Asher wasn't overly concerned with the task at hand; if anything, he felt a thrill of excitement! He was tired of training, weary of office work, and eager to stretch his legs.

The time he spent with Renée certainly helped him relax and unwind. He smiled at the very thought but quickly reeled himself back in.

“Still! It’s not every day you get to do something so exhilarating!”

Somewhat beside himself with anticipation, Asher walked into Henry's office.

“Good morning, Henry! Are you ready to set off? Ah, before we go, Mr. Bolard asked me to bring some Sacred Bullets.”

Henry was already dressed in a formal suit, his long gray trench coat reaching down to his ankles. He looked quite striking given his height.

“What’s so good about it? The bullets are on the table. Temper your enthusiasm before you wind up as lunch for some creature. Come on, we’re already late.”

Without waiting for Asher’s reply, Henry strode out the door.

Tch, grumpy bastard, Asher thought as he collected the bullets and hurried after him.

Before long, he found himself riding in a carriage toward Hobble Street.

It wasn’t just any public carriage; the consultancy firm had a private carriage, complete with a full-time chauffeur.

“Unreal! These people really spare no expense. The Mother is surely weeping,” he mused.

The chauffeur, a short, mousy-looking man named Eric, didn’t volunteer his last name, nor did Asher ask.

Eric had greasy hair that appeared as if it had been dipped in tar, and his brown eyes gave him the look of an average bloke you might find in any borough.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Asher collected himself, preparing for the grim task ahead. He raised his hand and inspected the new trinket he had been given.

It was a simple bracelet of unremarkable quality, with a lone thin chain dangling from it. At the end of the chain hung a black piece of metal inscribed with a single word: “Aeternus.”

Asher had no idea what that meant, but it didn't matter to him at that moment.

He sat quietly, filled with grim apprehension, as the carriage meandered through the fog-swept streets.

It was raining quite heavily that day, and, of course, he had forgotten his umbrella. As he looked outside, he began to understand why Henry and Bolard wore such long trench coats.

Soon, the carriage entered Hobble Street, where they were greeted by the familiar odor of misfortune. Crowds lined up in front of labor houses, while mothers haggled with secondhand hawkers, attempting to secure food to fill their families’ bellies for the day.

It was a mess, as usual, but Asher felt at home here. After all, this was where he had grown up. These people may not have been his preferred company, but nonetheless, they were his people, and these were his streets.

Back then, they were the only things keeping him alive. He had stolen from these very stalls and had been beaten more than a couple of times as a result.

Nobody would accept a scrawny orphan as an apprentice; he couldn’t find any work. Still, he had to survive somehow. The orphanage took care of most of his needs, but there were many who refused to go there for various reasons.

Perhaps they insisted on staying with their families in silent solidarity, even as they went without food for weeks.

Asher hated to see them in that state, and he yearned for change in the lower borough. He decided that if nobody else would, he would. In a strange, misguided Robin Hood-esque delusion, he took it upon himself to try to feed those kids for a time. Asher laughed at the very thought of how naïve he had been.

Asher took one last look at the dirty streets filled with early risers and those who simply had no home to return to.

He raised his hand to examine the dowsing chain he had been given.

Then he let the metal spike fall, allowing the chain to swing beneath his hand. He focused his will into the bracelet.

Allowing the chain to swing freely, he inquired to no one in particular, “Where are the vampires I seek?”

The chain spun several times as if caressed by an invisible breeze before the spike settled at a right angle. The chain grew taut as it pointed in the direction the carriage was already headed.

However, soon the chain changed direction subtly, moving toward the right as the carriage passed by a local pub called the Lion's Mane.

Asher glanced at Henry and gave him a serious look.

“There! That pub—either they’re there, or there’s a clue that will lead us to them. At any rate, it’s clearly worth investigating.”

Henry scoffed. “Kid, didn’t you read the dossier? You’ve got too much damn faith in your little tricks.”

Smiling to himself, Asher replied, “Old man, didn’t you review the informant’s testimony? The majority of the victims were from this area. What do you think people like that do all day? You’re not from here, so maybe you wouldn’t know. They drink, gamble, steal, or sell their bodies. It’s not a glamorous life, but it’s the one most here choose to live. The point is, it would have been first on my list of places to investigate regardless. Paired with a positive affirmation from my dowsing chain, I’m even more certain.”

Asher wasn’t surprised; it made sense. Putting his hand down, he sat quietly.

“Very well, I suppose there’s a reason you graduated so early. We will get off at the next street and circle back a couple of times. Keep your eyes peeled and be prepared.”

Asher guffawed, flabbergasted and entirely speechless.

“Did you just compliment me?!”

He received a swift knock on his skull for his efforts.