of the Sump. To be seen with a scavenger and a common mechanic... it is a stain on this family that will take months to wash away."
Ash looked down at his boots feeling the weight of the palace walls closing in on him. "They have skills Father. One of them the writer girl she handled a blade with—"
"I do not care if they can juggle stars!" Alistair snapped. "You are not a vigilante. You are an heir. If you wish to play hero you do it from a throne with an army at your back not by sharing a table with the dregs of society. You are grounded to the estate until I decide your reputation has recovered. Do I make myself clear?"
Ash tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword his knuckles turning white. He thought of Aero's fireball and Lucidia's terrifying empty eyes. Compared to the life he had just tasted in the fringe the palace felt like a very expensive premium cage.
While Ash was being lectured in his ivory tower, the atmosphere back in the industrial fringe was far less formal. The group stood on the soot covered street outside the now shuttered Bolt Cafe, the smell of Aero's fireball still lingering in the damp air.
Aero rubbed the back of his neck, looking from the stoic Acheron to the blood stained axe on Mugen's back. He let out a nervous laugh, trying to break the heavy silence. "So... uhhh... are we all friends now?" he asked with an awkward smile on his face.
Eevee skipped in a circle, her spiral eyes still flickering with the residual high of the fight. "Since I had to eat honey cake, SURE!" she chirped, though she was still licking a bit of strawberry cream off her thumb.
Mugen grunted, wiping a smear of grease from his forearm. "It was poisoned" he reminded her, his voice like grinding stones.
Before Eevee could reply, Acheron spoke up, his voice calm and smooth as he adjusted his cape. "Thanks to me, I removed the poison from the cake and the drinks before any of you took a sip."
The group turned toward Lucidia, who was already pulling her journal back out of her satchel. She looked up at the ragtag bunch of misfits and sighed. "Sure I guess" she muttered, her eyes lingering on the way the neon light hit Aero's messy hair. "You people are interesting."
Quinna let out a sharp, dry laugh, leaning against a rusted lamp post. "That's new" she said. "Lucidia saying something without being asked."
Aero's smile widened, feeling a genuine spark of relief. "Well, interesting is better than dead. What now? We can't exactly go back in there for seconds."
The group stood in the cold air of the fringe, the weight of the night finally starting to settle. Aero looked around the empty street, his mind wandering back to the noble who had left them without a word.
"Well," Aero said, kicking a loose stone across the soot. "I wonder where that Ash guy is. He just vanished after the guards took Labon."
Mugen adjusted the strap of his axe, not looking particularly bothered. "Probably back in his tower, scrubbing the peasant off his skin."
"Let's hang out tomorrow 8 in the morning!" Aero suggested, his voice hopeful as he looked at the group. "Maybe we can actually find a place that doesn't try to kill us."
"Okay!" Eevee cheered spinning on her heel.
"Okay," Acheron nodded his cape fluttering in the industrial wind.
"Okay," Lucidia muttered her fingers already tracing the edges of her journal.
"Okay," Mugen grunted.
"Okay," Quinna said with a smirk. "Don't be late, goggles."
The group began to split up, disappearing into the shadows of the alleyways and the steam of the lower city, leaving the ruined cafe behind.
Meanwhile, in the Upper District, the silence of the Sterling Palace was suffocating.
Ash was locked in his bedroom, the gold leafed walls feeling more like a cage than a home. He lay on his silk covered bed, staring up at the ornate carvings on the ceiling. The moonlight filtered through the tall, barred windows, casting long, cold shadows across the floor.
His eyes were watery, the stinging pride and the weight of his father's words finally breaking through his stoic mask. He thought of the fireball, the dark rum, and the strange, quiet writer girl. He thought of the dirt on his boots that he hadn't wanted to wash off.
"I wish I could be free," he whispered to the empty, silent room.