Cal stared up at the night sky. Rolling clouds traveled far above, hiding the full moon's face from them. If it weren't for the city's lights, they would be cast into darkness.

All the better for them.

"You good boss?" Cassey asked, sitting beside him on the flat rooftop they'd stopped at.

She wore baggy clothing that was dark in color and made of some thick material. The hood was currently pulled back, revealing her long braid.

"Nothing-"

"Nope." She wagged a finger at him, cutting him off. "No talking. Remember that boss."

Cal crossed his arms, the shroud hiding his expression. Did he look menacing? He felt menacing.

On paper, it was just a frayed black cloak. But that undersold things a bit, as the frays were long wire-like strings. They undulated in the wind, giving the wearer an almost ethereal appearance, as if blinking would cause them to disappear.

The same threads were layered thick in front of the hood, making it difficult for anyone to steal a glance at his face. On the off chance they succeeded, his face was wrapped with similar threads. Even his eyes were partially covered, ensuring anyone who wanted a good look at him would need to tear the coverings apart physically.

"I know," Cal replied in spite of her lighthearted chastisement. "But we're not there yet, and no one is around."

He waved a hand toward the quiet city surroundings for effect. Cal was being a tad untruthful here, as he'd sensed a handful of stragglers still heading home for the day. However, he was confident in his group remaining unnoticed for now.

"Sir." The third and final person on the roof spoke up. "Are you certain you don't want the focus?"

He gave the captain a side glance. She was holding the Whistling Death's focus out to him.

She and Lennard had been the only other ones to show up at the bar.

Cal knew there were more than just three agents in the city, but it seemed they wanted to limit his contact with the rest of them.

Fair enough, it was less to keep track of on his end.

"Nah, I'm not putting that on."

No one would have been able to see it either way.

"Okay, whatever you're more comfortable with. We wouldn't want to choke you up."

A beat passed, and she lifted the object higher in his direction.

"You know, becu-"

Cal interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her.

"Because it's a choker, I get it."

It was a polished stone attached to a smooth satin material that was designed to wrap around one's neck snuggly. It was lucky to still be in one piece, Cal having missed it when he cut through its former owner's throat.

He knew its design was probably for practical reasons; it made sense to keep it close to where you were forming the magic.

Still, it wasn't Cal's style.

"Understood, I'll keep it on hand." She tucked it away in one of her pockets.

The captain wasn't dressed like them. Instead, she wore a large brown leather coat over a beige pantsuit. The coat's color matched her skin tone, and she stood with her hands in her pockets, leveling a steady gaze in the direction the meeting was meant to be held.

"Are you sure you don't want more support going in?" Her face was rigid, making it difficult to read. "I don't mind participating myself."

The wind picked up for a moment, causing her copper-colored hair to whip around. She tilted her head in a way that none of it caught in her face.

Damnit.

Why did it feel like she looked cooler than him right now?

He layered that with an image from his memory. The one of a rookie puking her guts out while struggling to breathe on the inhospitable surface of one of the hells.

That made him feel better.

It also reminded him how useless she was back then.

"Don't worry about it." He stretched his arms behind his back, loosening them. It wasn't a necessary action, but it did help to psyche himself up for the coming encounter. "I can handle them just fine."

He hadn't even planned on going with others. That had changed when someone asked him the obvious question of how he was expecting to communicate if he wasn't allowed to talk.

It was a slight oversight. Apparently, the real guy was skilled enough in sound magic to project a voice when needed.

While Cal could, in his opinion, convincingly replicate the man's signature attack, he couldn't speak through magic alone.

Luckily, the guy also had a habit of carrying around helpers to translate for him.

"I got your back, boss." Cassey flashed him a thumbs up, taking a cue from him and beginning to stretch out her legs on the floor. "Or you got my back? I'll try to stay out of the way while you do your thing."

How considerate of her.

He actually did mean that, as it was the most he could expect. She was allegedly the best close-quarters combatant they had, but he'd handled her easily enough on their first meeting, so he didn't put much stock into that.

"If that's your decision," the captain said neutrally, her eyes still scanning the industrial zone of the city.

As far as shady deal locations went, it wasn't a poor choice. Located on the western edge of the city, it was a hub of activity during the day and silent as could be at night.

The buildings were uninspired rectangles, built for pragmatism over appearance. Most of it was for food processing purposes; the surrounding farmlands lacked the proper facilities, so they transported them to the city in bulk. From here they were stored temporarily until being shipped by rail all across the Empire. That knowledge proved he had been paying attention in his economics class.

"I suppose it's for the best." She went for the inside of her coat, retrieving her oversized revolver. "I wouldn't want to blow your cover."

Cal looked at her oddly.

Was this some sort of nervous tic, or did she actually think those puns were funny?

"Hey captain," Cassey rose to her full height, sending a lopsided smile toward the other agent. "You can get under my covers if…" She trailed off, tilting her head at the captain. "You usually don't let me finish."

"Given that you're about to come face-to-face with one of the most infamous figures on the continent, someone who should, by all rights, be dead." The captain's gaze remained fixed on a warehouse dozens of blocks away. "I'll allow it."

Cassey shrugged, completing a few kicks against an imaginary opponent.

"Beats a desk job," she said, her tone just the slightest bit more somber. "Besides, worst comes to worst; we got our own dead guy right over here."

Unfortunately for her, Cal had no plans on dying tonight.

"Doesn't stick too long either way," Cal idly commented, noticing a small flicker in the distance. "Chat's over, let's move."

They both straightened at his words.

"Got it, be seeing you cap." She offered a solid salute and then walked to the edge of the roof, standing by Cal. "Ready."

With that, he pushed off. He started off slow, going from one building to the next. Gradually, he upped the ante, watching his companion closely for any signs of struggle.

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She kept pace better than he thought she would, but gradually her magic started to slip out, making her movements clearer and clearer for anyone with the senses to tell.

He took it down a notch, settling on an acceptable pace.

It wasn't like he was in a rush after all.

They eventually stopped just across the street from the meetup.

The warehouse did not stand out from its peers, being just one of many two-story tall structures in the area. They were all tightly packed, with only a few feet separating one building from another.

Its walls were drab grey concrete, topped off with a roof made of wooden panels. There were no windows to speak of, and he could see hinges on one of the corners of the wall, indicating the entire thing could be opened outward for ease of access.

He stood there for a moment to double-check if anything unexpected was around. Nothing stood out and he dropped down to the street level, Cassey following close behind.

Turning the corner of the building, they went through the cramped alleyway to find a single side door.

Pushing it open, he wasn't met with the open area he'd been anticipating.

Pallets stacked high with bulging burlap sacks blocked his view. His sight traveled up, seeing that they were double his height. There was a heavy smell in the air, and it took him a second to realize why it was familiar.

They must have been storing flour here.

The lights overhead were illuminated, which meant that despite the layout, he was in the right place.

A frown came over him; he'd have to be careful not to knock anything over later.

Traveling forward, he found the pallets arranged in a way so that his path zigzagged a few times before leading to the center of the building.

Standing in the clearing that was about ten meters wide was a familiar silhouette.

"Oh dear," Miss Plusier commented with a hand held to her cheek. Her eyes roamed him intently. "You really should have come to me first."

Hadn't he already apologized about that? He would make sure the next time he decided to kill one of her buddies, a fyi was sent to her.

Cal tensed, feeling the hint of magic wafting out of her.

"Do hold still," she said, still giving him a critical stare.

The needles flashed out, and he was prepared to defend himself when he realized his normal alarm bells weren't ringing.

Steel sank into his cloak, and he tracked the various projectiles as they dipped in and out of it, missing him by the barest of margins.

"Just about..." she stuck her tongue out, lifting a thumb in his direction. "Done."

With that, threads were pulled tightly, and suddenly the cloak fit far more snugly.

Cal swung his arms outward experimentally. They weren't restricted in the slightest and it felt a lot better to move in.

"I thought you were screwing with me, but she really is a tailor," Cassey spoke, not seeming to be bothered by the revelation. "Also, that happened faster than I could blink. So if we fight against her, I'm super dead unless you do something."

Cal appreciated her blunt assessment of the situation. He probably should have made sure none of them were heading for her in the first place. It wasn't the first time he'd have to protect someone, but it wasn't an area he would claim to excel in.

"I've always been a tailor. My creative process simply requires a certain type of inspiration." Miss Plusier's head tilted just the slightest as if only now noticing Cassey was a person. "And you are?"

Faced against the assassin, Cassey didn't miss a beat.

"Interested, very interested." She walked up with remarkably little caution and stuck out a hand. "Name's Cassey."

Cal sincerely hoped that was a nickname formed off of her designation and not her actual name. He wasn't sure if he should give her props for being fearless in the face of danger or check her into a mental institute.

"What a bold little snake," Miss Plusier remarked, glancing at the hand but not making any moves to shake it. "However, I'm the type of spider who does not leave their partners intact afterward, and I wouldn't want to upset that friend of yours over there."

This was not a conversation he wanted any part in, but he felt some responsibility that his temporary underling did not meet her end here.

"I'm not going to even bring up the age gap; you do you in that case. But, and this stays between us, she's Mask's ex."

Olivia was the type of stickler who would report everything he said back. As for Cassey? She seemed more like a go-with-the-flow type of person.

"Again, dearie, we never labeled things as such."

Cal ignored the comment, waiting for Cassey's reply. The agent examined the assassin and then closed her eyes for a second. Her face twisted, her right cheek going high as she gave it some thought before relaxing again.

"I'm down for that."

Was this how a disappointed parent felt when their child decided to go with someone who would clearly be a bad influence?

"No, you're not." He laid down as clearly as possible. "Now get back over here or I'll tell Prodigy I found a new volunteer for testing."

It was an empty threat. There were few people he'd subject that to.

"So I can meet her?" Cassey asked all too innocently.

Cal suddenly thought the captain might have had ulterior motives in assigning her to translation duties.

He walked up, grabbed her by her shoulders, and lifted. Carrying her to a respectable distance away from the psycho, he placed her down and turned back to their mediator.

"What gives?" He switched topics for the sake of his sanity. "Shouldn't they be here already?"

They weren't in the vicinity as far as he could tell. The possibility that Miss Plusier was setting him up did cross his mind, but if that was the case, he could think of no better location in the city to fight her.

She gave a disapproving tut, shaking her head.

"My reputation is on the line, dearie. I had to make sure you didn't show up in a random rag and try to pass off as my late colleague."

That was oddly reasonable.

She wasn't done and continued.

"Speaking of which, should word of this little gathering spread, I have some old friends who might get the wrong idea. Our little group is loose about membership, but breaking the covenant sends a rude message. They may think your new ego has designs against them."

Cal had assumed they'd write him off as an imposter. He couldn't decide if their thinking otherwise was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, it would be more people out for his blood. On the other hand, it was an endorsement of his identity.

He decided it was a positive thing. As long as they didn't lock onto his fake Ardere identity, having a few more assassins after him didn't seem like a large burden.

"Technically speaking, as a representative of the Federation." He used that term loosely, as he still wasn't sure what his legal status was now that he was at majority. "I do have designs against them."

She hummed happily, playing with the ends of her patchwork robe.

"Do give me a call should you ever think of changing that up. I believe I can get quite the commission for signing you up."

Cal snorted. Even if there wasn't a Federation agent standing right next to him, he'd still say no.

"Flexible hours or not, I'm not joining a bunch of murder hobos."

His description didn't bother her, and she spun a needle in her hand.

"Many resemble that remark. Now our guests should be arriving soon. So I do hope you'll be on your best behavior."

He raised a brow at that, wondering what she was playing at.

"Cassey here is going to turn them down for me," the agent gave a wink that he tried to desperately ignore. "And then I'm going to beat them up a little."

His hand lashed out, catching a needle that had been hurled toward Cassey's throat. He made sure to sever the assassin's connection to it before flicking it back toward her.

It sank into a sack of flour behind her, the contents slowly trickling out onto the floor.

"I won't miss next time," he lied shamelessly. He'd been aiming for her center mass. "And they just entered my range. So be quick at explaining what that shit was."

He felt the two of them at the edge of his awareness.

"So they have," the woman mused, her head tilting in the direction they were coming. "Do understand, this meeting was set by yours truly. That means all participants will leave as they arrived."

Why was everyone so determined to prevent his very understandable attempts to instill important life lessons in the Empire's next generation?

He was just trying to do a public service.

Cal crossed his arms and leveled a glare at the woman, belatedly realizing that with the hood nothing would be conveyed.

With them getting closer, he would not risk speaking and so had to resort to more banal methods of communication.

He flicked her off.

"Yo boss. Is that supposed to mean something? That's not one of our signals."

Ancestors, he'd forgotten that wasn't a thing here. Somewhere in his head were the Federation signals, but he wasn't about to go digging for them now.

Letting it go for now, he held his arms loosely by his side and waited in silence.

Cassey got the message and made sure to step up beside him, pulling her hood and mask up.

It felt like an eternity before he heard the sound of a door being pushed open. Footsteps followed, and he counted them impatiently while trying to stop any twitching on his part.

"Yes, yes, do come in." Miss Plusier called with a genial wave. "Don't be shy!"

A brown boot was the first thing he spotted, with the wearer coming into view shortly after.

Alice.

The skirt was gone, replaced by bright red pants with implanted metal plates running up the front. Her blazer was still worn, but the usual dress shirt underneath had been replaced with a brown leather cuirass.

On her back was her great sword, Pyre.

She'd come ready for a fight. At least she wasn't a total idiot.

Lily was beside her, dressed completely differently than he'd ever seen her. She wore deep purple leggings with a pair of shorts on top. Above the waist, she sported what looked like a purple turtleneck. It seemed to catch the light reflected on it, and he realized it was woven out of some metal.

Over her heart, he could see the defaced symbol of her house.

Her clawed gauntlets were already deployed, adorned on her hands.

They stopped a distance from Miss Plusier, who curtseyed.

"Lady Ardere and Lady Arcutien, an honor as always."

Alice spoke first, standing slightly in front of Lily.

"Thank you for arranging this." She gave a deep nod. "The debt to Mother is paid in full. Now I'll have to ask you to please step aside."

Her magic flared with the declaration, making it visible to even those with poor senses.

Signatures lit up in the distance, one after another. He counted a dozen and rising, arranged in a ring around them.

They converged on their location, tightening their encirclement.

A single one stood out, and his head tilted up as a section of the wall was blasted apart, concrete being reduced to small bits of rubble.

From the cloud of dust, a figure descended, landing in their midst.

The man rose from a crouch. He appeared to be in his late twenties, with soft features. His light brown, almost blond hair cascaded down his shoulders. Brushing his hands over his shoulders, he cleaned some of the debris that had settled on his dark blue armor.

It was clearly the remains of some scaled beast, crafted into a full-body suit. Loops and hooks were attached seemingly at random to it, each one carrying a weapon of some sort.

Sat prominently on his chest was a golden finger pointed upwards.

"Apologies for the wall; I'll make sure my people fix it before our departure," he said, placing a hand on his chest and giving a slight bow before standing upright again. His eyes traveled over each of them, stopping at Cal. "Robert Credent, or Whistling Death as you're now known. For crimes against the Empire, I, The Myriad, hereby place you under arrest."

Cal struggled to process this development.

"No." Lily's sharp voice cut through the warehouse. "You don't arrest the violent mass murderer, especially not the one who recently killed a student. Just start stabbing him already."

She waved a dismissive hand in Cal's direction.

Oh.

This wasn't a meeting to discuss dealing with Anne.

Cal had fallen a step behind, and he was currently being framed.

Mission accomplished?