Lorenzo finally broke the silence. "Listen, John, I'm sure Antonio's sorry for dragging you into this mess. But it's done. The favor's called in, no point griping about it now."

John turned toward Lorenzo, and while the words grated, they were, unfortunately, true. There was no undoing it—Antonio had already played his card, and now John had to see things through.

Sighing, John leaned back in his chair. "Alright then. What do you two know about what I'm supposed to be doing? So far, I've barely learned anything from the Council's liaison." He measured his words carefully. "Anything you know might help smooth this over. Make the job easier."

Lorenzo threw his hands up. "Not a damn clue. I've just been the middleman on this one."

Antonio, however, seemed more clued in. He rubbed his hands together, glanced at the window to his right, and finally pointed at it. "From what I've heard, the Council's associates are getting hit. Not their known faces—their attaches, the ones who keep things off the books. So, yeah, they're pretty spooked. Their eyes and ears are getting clipped."

His finger lingered on the window as he added, "Last one went down in broad daylight, uptown, in one of those fancy McMansions. Wife and kids found him right in the doorway."

John took that in, noting to himself that Helena hadn't mentioned anything about these victims being hidden assets. Maybe she didn't know, or maybe she just hadn't told him.

"Wouldn't they have been caught on camera?" John asked. "People who can afford those houses usually have some decent security."

Antonio shrugged, bringing his hand back down. "If they did, the Council hasn't ID'd whoever's doing this. They've got nothing. Whoever's behind this has the Council on edge. And, look, John—I know I dragged you into this against your will. But this is right up your alley."

John couldn't deny it. There was a strange appeal to this case, and though he resented working for the Council, he couldn't help but be intrigued by what was unfolding. Besides, it didn't hurt to have something else to occupy his mind these days.

Figuring he might as well make full use of their help, he decided to ask, "Can you two get me a good lawyer?"

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Divorce lawyer. I want this done clean—no mess, no loose ends, no surprises. Make sure she doesn't drag me through the mud or dig too deep into my income streams."

Lorenzo blinked, taken aback. "You and Sam? A divorce? What the hell happened?"

They were both staring, clearly thrown off. They'd assumed John and his wife were solid—married for nearly a decade with no visible issues.

John shook his head, signaling he wasn't up for discussing it. They didn't push, but assured him they'd get him a lawyer. "Might take a day or two, but we'll find someone who can wrap it up nice and tight," Antonio promised. "We'll send you a dossier with the details, and she'll get served within the week."

John nodded, feeling somewhat satisfied. It was a small start in a mess that needed a lot of cleaning up, but it was a start nonetheless.

John decided there was more he needed to cover. Lorenzo had been the one managing interactions with the hunters, tracking loose ends, handling media spins, and coordinating with their fixers and cleaners.

He turned to Lorenzo, curious. "What happened with that girl after the mill incident? Do you know where she was taken?"

Lorenzo perked up, ready to explain. "From what I know, she was taken right after leaving a club at school, after sundown. She says she'd barely left the auditorium before it grabbed her—snatched her right up, took her down into the sewers."

John nodded, absorbing the details as Lorenzo continued. "Her family's got some clout, high-ranking Council members. They kept everything as quiet as they could. Not a word to the press, not even a missing persons report. They didn't want anyone exploiting the situation."

Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decide how much to reveal. "One odd thing, though. During cleanup, they found more bodies. But the number of deaths didn't match the initial count. Turned out, there were a few more kids mixed in—two girls and a boy, all between six and eleven, all with the same brand. And these kids were sorcerers, though a lot less powerful than the girl they took. As for the other bodies, none of them were intact enough to ID."

John felt a chill run through him. More kids, all magically inclined. A horrible theory started to form. Was this thing targeting sorcerers, or maybe young, unregistered latent users who'd slipped under the Council's radar? It would explain why the victims seemed so specific.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

More unsettling, he thought back to his own encounter with the creature. Its aggression had seemed unnatural, especially when it chased him—a hunter, a threat it would normally avoid. The creature usually went for weak prey, the kind least able to fight back. For it to pursue him, especially after realizing he wasn't its typical target, was strange.

John leaned back, disturbed. It was beginning to look like the creature was acting with a deliberate purpose, one that defied its usual patterns.

With a sigh, John thanked them for the information and decided it was time to wrap things up. Antonio remained seated, his gaze turned away, lost in thought, while Lorenzo got up and followed John out of the room. Lorenzo gave him a knowing look, saying quietly, "Don't hold it against Antonio too much for dragging you into this. It was a stupid call, but... it is what it is."

John gave a reluctant nod. "I'll consider it," he replied, though his tone was noncommittal. "Just make sure to send me any updates if anything else comes up. I don't want to get blindsided again by another Council job, especially not one like this." He made it clear he expected Lorenzo to keep him in the loop on any developments—anything to avoid another ambush from the Council.

Lorenzo shook his hand, nodding firmly. "I'll do what I can. Probably have to check in at the mill myself, see what's left of the scene and talk to the people handling it." John could tell Lorenzo understood the gravity of his request.

They parted ways, and as John walked back to his car, he allowed himself a moment to relax. He settled into the driver's seat, then checked his console and saw several missed calls from an unknown number. He frowned—he never brought his phone into commission situations to avoid complications, especially with the Council.

Once on the road, he decided he might as well call back. With any luck, it wasn't someone trying to reach him aabout his cars extended warranty.

The ride back was quiet, and John's mind sifted through the pieces of his day. With Elena silent and his divorce now under the commission's care, he was left in a waiting game. The conversation with Samantha loomed, but it wasn't a priority—other things had taken precedence.

He pulled into a 7-Eleven parking lot, letting the car idle as he took out his phone. If everyone else was keeping him in the dark, he'd go to the one source he knew wouldn't hold back. He found the contact labeled simply Broker and dialed.

After a few rings, a familiar raspy voice answered. "Hello, John."

The sound grated in his ears, like wet gravel being ground together, and he could almost picture the creature's tongue flicking across sharp teeth as it spoke. "Corthoon," John said, keeping his tone even. "I need a bit of info."

"About what, John?" Corthoon's tone was sly. "Be specific."

"Anything strange that cought your eye ," John replied, already feeling the creature's amusement through the phone. "Anything unusual or... interesting? If the information's solid, I'll make it worth your while."

There was a long pause, and then Corthoon's voice shifted, a hint of excitement cutting through the phlegmy rasp. "I might know something, John. But you know the rules—I'm not about to discuss it over the phone. Usual place?"

"Yeah," John replied, hanging up without another word.

As he put the car back in gear and headed for the rendezvous,

John navigated through the heart of Penburg, its upscale buildings giving way to the less glamorous reality of Grailport. The residential areas had transformed into towering condominiums and cramped apartments, and he could feel the buzz of the city as he drove through. Once downtown, he parked in a nearby deck, paying for an hour.

Stepping out, he was enveloped by the weekend hustle—a mix of people rushing to shops, enjoying the last rays of afternoon sun, and generally being oblivious to the supernatural world that swirled just beneath their everyday lives. As he walked, he glanced at the clock on his phone, noting it was around 4:00 p.m. He needed to be quick; he had a meeting to get to.

Cutting down an alley, he took a moment to gather his focus. Visiting Corthoon required more than just walking into a space; it was a carefully constructed ritual. He couldn't just appear in the brazzar, especially not with the risk of being seen by anyone uninitiated. He recalled the labyrinthine path he needed to follow, mentally mapping out the turns.

Left. Forward. Right.

As he weaved through the alleys, he felt the city's pulse shift. The sounds of traffic faded into an almost eerie quiet, and the air grew heavier, infused with the scents of smoke and spice. He remembered how many of these hidden places existed worldwide, each with its own methods of concealment, from ornate spells to simple geometry.

After several more turns, he found himself in an alley that stretched longer than it should have. Curiosity piqued, he ventured forward, the walls shifting to reveal a steep descent made of brick and natural stone. As he continued down, smoke belched from rusty vents, and the shanty structures began to appear—haphazard buildings constructed from scavenged materials, adorned with colorful rags that fluttered in the faint drafts.

Descending further, he could see the true extent of the brazzar, its vibrant chaos unfolding before him. The stone fixtures rose up into a high ceiling, while makeshift dwellings were stacked precariously on top of one another. Market stalls crafted from gnarled wood and vibrant fabrics filled the space, teeming with life. The sounds of bartering and laughter mixed with the rich aromas of street food and spices wafting through the air.

John kept his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd. He traded one form of traffic for another, and now the patrons of this underground bazaar were far from human. He saw grotesque creatures and almost-human figures mingling—a towering being with an equine body and multiple arms, a muscle-bound ogre adorned with tribal tattoos, and what appeared to be a Sasquatch, dapper in a monocle and luxurious fabrics, trading dusty tomes.

Others were more recognizable; elves, centaurs, minotaurs—each conducting their business, some with camaraderie, others with barely concealed hostility. John felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere; he was an anomaly here. Humans, particularly hunters, were not common in this world, and he could sense the curious stares that followed him as he moved deeper into the bustling marketplace.

He steeled himself, knowing that while he stood out, the information he sought from Corthoon was worth any scrutiny he faced. Each step brought him closer to the heart of the brazzar, where knowledge and secrets intertwined, and he hoped this encounter would yield the answers he desperately needed.