"Tell me, are you capable of speaking to someone in a way that doesn't lead to a bounty being taken out on your head, little man?"

"In my defence, it is Grackle Nuroon."

"Good point, well made," Latham said, rolling his neck and glaring at the < Waitress>, who was proving to be a little slow in bringing him his third plate of sandwiches of the morning. "Are you curing your own fucking meat back there or something? What's the fucking hold up!"

Being shouted at by a giant had not been on the poor girl's 'to-do' list when she woke up this morning, and she turned an even whiter shade of pale. "Let me just go and check on it for you," she said, backing away from their corner table. "Your coffees are on the house!" she added, triggering her Complimentary Skill, which she felt was certainly earning its mana this day.

"You know, some people would think it was the height of bad manners to give minimum-gold servers such a hard time," Lowe said, shielding his own sandwich from Latham's predatory gaze.

"And are any of those judgemental fuckers sat at this table?" the big man asked, teeth-baring.

"Nope. Not at all. In fact, if I may add, fuck that undernourished, overworked and clearly underappreciated young lady. I'm sure she absolutely deserves you giving her a hard time. The bitch."

Latham sighed. "I know, I know. I'm just not myself when I'm hungry."

"You don't say!"

A blur in a uniform was suddenly at their side, dropping several plates piled high with steaming food in front of Latham before scurrying away. "You see, all she needed was the right encouragement."

Lowe leaned back in his chair, watching his friend eat. It was funny, he thought, but he did genuinely think of Latham as a friend. He hadn't expected them to stay in touch once the fuss died down around what had occurred in the Celestial Temple, but he'd been pleasantly surprised.

It helped that Hel and Latham were an item, especially since the and Arebella had struck up a firm friendship of their own. It had become a Thirrupsday tradition for the four of them to go out and paint Soar, if not red, then a charming shade of off-pink.

Lowe wasn't the type of person who had a best friend. The fact that the last candidate for that position had been actively using him to further a rise to power had left a mark. However, something about Latham encouraged Lowe to begin seeing him that way.

"Come on then, out with it. Explain to Daddy how you've fucked things up with your customary incompetence again and need me to save the day."

Although, Lowe thought, it was still early days . . .

"Well, first of all, 'Daddy' isn't going to happen. But I'm pretty sure Hel will find it hilarious when I mention it to her." Suddenly, their Waitress wasn't the only person looking extremely pale. "Now, having put that to bed, as it were, do you actually want to hear more about the case, or are you going to be a dick?"

"I'm more than capable of being both," Latham said, demolishing the first of the newly arrived plate of sandwiches and moving to the second. "However, in exchange for your silence on my little nickname faux pas, I will refrain from colour commentary on your woes for the foreseeable."

"Fair enough. So, despite what everyone is trying to pretend, it's clear to me the two deaths are linked. The fucking won't go out on a limb and formally say the first dead was liquified by necrotic slime before being crushed, but I don't have any doubts. Bella's friends with the who saw the whole thing, and to hear her tell it, the girl was screaming and melting before the stone came tumbling down.” He went on to recite the rest of the facts of both the deaths as he knew them.

Latham listened, nodding along until Lowe had finished. “So let me get this straight. You either have two epically convoluted suicides, one or two bizarre accidents, the first death being murder, but the wrong victim killed, or two distinct murders with two intended victims. Oh, and the , who is either a third victim or the perpetrator of one - or both - murders, has gone missing.”

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Lowe nodded. "Sounds about right."

Latham took his time on his final sandwich, carefully chewing it over as he thought. "And Nuroon wants to cover the whole thing up?"

"Yep."

"Let him."

Those two words were so unexpected that Lowe was sure he must have misheard. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, 'Let him.' That is some murky shit, and you don't want any part of it."

"There are two dead . . . "

Latham leant forward, his voice suddenly lacking any of its customary humour. "Grackle Nuroon is - " Latham paused, casting his eyes around the coffee shop for listeners. The , misunderstanding the searching glare, hurriedly dived back into the kitchen to hunt for more food- "not to be messed with. And I say this as someone who has to deal with fucking avatars on a daily basis."

"He's the Director of Soar Museum. I hardly think his threat level is on par with what we went through in the Temple. I mean, what's he going to do? Lecture me to death?"

Latham's laugh had no joy in it. "If that's what you think, little man, you need to drop everything right now. Grackle Nuroon is not to be trifled with." The grimaced at Lowe's sceptical expression and edged his chair closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You think you know what you’re getting into, tangling with Grackle Nuroon, but you don’t. That spider fucker doesn’t do anything in the open. You've never heard of Mayor Tolliver, have you?”

Latham paused, the name hanging in the air like a death sentence.

Lowe shook his head. "No idea. Must be before my time, Grandaddy."

Latham cocked his head to one side, wincing. "Fuck you. Look, just listen to what I'm saying. Tolliver had a reputation as solid as iron. Brilliant, ambitious, with connections you can only dream about. But Tolliver had one fatal flaw—he believed he was powerful enough to take what he wanted, even if it meant crossing Grackle Nuroon. A simple land dispute, that’s all it was. Tolliver wanted to annex a parcel near the city, land that the Soar Museum had been eyeing for years. It was perfect for Tolliver’s estate expansion, and he thought Nuroon was just another dusty old man, more concerned with relics than real power.”

Latham’s lip curled into a bitter smile. “Tolliver pushed his claim through the Council, confident his allies would see it passed. But he didn’t know that Nuroon had been preparing for this moment long before Tolliver even set his sights on that land. You see, Nuroon isn’t a man who reacts. He anticipates, manipulates, and then, when the time is right, he executes.”

Latham leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a near hiss. “The Director started by quietly undermining Tolliver’s support base. He dripped poison into the ears of Council members, sowing seeds of doubt and distrust. Subtle rumours about Tolliver’s financial dealings began to surface—nothing too overt, just enough to make his backers nervous. Whispers of unpaid debts, of deals that might not be as clean as they seemed. Within weeks, Tolliver’s staunchest friends began to distance themselves, not publicly, but in those little ways that matter. Invitations rescinded, meetings ‘postponed indefinitely.’ And Tolliver, confident in his power base, never saw it coming.”

Latham’s eyes darkened, his tone taking on a grim intensity. “But Nuroon wasn’t satisfied with just isolating Tolliver. He had a lesson to teach—an example to make. Tolliver’s wife, Lucinda, was a socialite adored by all. She had some sort of unusual Class that changed water into wine. You can imagine what a hit that made her at parties. Well, Nuroon had her patronages audited by the Treasury, and lo and behold, irregularities were ‘discovered’ in the charitable funds she managed. Suddenly, Lucinda was under investigation for embezzlement, her name dragged through the courts and the gossip circles alike. She was innocent, of course, but that didn’t matter. The stain on her reputation was enough to ruin her. She killed herself in the end.

Latham paused, wetting his lips. “But it didn’t stop there. Tolliver’s eldest son was a bright young man destined for a career in the Security Service. Nuroon made sure that a scandalous ‘cheating’ allegation surfaced at his academy—completely fabricated but damning enough to see him expelled in disgrace. Every door that had once been open to him slammed shut, his future annihilated before it even began. His body was found in the river - no one looked into that death too carefully.

Latham’s voice took on a steely edge, his eyes locked on Lowe's. “What happened in the Temple was brute force and ignorance. And, the gods help us, but you seem to have a talent for weathering that sort of shitshow. But Nuroon didn’t need to draw a sword or challenge Tolliver to a duel. He used the systems Tolliver had once wielded with confidence against him. Within a year, Tolliver was ruined. His reputation in tatters, his family dead, and his fortune gone. The final blow came when Tolliver was quietly removed from the Council—not by a vote, but by a whisper campaign so insidious that it was already done by the time he realized what was happening. He was outmanoeuvred, outclassed, and utterly destroyed.”

Latham’s expression hardened a grim finality in his words. “And all the while, Nuroon never once raised his voice, never showed a hint of anger. He simply... erased Tolliver. By the end, Tolliver was a ghost, a man whose name no one dared speak for fear of attracting Nuroon’s gaze. So, if you think you can take on Grackle Nuroon, think again. The man doesn’t fight. He simply waits, watches, and when the moment is right, he ensures you don’t just lose—you cease to exist.”