Ortho’s kicking and screaming could be heard all throughout the building. Stella was convinced he was only doing it just to get on people’s nerves. From the few encounters she’d had with the self-proclaimed warrior from Huhl Hadem, he really liked to provoke people. And he’d succeeded, because Stella was two seconds away from kicking down one of Commander Hawthorn’s stacks of files herself.

Hawthorn didn’t seem bothered by Ortho’s antics. Now that Stella saw him closely, she noticed how tired he was. Thick bags hung under his eyes. His face was covered in three days’ worth of salt and pepper stubble. Dark lines etched his brows and cheeks, far deeper than what a man in his fifties ought to have.

Hawthorn rummaged through a pocket inside his black jacket and pulled out a vape pen. Using the responsive side of his mouth, he took a puff and exhaled towards a window that was lifted open a crack. The smoke drifted out slowly, letting Stella get a whiff of chocolate flavoured nicotine. Hawthorn’s giant frame collapsed into the back of his chair.

“Listen,” he said, his grumbling voice now all the sudden sounding like he’d just been woken in the middle of the night. “I need your help with something.”

Stella’s shoulders went tense. “What?”

“There’s been a lot of activity from the Cartel lately. I’ve been hearing whispers about their members moving freely through the Pot. Usually, they avoid the place since it’s dungeoneer territory. Even the guards try to keep out of their business because they generally lack the firepower to stop anyone who puts up a fight. We have a special division for that and, by the wisdom of the Council, they’re always busy chasing down tax dodgers.”

Hawthorn took a long drag of his vape pen and savoured it before exhaling slowly. “In particular, I’ve been chasing a man named Morder. Nasty guy. He’s the head of the Buitre, a division that he made through sheer violence. If you weren’t aware, a buitre does the dirty work of the Cartel—debt collection, making unwanteds disappear, that sort of thing. Morder created a whole division in the Cartel that does exclusively that.”

“Sounds like a pleasant guy,” Stella commented sarcastically.

“Yeah, real charming. Lately, he’s been making moves. A lot of dungeoneers’ debts have been called in, far sooner than expected. The catch? He gets dungeoneers to pay up through work, by sending them into the dungeon spigots.”

Stella furrowed her brows. “The alternate dungeon entrances?” Hawthorn nodded. “Why? Doesn’t the Cartel have a monopoly on spigots? Why would they just send their own soldiers in?”

“That’s not quite right. Some of the bigger guilds also have some spigots under their control, but the bulk of them were sold off to the Cartel years back. They’re nowhere near as profitable as the main entrance now that they’ve got the tax laws working in their favour.”

“Okay, but still, isn’t this just risking their operation?”

Hawthorn poked the tip of his vape pen at her. “Exactly. It doesn’t make sense, and I need it to make sense. Whatever they’ve found down there, it’s not good. However, none of the dungeoneers I’ve asked about it have revealed anything. Those that have talked said it was just a normal job: go in, kill monsters, bring back cores. The only catch was that they weren’t getting paid. As for the rest…”

He took a puff and blew the smoke towards the window. “I have no dirt on these guys. At best, some have trumped up civil charges—disorderly conduct, illegal gambling, that sort of thing. Nothing that’ll get them more than I fine. In other words, I have no leverage.”

“Right. Dungeoneers always get off easy,” Stella said, rolling her eyes. “One of the many advantages of being one of the rare individuals that can bind high levels worth of aftos. Most people go nuts from aposyndortion.”

Hawthorn nodded. “That’s why I’m asking you to help. I need you to get your party in on one of these operations. Then, you report back to me.”

“Uh huh,” Stella said. “A quick question. Why me?”

Groaning, Hawthorn stood up and shuffled his way around the room. He bent down to one of the stacks Ortho had kicked over and, grunting, took a folder from the fallen mound. The only thing that distinguished this folder from the others was a series of meaningless numbers and letters scribbled on the front. Hawthorn shuffled back to his desk and dropped down into his worn, padded chair with another groan.

“Wip Shyzan,” he said, presenting a paper from within the folder. Wip’s mug was slapped onto one of its corners. “There are no records on him other than his dungeoneering documents, all filed by you. Putting aside the situation with the Shyzan family, I’ve noticed some odd strokes of fortune coming your way since he joined your party. For example, two weeks ago, you just so happened to stumble upon a huge bounty of twelve-thousand kin. That’s not the sort of loot an E-class dungeoneer pulls in. Especially not when they’re solo.”

He dropped another piece of paper on the desk. “Luci Black. Or, more correctly, Lucina Animana. Don’t be surprised that I know who she is. I met her once at a ball in Sylexa. Those eyes are hard to forget. She has path-concentrated enma. In other words, she hardly uses crystals to level, which is both rare and terrifying given her level at her current age. With an amplifier in her hands, she’ll become a force to be reckoned with, just like her mother.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The faces of Stella’s clients stared up at her, Wip with his missing teeth bared to the world, and Luci with her cowl pulled down nearly over her eyes. Stella hadn’t had the chance to get Luci a new photo with her glamour on, so the faint glow of her eyes could still be made out beneath her now-lost cowl.

“Okay, so you know who Luci is,” Stella said carefully. “Now what? Are you going to sell her out to the Cult of the Moon?”

“No,” Hawthorn said firmly. “That’ll cause a political mess I’d rather not clean up.”

Stella glanced about the room, at the stacks of files and documents towering up to the low ceiling. “You sure? I thought you liked cleaning messes.”

Hawthorn eyed her, his stoic expression unflinching. “Getting evidence from citizens of the Shanties isn’t easy. They don’t like outsiders, and they especially don’t like guards. However, the Organised Crimes Division is a unique case, as you can probably tell by the fact that nobody has breached our oxon lines.”

“Special, you mean, because of you?”

Hawthorn nodded. “I managed to learn something interesting from some citizens.” He leaned in. “During the Shanties Catapult Incident, the few eyewitnesses stated that the buildings lifted themselves up from the ground, whirled around a glowing person, and were then launched down the road at one of the Cartel’s neighbourhood leaders. Flak, as he’s called. He’s been missing since the event. Whether he’s dead or not, we don’t know.”

“Uh huh,” Stella said, trying not to let the anxiety show in her voice.

“And they also reported that a barrier was formed with an afto, that prevented most of the damage.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Hawthorn tapped the document with Luci’s half-concealed face. “I know that the Path of the Moon focuses on orbits, and that the Daughter of the Waxing Moon has glowing hair. That seems to line up perfectly with her.” His finger shifted to Wip’s goofy face. “And a contact of mine from the Empyrean guild told me a funny story. While he was trying to train some new recruits, a man that looked uncannily like your client walked up to the group and killed some hortigrouses by overcharging his afto. The exact phrase he used was, ‘Turned them into an ichor fondue.’”

Stella bit her lower lip. When she got back to the inn, she was going to tear the rest of Wip’s teeth out and feed them back to him! However, even if she was fuming inside, she had to play it cool. She scoffed and shook her head. “This is all slander. My clients are clearly not going around turning hortigrouses into… er…”

“Ichor fondue,” Hawthorn clarified.

“Right. Gross. The point is that you, a guard, are attempting to blackmail me with flimsy evidence, aren’t you?”

Hawthorn took another puff of his vape pen, the secondhand smoke causing Stella to cough lightly. “If that’s the way you see it…” Hawthorn said. “I prefer to think of it as good fortune.”

“For who? You?”

“The city.”

Stella scoffed. “The city has been just fine, no thanks to the guards. The Cartel has basically run riot. Most of the Shanties never questions them and there are rumours going around that some members of the Anypaxia City Council are in their pocket. Now, even if I help you out with all…” she waved her hand vaguely at the room’s general mess, “this, isn’t it all for nothing? The guard’s not going to do anything anyway. So, why don’t you stop making false allegations against me, unregister me as Ortho’s fence, and let him pay his own debts.”

Hawthorn considered her for a few seconds. “You’re wrong. About the guard not doing anything.” He leaned in closer and spoke low. “The reason the Cartel doesn’t already run the city is because we, the Organised Crimes Division, stand in their way. They have their hands in the guards, in DARA, in the Council, in every sport this forsaken city loves to distract itself with. And in every brewery, of course. We at the Organised Crimes Division aren’t some noble heroes; we’re professional butchers. Every time the Cartel puts their hands on something that isn’t theirs, we hack them off.”

“Well, you missed a spot,” Stella said, raising her eyebrows. “Looks like you hacked off my tail while you were at it.”

“Sometimes you need to break a few leashes to catch a grupp.”

“And what makes you think I won’t report you to another guard division?” Stella pried. “Or even the press?”

Hawthorn eyed her for a few seconds. “Because I’m blackmailing you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Stella said, rolling her eyes.

“There’s also something in it for you.”

“Really?”

Hawthorn leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Do you know how much weight my word carries in this city?”

Stella looked around at the dump that Hawthorn was working in. “What are we counting in? Kin or paperwork?”

“Say I were to give a recommendation for a fence’s promotion. The clout chasers in DARA would kill for a chance to get on a national hero’s good side, so that recommendation has a really good chance of becoming reality. And, as for dungeoneers? The folk in DARA responsible for handling their promotions are all good friends of mine. If I were to recommend that an E-class get promoted to A, then there would be a new A-class dungeoneer by tomorrow.”

Stella considered the offer as Hawthorn watched her closely. She shifted uncomfortably, her chair rocking under her weight. Her throat was parched, her head was thumping harder than before, the vape smoke was choking her, and she’d sat on her tail funny so now it, somehow, had curled up and was tickling her neck.

Frustrated, she stood, slamming the leg of her chair into one of the stacks of documents Ortho had knocked over. She paced across the cramped and messy room rubbing her temples. She could only take two small steps each way before she had to turn again. Hawthorn waited for her, not saying a word, not even moving.

Yeah, the whole thing was burnt hoaraboar. Commander Hawthorn was strong. He could have folded her up like a pretzel if he wanted to. Stella wasn’t even sure how Wip would fare against someone like him. That overgrown turnip came back beaten and bruised from just the first floor. How would he deal with the man who literally took the fifty-third? Not well. And that was all ignoring just how much influence Hawthorn had, which was a danger in its own right.

Which led to the most important point: a recommendation from a hero like Hawthorn wouldn’t just net her a promotion, it would set her up for life. She could go places with that kind of influence backing her.

Finally, Stella let out a long breath. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Hawthorn took one last puff before stuffing the vape pen away. “Nobody does. Not in this city.”

Stella nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Report anything you learn about the Cartel’s movements. Especially Morder. I want to know what brand of toothpaste he uses.”

“Fine. You were going to get your way no matter what.” Huffing, she turned to leave. Her head was thumping and her bed called to her. However, at the door, she stopped and looked back. “How do I find this Morder, exactly?”

“Stay close to Ortho. He’ll show up.”

Stella tipped her head back and let out the longest groan of her life.