LXVIII

Rumas City. 9:00 AM.

The small café bustled with the sound of morning chatter and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. I sat in a corner booth, blending into the background with my borrowed disguise. Selena’s attribute worked wonders; I had adopted a hipster look—fake dreadlocks, round glasses, and a scruffy beard. It was a bit over the top, but that was the point. Nobody looked twice at a hipster in a café.

Across from me sat Bob, similarly disguised but in a much subtler way. He had hair now, neatly combed, and looked surprisingly well-dressed for someone I last saw missing an arm and looking like he had crawled out of a warzone. I imagined the prosthetic was hidden under his tailored jacket.

“So, what did you find?” I asked, stirring my coffee.

Bob smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Plenty enough.”

I gestured for him to continue. “Lay it on me.”

Bob sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I followed your advice, and you were right. He talked rather than fought, just like you predicted. Honestly, it made me feel like all my maneuvering was useless. Hell, losing my arm might have been for nothing.” He paused, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice. “I never knew you’d make such an excellent consultant. Why don’t you join the Association? We could use someone like you. I’ll even throw in a signing bonus.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Tempting, but no thanks. So, did you get anything useful?”

Bob nodded, his expression serious now. “He didn’t outright say it, but he slipped—mentioned that you’re a blindspot to him. Of course, he said it in a euphemistic way…”

I froze for a moment, then smiled. I knew it. I had my suspicions all along. Sebastian’s counterattack had been too excessive, too reckless. It was like he was overcompensating for something. If I were him, I’d have used the bare minimum of resources to take me down, Ascended or not. And I was not.

Bob continued, “You explained the nature of his ability to me—precognition, wasn’t it?”

“Unreasonable, isn’t it?” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

“And, like you said, it has its limitations.” Bob leaned forward, his voice dropping. “You told me if I tried to hunt him for my own benefit, I’d fail. Instead, I should arrange things so we’d both walk away with something. It was good advice. It worked.”

I set my cup down and met his gaze. “And now, it’s time you pay my price.”

Bob sighed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t make it easy, do you?”

“Never,” I replied. “You got what you wanted. Now it’s my turn.”

He pulled out a slim folder from his jacket and slid it across the table. “Everything I could gather. His plans, his movements, his weaknesses—or at least what I could piece together. I used all my resources available to me. I didn’t hold back. You were right about the church. He’s moving fast to rebrand the Elsewhere Cult into something more… palatable for the mundanes. He’s already lobbying for support within the government. I confirmed it with my second-hand sources.”

I flipped through the folder, scanning the pages. Diagrams, intercepted communications, photos—Bob had done well.

“And what else?” I asked, forgetting to hold back my hostility..

Bob leaned back in his chair, his prosthetic arm resting on the table, the fingers tapping lightly against the surface. He took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “Calm down a bit, okay? I will talk. Information, isn’t it? Yep, that was the deal. That was your price. Don’t worry, Reynard. Atropos told me enough, and I’d hate to piss her off more than I already have.”

I didn’t reply, letting him talk.

“The most important confirmation you wanted was whether you’re a blindspot to Sebastian’s precognition.” He paused for effect, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s a positive. You are.”

I nodded slowly.

That much was clear.

Bob continued, “The fact that we’re sitting here talking now proves it. If Sebastian had foreseen this meeting, he’d have done everything in his power to avoid it. He wouldn’t risk it.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What else? Ah, he has too little aura—like you. If that helps.”

I raised an eyebrow. That was new.

“There isn’t much else I managed to pry out,” Bob admitted, “but it’s enough to get you started. For example, he doesn’t react to killing intent. Weird, right? But I believe he can foresee physical or visual harm. Get what I mean?”

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I did. It was a subtle but crucial distinction.

“It is difficult to explain,” Bob went on, “He might have no actionable defenses—or very weak resistance—to mental powers. That’s something I deduced by observing one of his bodyguards. A mentalist, I’m sure of it. Probably there to shield him from psychic attacks. But here’s the kicker: assassination against someone like Sebastian is nearly impossible as long as he can see it coming.”

“Even a specialized assassin wouldn’t stand a chance?” I asked.

Bob shook his head. “Nope. Even arranging things from behind the scenes would probably be futile if you don’t have the right pieces. And by pieces, I mean Blindspots.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Even if you’re a Blindspot yourself and risk everything, I don’t see you succeeding in taking him out. For you to remain a Blindspot, you’d need to act alone—or with a group of other Blindspots. And that sucks.”

Because no way in hell there would be a handful of blindspots around there. I grimaced. That was exactly why I’d considered involving an Ascended in the first place.

Bob must have read my expression because he chuckled. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? Why you wanted an Ascended to do it. They’re strong enough to pull it off and, more importantly, they’re natural Blindspots.”

I nodded again, sipping my coffee as I mulled over the information. Bob had given me more than I expected.

“You’ve earned your price,” I said finally.

Bob grinned. “Damn right I have. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my other arm intact. Deal with this Prophet problem whatever you like, but don’t get in my way, okay?”

I watched as he stood, adjusted his coat, and left the café.

Bob had been surprisingly amiable during our meeting. I couldn’t quite decide if I liked it or not. There was a shift in his demeanor—a subtle acknowledgment that we were equals now. Or at least, that’s how he seemed to see it.

In terms of raw power, I knew I couldn’t contend with someone like Bob or Loki. Even Selena was a force I couldn’t match in a life or death fight. Maybe it was because they were all "named characters" in the novel, and I’d written them with the kind of overwhelming presence that made others seem insignificant. I wasn’t immune to my own biases, it seemed.

Leora was different. She didn’t exactly exist in the novel except as a vague, motherly figure I’d dropped in favor of focusing on the protagonist’s journey. Perhaps that’s why I felt comfortable around her—she wasn’t a threat, narratively or otherwise.

As I walked out of the café’s back entrance, I laughed to myself, the sound dry and self-deprecating. “You really wrote yourself into a corner, didn’t you?”

I changed my disguise in the alley, swapping the hipster look for that of a pizza delivery boy. It wasn’t much, just a red cap, a uniform shirt, and a helmet to cover my face. I hopped on a motorcycle, made a few deliveries to fake my trail, and finally returned to one of Leora’s safehouses.

The place was an abandoned internet café tucked into a forgotten corner of Rumas. The neon sign above the door flickered weakly, spelling out something illegible. Inside, Selena was waiting, sprawled across a desk littered with papers and fake IDs.

“Yo~ Took you long enough!” she called out, waving a laminated card in the air. “I’ve finished preparing the fake identifications!”

“Thanks, Selena,” I said, letting out a tired sigh.

Leora was seated nearby, holding baby Leon. When she saw me, she rose to her feet and handed him over. “I’ll handle Stefan’s funeral,” she said, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of grief.

Selena reached into her utility belt and pulled out a small, shrunk casket. With a quick motion, she unshrunk it, the object expanding into its full size.

Leora hefted it onto her shoulder with ease, as though it weighed nothing. “I owe Stefan a lot… This is the least I can do for him.”

I adjusted Leon in my arms, watching her carefully. “Stay safe out there,” I said.

She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Copy that.”

Selena stared at me, her eyebrows raised. “Sooo… I’m Leon’s godmother now?”

“Yep,” I replied, sipping my coffee. It was my third coffee for today.

“What do godmothers even do?”

I leaned back in my chair, trying to sound casual. “Just think of yourself as a very special auntie who’d be responsible for baby Leon if his parents, you know… died.”

Selena grimaced. “Kind of dark…”

“But I’m not dark,” I said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

“Just trolling you.”

Leon, who was busy on the floor with a toy, decided to contribute to the conversation. “Goobagooba~!”

Selena tilted her head, her expression dubious. “I don’t know why, but I feel worried for your son. Why does he always make weird baby noises?”

I shrugged. “I guess… he’s adventurous?”

Selena gave me a flat look, clearly unimpressed with my excuse.

Changing the subject, she leaned forward. “Let’s talk about your precog. Did I become Leon’s godmother in your visions?”

“Correction,” I said, holding up a finger. “Vision. Singular. I only saw one future, and I desperately hope it isn’t absolute.”

Selena crossed her arms, her curiosity undeterred. “So how did I turn out?”

I hesitated, recalling the novel this world was based on—Hunterworks. Faking my meta-knowledge as a byproduct of precognition was a risky move, but it seemed to work so far.

“The future you is a really badass girl,” I said cautiously. “Do you really want me to spoil it?”

“Shoot. If you’re so uncomfortable, just tell me if I became Leon’s godmommy.”

“Nope, you didn’t,” I admitted. “Instead, it was Atropos.”

Selena blinked. “Dope… and yuck. Atropos? Nope! I will have the honor of becoming Leon’s goddess-mommy.”

“It’s godmother,” I corrected.

“It’s sexy goddess-mama-mia-Selena,” she said with a flourish.

Leon chose that moment to make his debut in the conversation. “MILF! MILF!”

I choked on my coffee, sputtering. “What—?”

Selena’s jaw dropped as she stared at Leon.

Turning to my son, I noticed his tiny fingers pointing at a bottle of milk sitting on the table.

I sighed in relief, though my dignity felt slightly bruised. “He’s saying milk! He wants his bottle!”

Selena still looked dumbfounded. “Are you sure that’s a two-year-old? I think a naughty, delinquent middle-aged guy is trapped inside that kid’s body.”

Leon giggled, blissfully unaware of the chaos he had just caused.

“Leon,” I muttered, handing him the bottle. “Let’s work on saying ‘daddy’ or ‘mama’ next, okay? Preferably something less likely to get me in trouble.”

Selena burst into laughter. “This kid is going places, Reynard. You’d better buckle up.”

I sighed, watching Leon sip his milk, his innocent eyes sparkling. Life with him was going to be anything but dull.

~068