Asher and Henry circled the pub several times to no avail. Seemingly reaching a decision, Henry made his way to enter. Asher followed closely behind, keeping his head lowered. He could do without being recognized today; after all, he was working. If he was truly unlucky, the bloodfiends might even be past acquaintances.

Upon entering, they immediately stood out. Well-dressed individuals like themselves hardly ventured into the lower boroughs with good intentions. The inhabitants of this area might not treat each other kindly, but they were even less welcoming toward outsiders. Instantly, Asher and Henry felt as if they were being singled out, like lions circling a herd of gazelles. However, there was nothing they could do about it. Asher approached the barkeep.

“Gerald, it's been too long, my friend! I hope the kids and family are doing well.”

The barkeep, a stout man in his thirties, took a moment to register who was speaking to him as he cleaned a glass.

“Bloody hell, is that you, Asher?”

“In the flesh, my good man. Don't act like a stranger.”

“Blimey, kid, did you rob a bank or something? Last I saw, you were studying some rich people stuff, looking worse for wear.”

Asher laughed and made a subtle motion, indicating to Gerald to be discreet.

“Say, Gerald, have you seen old Kenny around lately?”

Gerald scratched his head, pondering for a moment before responding.

“Now that you mention it, the old fool might’ve finally kicked the bucket. Haven’t seen him in at least two weeks, I reckon.”

Asher felt a pang of sadness at the response. While he had never particularly liked old Kenny, everyone down here knew him, whether they liked it or not. The old drunkard was a bit of a social butterfly.

“Seen any city folk lately? Other than me and my friend here.”

Gerald wiped the counter, attempting to hide his face from the patrons. Lip-reading wasn’t particularly challenging nowadays.

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

“Yeah, a couple moved into Kensington, in the nice apartments near where you used to live off Hobble. They come roun' often. The lass is a looker, I tell ya; she turns heads every time she comes round. The bloke is a bit of a porker. They’re rude bastards, looking at everyone here like they’re trash.”

Asher was nearly certain these were the suspects. It couldn't be more obvious. These bloodfiends underestimated the slums.

Asher ordered a light beer.

“Five pence.”

He picked up the tankard of light beer that Gerald handed him and downed it in one go.

Then he placed five silver crowns on the counter and carefully slid the tankard back toward Gerald.

“Yeah? What do they look like?”

“The girl has almond blue eyes and long eyelashes… well endowed.”

Gerald raised his eyebrows suggestively before continuing.

“Brown curly hair, she’s got freckles. The bloke’s about six feet tall, face like a jar, built like a rugby player. Short blonde hair and blue eyes.”

Asher nodded in response. “Any spots they frequent, and where exactly on Hobble did they book a flat?”

Gerald picked up the tankard and pocketed the crowns.

“Not sure. I just know it's the nice building next to yours. Ain't heard anything else. If I do, I'll send a post to your place.”

Asher glanced toward the door, pondering for a moment.

“No need, Gerald. Thank you. I was never here, alright?”

Gerald grunted in acknowledgment before smiling.

“Hope to see you again soon, kid. It’s good to see one of us doing well.”

Gerald extended his hand, and Asher slapped it with his palm.

“Stay safe, Gerald. Tell the missus I said hello.”

Asher walked toward the door, pretending not to know Henry. He strolled down the street until he reached an alley and waited. Henry met him soon after, a look of approval evident on his face.

“Let’s go check the place out. I doubt they’re there; it’s probably just a location they booked for appearances. Bloodfiends don’t fare well in dense human dwellings like that. It makes it easier for them to lose control.”

Asher nodded and led the way, with Henry following from a distance.

When they reached his old apartment, a wave of nostalgia washed over him.

I've come quite far, haven’t I?

The door opened, revealing a haggard-looking man who evidently hadn’t been sleeping.

The man barely recognized Asher but approached him with urgency.

“Asher, have you seen Janice? She left almost a week ago without a note or anything. I'm worried sick. If you see her, please tell her to come back and send me a post.”

Asher wasn't a complete stranger to the man or his daughter, Janice. He felt concern for the young girl. It had been since the day he went to his interview that he saw her. Perhaps that was the last time her father had seen her as well.

"I haven't seen her. I’m sorry. If I do, I’ll personally escort her to your residence.”

The man seemed not to hear Asher's words; he was clearly in a dire state.

“Good, thanks then. Goodbye.”

He waddled off, hopefully seeking something to do at the local workhouse.

He’s too late… All the jobs would have been taken by now.

Asher couldn’t help but reflect on how fortunate he felt.

No rest for the wicked… here in the slums. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. No matter how many times they get back up, the world knocks them down.

Asher chided himself for believing he was better than these people. He wasn’t. He had just gotten lucky—or unlucky, depending on one’s perspective.

Asher pushed his wandering thoughts aside; it was not the time for self-reflection.

He checked his holster to ensure his gun was ready and held his silver stiletto in his pocket.

Then he fished a coin from his pocket and spoke quietly.

“The two people I'm looking for are in the next-door apartment building.”

He flipped the coin and watched as it floated down unnaturally, like a feather in the wind. It stopped flipping just before it reached his palm. Then, right before it landed, it changed direction and orientation, landing perfectly balanced on its side with either face facing outward.

What the hell is this supposed to mean then? Failed? The prophecy failed?