I nodded, feeling the sword’s practicality and craftsmanship. “I’ll take them,” I said, pulling out the last of my silver coins and placing them on the table. It felt strange to finally be out of tokens after all these years. Al tossed in some ammo, a new holster, and a sheath for the sword, complete with a strap for easy carrying.

“You back in business?” Al asked as he palmed the silver.

“No, just settling a personal matter,” I said, holstering the gun, pocketing the ammo, and swinging the sword over my back.

“Whatever you say, Jack.”

“Hey, on the off chance, you still got that old essence scale around?”

He smirked, a glint in his eye. “I do. Need something weighed?”

I pulled out the key, its cold metal biting into my palm, and placed it in his hand. “Ever seen anything like this?”

He studied it under the harsh fluorescent light, his eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he pushed aside a mess of papers and retrieved an old-fashioned device that looked like a cross between a scale and a medieval torture contraption. He placed the key on it with meticulous care, watching the readings like they might suddenly jump off the scale and start a cabaret number.

He frowned. “Don’t see that too often.”

What’s that? Frank asked, curiosity leaking into his tone.

“It’s a Category Four Essence. Worth a pretty penny if you want to sell it. Not sure what it’s meant to do, but it could be used for scrap mana. This amount of power, turned raw, could fetch you as much as five gold coins.”

My eyes widened. “As much as that?”

“Maybe a little more if we can figure out what it’s meant to do. That’s just the scrap price, mind you.”

Beyond that, I can’t tell you much, Frank said with a sigh. It’s got a pull to it, alright. If we weren’t friends, I’d probably be tempted to beat you half to death and keep it for myself, he mused, chuckling.

Al paused, weighing his words as much as the key. He handed it back to me with a shrug. “You might want to check with Mildred.”

I pocketed the key, feeling its weight settle like a cold stone. “Thanks, Al.”

I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, I heard footsteps outside.

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Just then, a sharp knock echoed through the room. Al shuffled across the creaky floorboards, his slippers dragging behind him. He grabbed a rolled-up newspaper that had been tossed on the ground. With a gentle click, he closed the door, muffling the sounds from outside. The heavy thud reverberated through the room, sealing us in our small world.

Shit. The Newsies, Frank cursed, his voice tight with tension.

A tense silence filled the room as Al read the latest paper, his brow furrowing with each line. “I thought you swore off this life, Jack,” he finally said, his eyes darting to the gun now gripped in my hand. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine, though I tried to play it cool.

“I did,” I replied, my voice steady but my grip on the gun tightening.

“Someone seems to have a different opinion,” he said, lifting the newspaper, his eyes sharp and knowing.

He sauntered back to the counter. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick cigar and kept talking like it was just another day. “So, what’s the news, Al?” I realized that the gun wasn’t loaded. I holstered it.

“The missus wants me to retire. Spend more time at home. But there’s something about this place that keeps pulling me back,” he said, lighting the cigar with a practiced flick.

“A man’s gotta have a trade, Al. Stop living and you start dying.” I shifted my weight, the tension coiling in my muscles.

“True enough,” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Job just came in the mail. Open hit. Guild’s offering big bucks for this one.”

“Well, good thing you don’t need extra money.”

“Times have been tough, Jack. Ain’t the same since you got out.” He moved to a workbench, fiddling with a dismantled rifle, his back to me. “You’ve pissed someone off real bad, old friend.”

“I see. It say who’s paying? Who put on the hit order?” I slowly angled my way toward the door, putting myself between him and the treasure trove of weapons. But with Al’s size, he wouldn’t need more than his hands.

Al shook his head. “Nope, being run through the Guild anonymously.”

“That's a shame,” I said, fingers twitching near the hilt of the Whispering Blade. “If I’m going to die again, wouldn’t mind seeing the face of the person doing the killing.”

“To be so lucky,” Al said, his voice heavy with irony. “But I’ll tell you what, Jack. Seeing as we go back and you’ve helped me out once or twice, I’m going to give you a half-hour head start.”

“Awful kind of you, Al.” I started backing toward the exit, my eyes never leaving his.

“Manners make the man,” Al said with a smile.

I turned on my heel and headed for my car, every sense on high alert. Just as I was about to leave, Al called out, his voice echoing in the dimly lit garage. “What’d you do to get all this attention?”

I paused, hand on the car door, searching for an answer. “You know, Al, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“And hey, Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“One last thing. Don’t let anyone kill you out there. At least, not until I get to ya.”

I smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

The engine roared to life, a comforting growl in the silence. As I drove off, the shadows of the warehouse district closed in behind me, and I couldn’t help but feel like the day was just getting started.