John reached for his pocket looking for the pack of cigs he was realizing he left in the car , annoyed he considered stepping frothe booth to go out to his car but he wanted to be rid of this woman and didn't want to have her following him to the car.

"Alright , spill the rest of what you aren't saying. " she raised an eyebrow a bit surprised by his statement

" as i said I've been around. "

"The Council made sure to reach out to the League of Endymion, but you know how that shadowy organization works. They rarely offer up any real information. This time, however, they're cooperating, which is rare. Apparently, they've run into the same issue. Their own sorcerers and mages are being attacked too."

Without saying another word, she pulled out her phone and slid it across the table, the screen already unlocked, showing a hidden gallery. John's eyes scanned the images: mangled bodies, twisted in grotesque shapes, their limbs torn apart in ways that could only be described as animalistic. In each photo, he noticed the telltale marks of magical societies—brands and sigils carved into skin, still faintly glowing in some cases, remnants of once powerful sorcerers. But now? Now they were little more than shredded bodies, as if they'd been thrown into a wood chipper. It was brutal, primal, and nothing like the clean, precise killings of assassins or the ritualistic sacrifice of dark magic.

John couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of it all cutting through the tension. "So, you're here because the Council snapped their fingers, huh? you're beholden to them.."

She gave a slight smirk, leaning back in the booth. "Beholden or not, I don't have much of a choice in this. You're not the only one who finds the Council unbearable." Her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. "But since I'm already here, at least I can appreciate the view."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over him.

"Though I must say, for someone who looks like that, you pick some pretty questionable places to hang out."

His mind raced with mental checklists—fae, creatures, organizations—each crossed off or reconsidered with every grisly detail laid out on the pages. But what lingered most in his thoughts was the kidnapping, the recent rumors of the childersnatch. Lorenzo had hinted at the council's growing interest in him, and John wondered if this assignment was just one more piece of a larger game being played around him.

He didn't dwell too long in his thoughts. Rising from the table, he pressed his hands against its worn surface and lifted himself, slipping a stack of bills from his jacket. He flashed Helena a thin smile, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Usually, when I'm asked to take on a job, I'd ask for a way to contact who I'm working for. But with you here, I guess it's one of those 'don't call us; we'll call you' arrangements, isn't it?"

Helena smiled, clearly pleased he understood the arrangement. "Exactly," she said, nodding, her eyes glinting with a satisfaction that only deepened his annoyance.

As he laid the bills on the table, she reached across, placing her hand on his wrist. He fought the urge to pull away but held himself still.

"Tab's already paid, John," she murmured, her voice softer now. "Thought I'd cover it since I had to drag you into this."

John chuckled, caught off-guard. It was, he realized, the nicest thing anyone had done for him all day.

He was about to take his leave when she interrupted again, her tone laced with a quiet allure. "What are you doing tonight, John? Any plans?"

Even through the haze of his drink, he could hear the implications. Her eyes held a spark, an invitation of sorts, wrapped in that hint of mystery she carried so well. There was temptation there, enough to make him wonder what "later" might look like. But he caught himself before his mind drifted too far. Now wasn't the time.

"Just heading home," he replied, putting one hand over hers and gently pushing it aside. "Nice talking to you, but I need a breather."

She let him go, her gaze still following him as he turned and made his way out of the bar. Outside, he paused under the streetlight, the chill of the night air breaking the smoky warmth that still clung to him. Helena's lingering presence and the spiraling web of council politics buzzed in his mind, mingling in a half-drunken haze as he stumbled his way toward his car, the streetlights casting long shadows as he moved through them. All he wanted was his pack of cigarettes to steady his thoughts, something to ease the spiraling frustration that seemed to follow Helena's every word.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Finally reaching his car, he settled into the driver's seat and started searching the console, muttering to himself as he sifted through every compartment. The pack was nowhere to be found, and irritation flared as he fumbled around, his movements growing sharper.

A soft tap sounded on the window. He turned, startled, to find Helena standing there, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. She held up his pack of cigarettes, tilting them in her hand with a teasing wave as she leaned over the window.

"Looking for these?" Her voice was honeyed and teasing, and she held the pack up so it hovered just above her neckline. His gaze couldn't help but drop, noticing how the cigarette pack framed her plunging neckline, the dress cut to reveal the swell of her cleavage—a deliberate choice, no doubt, and one that had exactly the effect she wanted. Her gaze sparkled as though she knew precisely where he was looking, her lips curved in a slow, satisfied smile.

John reached out, taking the cigarettes from her hand with a muttered thanks, though he knew full well she'd likely swiped them at some point during their conversation. But his mind was elsewhere, half lost in the haze of her perfume and that distracting, teasing smile.

"Appreciate it," he said, and she chuckled, stepping back with a graceful movement that seemed almost liquid, her dress shifting in a strange, inky black that moved in ways his mind couldn't quite pin down. The fabric clung to her figure, flowing around her like shadow itself as she took her leave, walking away with an elegant sway that mirrored her entire approach—a final, silent taunt.

He leaned out the window, watching her walk off, torn between relief and the faintest sting of regret. And just as she reached the alley's edge, her voice floated back, soft but clear.

"See you soon, John."

Her words lingered as he lit a cigarette, the glow casting his face in a faint orange. He took a deep drag, the bitter smoke settling his nerves as he exhaled, watching the alleyway she'd disappeared into, the silence around him thick with the feeling he'd just gotten himself wrapped into something deep.

With the cigarette between his fingers, John leaned back in the driver's seat, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night air. The city around him pulsed with life, the distant sounds of laughter and music spilling from nearby bars and clubs, yet he felt a chasm of solitude. Helena's lingering presence and her teasing smile tugged at his mind, complicating everything he thought he knew.

As he stared out the window, the weight of the day settled heavily on his shoulders. The council's requests, the string of murders, and the dark undertones of Helena's proposition twisted in his head. He couldn't shake the sense that this was more than just another job. He needed space to think, a place to clear the haze that surrounded him—home was not an option.

He flicked the cigarette butt out the window and turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. With a quick glance in the rearview mirror to ensure the coast was clear, he pulled away from the curb, navigating the streets that felt both familiar and foreign, the shadows stretching long in the night.

John drove aimlessly for a while, lost in thought as the city lights flickered past. He tried to push Helena's image from his mind, but her voice echoed in his ears, the way she'd leaned over to tease him with the cigarettes, the playful glint in her eyes. It infuriated him how easily he could get distracted by her, by her aura of confidence that both drew him in and repelled him.

After what felt like an eternity of driving, he found himself outside a small, run-down motel on the outskirts of the city, its flickering neon sign casting a dim glow over the parking lot. He pulled in and parked, the engine dying with a sputter as he stared at the shabby façade. This was not a place he'd ever choose for himself, but it would do—just a bed for the night, somewhere he could let the chaos swirl without it pressing against him.

He stepped out of the car, the cool air hitting him like a slap. As he walked toward the office, he could feel the heaviness of the day settling in his bones. The receptionist behind the counter barely looked up as he requested a room, sliding a key across the counter without a word. He pocketed it, feeling the weight of the metal like a small anchor in his pocket.

The hallway smelled faintly of mildew, the worn carpet muffling his footsteps as he made his way to his room. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, the musty air hitting him like a wave. The room was sparse—a bed, a nightstand, a small table with a pair of mismatched chairs, and a television that looked like it belonged in a museum. He sighed, kicking the door shut behind him and letting the solitude wash over him.

Dropping his bag on the bed, he moved to the window, staring out at the street below. The city was alive with energy, but he felt disconnected, as if watching it all from a distance. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes, he lit one and leaned against the windowsill, the smoke curling around him like a comforting blanket.

He needed to process everything that had happened. The job, the council, the murders—they all swirled in his mind like a storm. What did Helena really want? Why had she seemed so interested in him? He could almost feel her presence lingering in the room, her laughter echoing off the faded walls.

He took a long drag, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and then release in a slow exhale, his thoughts drifting again. If he was going to figure this out, he needed to be sharp. He needed to get to the bottom of it, to unravel the threads of this tangled mess before it pulled him under.

With that resolve hardening within him, he dropped the cigarette into the small ashtray on the table. He couldn't let himself get caught up in Helena's games, no matter how tempting they were. He had a job to do, and he'd be damned if he let anyone distract him from it—especially someone like her.

As he settled into the quiet of the motel room, the city outside thrumming with life, John steeled himself for the chaos to come. The night was still young but he was ready to clock out for now.