A little over a month had passed since the gangs ravaged the Undercity. In that stretch of time, Zeke vanished from public view—his absence impossible to ignore. Concerned for him, Hanna decided to investigate on her own. She waited for days around the Gun Barrel, but he never appeared.

Unwilling to give up, she pieced together snippets of conversation from various underlings. From them, she learned that Isaac had been delivering food to Zeke’s home, discreetly leaving the meals outside his front door. It was an odd routine for the affable young man she knew, and it only deepened her suspicion.

Late one evening, after Isaac finished his tasks, Hanna tailed him through the winding alleys until they reached Zeke’s rumored hideout. She expected to find some grandiose mansion hidden behind imposing walls—or perhaps a modest, out-of-the-way home reflecting Zeke’s quiet nature. Instead, she arrived before a somber, hulking mass of reinforced concrete: an aging apartment building whose best years were far behind it. Deep, branching cracks scarred the exterior walls, and every window was boarded up so tightly that no light could slip through.

Much to her surprise, Isaac did go inside after delivering his provisions. He took a careful look around—eyes darting through the oppressive gloom—before slipping in through the door. Hanna, too practiced at going unseen, found a vantage point and observed, waiting as still as a shadow. She noted every feature of the structure, mapping its likely interior in her mind. She listened, her ears keen for even the faintest footstep or breath.

An hour crawled by before Isaac emerged. This time, he was so drained he didn’t bother masking his departure. He pushed the door open with a loud crash, his body sagging. Each of his footsteps fell heavier than the last, his left leg dragging as though injured—or perhaps merely exhausted from sparring.

“I guess they must have sparred,” Hanna mused, waiting until Isaac was out of sight. Then, with careful steps, she moved toward the building’s entrance. A broad slab of rough concrete stretched out beside the doorway, forming a rudimentary patio. The large steel doors—once painted white—had faded and peeled, revealing patches of rust and bare metal beneath.

Hanna pushed them open, and they responded with a nails-on-chalkboard screech that made her skin crawl. She slipped into a small, dimly lit foyer. Though dust coated every surface in a thick gray film, the space remained oddly organized. Two battered leather couches sat on either side of the entrance, their cracked cushions seemingly unoccupied for weeks. At the back wall, two doors gave way to a single corridor—an artery connecting the apartments on the first floor.

As Hanna ventured into the hallway, she caught sight of something etched into the wall in harsh, uneven letters: “I can’t remember your face anymore.” A chill prickled at the back of her neck. She pressed on, stepping across broken plaster. Recent footprints trailed through the dust, hinting at recent habitation despite the unsettling silence. Many of the apartment doors stood ajar, yet inside, the rooms showed no dramatic signs of destruction—just a sense of haste, as if the tenants had fled overnight.

Clothes hung halfway out of drawers, half-finished drinks stood abandoned on tables, and televisions sat frozen in time, caked with a veil of dust. Someone had clearly lived here until very recently.

Curious about what lay above, Hanna climbed a creaking staircase to the second floor—only to find the hallway fully blocked by a jungle of jagged black metal spikes, all thrusting out at wild angles.

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“What are those things?” she wondered, picking her way to the third floor.

There, she encountered an array of strange objects: human-sized mannequins, scattered firearm parts, swords, spears, and plates, all forged from the same dark, metallic substance. Their surfaces gleamed in the faint light like eerie sculptures in an abandoned gallery.

Suddenly, she felt a hand brush her shoulder. Jolting, she spun around—only to slam into something solid.

“What are you doing here?” came Zeke’s voice. He caught her, steadying her before she could lose her balance.

“I…” Hanna faltered, startled by his sudden presence. “I—I came to look for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me,” Zeke said simply.

“It looks more like you found me.” Hanna gave a small grin, referring to how he’d caught her from behind. His face hovered just inches away.

Zeke released her and stepped back, tension flashing across his features.

“Oh?!” she teased, laughing softly. “You didn’t have to let go so fast. I wasn’t bothered, just startled.”

Zeke’s tone remained guarded. “Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to check on you,” she admitted, the concern clear in her voice.

“So, am I how you expected to find me?” he asked. He looked drained, with dark circles under his eyes—someone battered by sleepless nights and ceaseless worry.

“Honestly?” Hanna tried to smile. “I figured you’d be more naked, lounging around like some hermit. Didn’t think I’d see you in battle gear, holed up in a creepy abandoned building. Guess it explains why you dozed off at the theater—no rest here, either.”

Zeke let out a weary sigh. “This place was set aside for me by the Contractor King. He evacuated all the residents so I could train without limits—or prying eyes. I’m free to use magic here.”

“All those spikes and mannequins—they’re magical constructs?” Hanna asked, arching a brow.

“Mhm,” Zeke affirmed, giving her a short nod.

“So, what’s your element? Earth? Metal?” she prodded, curiosity shining in her gaze.

He looked away. “I can’t say.”

“Come on, just a hint?” She smiled, leaning closer.

“No,” he answered flatly, voice edged with finality.

Hanna exhaled and stepped nearer. “What’s going on with you lately? You’re isolating yourself, training nonstop, and acting so damn angry all the time. What happened?” She shoved him lightly, a gesture that mixed equal parts frustration and genuine worry.

“What happened is I almost died,” Zeke said, his tone quiet yet loaded with emotion. “Boar used his invocation. He was too strong. I had to use magic to survive. The Contractor King has eyes everywhere—he found out. Now I’ve got an assignment… an impossible one. I’m supposed to track down whoever orchestrated the attacks, some kingpin. Apparently Ludwig—my predecessor—was dealing with this mysterious figure. That makes it even more complicated.” He paused, his stare locking on hers. “I’m… stuck.”

“You look so cute when you’re brooding,” Hanna said gently, forcing a playful grin to lighten the mood.

Zeke turned away again, voice barely above a murmur. “And apparently, the Contractor King has a right-hand man. Someone in the shadows, controlling the Undercity behind the scenes.”

He balled his hands into fists. “Whoever they are, they’re the reason I’m not being punished for using magic. If I figure out who they are, I might be able to negotiate.”

“It could be Fox. That man always has some grand scheme boiling under the surface,” Hanna suggested, tapping her chin in thought.

“I hope not,” Zeke muttered, tension flickering across his features.

Hanna moved closer, brushing a light touch across his ear, then leaned in to plant a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Well, my hero,” she whispered, voice soft, “no matter how ugly this gets, just know I’m rooting for you.”

“Stop,” Zeke muttered in a low, uncertain rasp.

“You don’t like it?” she asked with a faint smile, placing one hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat pound.

“I never said that.” His voice was quiet, unsteady.

She giggled. “Oh, I get it. You just want me for the night—no strings attached,” she teased against his ear, then backed away with a mischievous grin. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not that kind of girl,” she added, leaving him standing there in a strange, befuddled state.

“Good night, my hero,” she said, blowing Zeke a playful kiss before disappearing into the murk of the corridor.