[Jevan's Perspective]
Two days passed, and Raven was still sunk in his sleep or coma or whatever state his body decided to enter. Stranger still? No one had broken into the apartment yet. I was starting to think he had been exaggerating. Maybe all that dramatic show he put on for me in that burning warehouse had just been an act.
But he didn't look like he was acting. He truly wanted to die there. He was ready to burn rather than fall into their hands. And that's what scared me. What kind of horrific things would they do to us whoever they were that made him prefer death by fire to being captured alive?
Iris was the one who told me the truth well, part of it after I pestered her with questions for ten hours straight. That merchant Raven faced? He was part of the Guardians gang. And when she said that, I asked her with a dumb look on my face: "Who are the Guardians?"
She told me they're the filthiest and most dangerous gang in the Lower District. As for the children in that warehouse they were going to be shipped to them. I wasn't sure exactly why they needed them, but I was certain of one thing: it had nothing to do with factories or farms.
And while I did manage to save them, there was one small problem. The number of children I found didn't exceed three. Just three… out of the dozens I saw the first time.
Where did the rest go? Were they moved? Delivered before we arrived? And what was that strange power Raven displayed? I planned to ask him the moment he opened his eyes but his sleep dragged on. Even so, the features of his face were slowly regaining their color. I glanced at his arm torn apart yesterday, yet now only a faint, barely visible line remained.
That caught my curiosity.
Was he like me? Possessing rapid healing abilities? But the difference was clear. I recovered in minutes he took days. I sat on the edge of the chair, silently watching him. Fortunately, it seemed he wouldn't need a hospital.
If I had taken him to a hospital, he'd probably be on his way to the grave by now.
...
I left Raven's room, closing the door behind me, and walked toward the kitchen for a glass of water. On the way, I caught sight of Iris speaking to the three children in the corner. I had asked her earlier to help me smuggle them out. My options were limited in truth, I only had two:
Leave them to their fate and move on my way… or commit a heroic act of stupidity.
I chose the second. Heroic stupidity it is. Saving them from the burning warehouse meant nothing if they'd just end up in the hands of the same monsters later. Better for everyone to think they'd died in the fire.
But Raven as always. liked to ruin my peace. Before drifting into his eternal sleep, he told me they had their own ways of finding the truth. Great. Of course they did. It wasn't enough that they were criminals they had to be criminals with supernatural investigative skills.
I sighed, running my hand over my tired face, then continued to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass of water from the table and stood for a moment, staring at my reflection on its surface. A face that had grown familiar but didn't belong to me a face I didn't belong to.
"I didn't know you enjoyed playing the hero."
Iris's voice came from behind me. I didn't turn. I just took a sip of water and said without looking at her:
"I did what I thought was right, nothing more."
"Right? 'Right' is the shortest road to destruction."
"So far, no one's found out anything."
"But they will. The Guardians started their investigations two days ago."
"The warehouse burned down completely."
"Not completely."
"Then you'd better get the kids out of here. Fast."
"Didn't know you cared about them more than yourself."
Care about them more than myself? Who said that?! I need them gone before they get caught and interrogated and when that happens, any hope I have of staying alive will vanish. I muttered inwardly before saying:
"Really? This coming from the gang girl who found an unconscious stranger in an abandoned building and decided to save him?"
"Helping you didn't cost me anything. I didn't risk anything then."
"But you'll be risking a lot now, hiding the kids."
"I know."
She didn't move after that just stood there, her shoulder against the wall, eyes refusing to meet mine. I pulled a chair and sat by the table, set the empty glass in front of me, and said:
"Anyway, do you know a cheap hospital, one not monitored by the gangs?"
"He'll heal on his own."
"I know you hate him, and honestly, I don't blame you. But we can't just sit here watching him die slowly."
"As long as he's breathing, he'll heal on his own."
***
Edward Graves, the inspector assigned by the Public Investigations Bureau, stood firmly before the burned out building deep in the Lower District. He studied the charred façade. Beside him stood Lionel Gray a young man who had only been in the field for a few weeks holding a small leather notebook.
"Inspector, is this the site where you detected traces of Authority power?"
Graves nodded without taking his eyes off the building.
"Yes."
At the entrance, a group of men stood. Tattoos covered their arms, all bearing the same mark: a black snake coiled around the forearm, its fangs pointing upward. The largest of them stepped forward, blocking the way with his body. He spoke with a tone dripping with insolence and mockery:
"What are you doing here?"
Lionel started to respond opening his mouth quickly but the inspector raised his hand silently without looking at him. Lionel stopped. Graves then took a silver pocket watch from his coat pocket, dangling from a short chain, and opened it calmly.
The moment the men saw it, their expressions changed instantly. Faces that had been full of disdain turned into ones full of fear. One swallowed hard, another stepped back, and then they all scattered, running into the alleys without a word.
Graves slipped the watch back into his pocket and said:
"This is an official procedure from the Public Investigations Bureau. Any interference from you will be considered obstruction of an official operation."
He didn't need to finish by the time the words left his mouth, they had already vanished.
Graves advanced toward the ruins of the building, followed by his assistant Lionel Gray, the young man in his late twenties moving with both hesitation and curiosity.
"Sir," Lionel said, trying to match his stride, "aren't we going to question them?"
Graves replied dryly:
"They don't know anything. And even if they did, they wouldn't talk."
"We could use force."
"Force? Let me give you one piece of advice you can't solve everything with force. Especially in the Lower District."
Inside the burned out building, Graves moved slowly among the debris while smoke curled from the cracks in the scorched beams. The floor was covered in ash, the ceiling on the verge of collapse but he pressed on.
His eyes scanned the place. Metal cages were scattered everywhere, some still containing charred remains. All around the warehouse lay the burned bodies of small children.
Lionel shouted:
"My God… these… these are children's bodies."
Graves muttered:
"Slave traders."
Lionel looked at him as if the word slaves had come straight out of some forgotten history book:
"But wasn't slavery abolished seventy years ago? With the Third Reform Decree?"
Graves answered without looking at him:
"On paper? Yes. But no one cares what happens in the Lower District."
He stayed silent for a moment, then said:
"Give me that tool."
Lionel rummaged through his bag.
"You mean the Heart of Darkness?"
"Yes."
Lionel pulled out a small artifact, palm sized, shaped like black crystal framed in intricate brass engraved with tiny symbols. He handed it to the inspector.
Graves held the artifact and lifted it to his chest. The moment his fingers touched its surface, shadows gathered from the corners of the building, swirling into a series of images.
The first: a tall man with messy black hair and brown eyes, fighting a burning beast with a sword of water.
The second: another man, with brown hair and crimson eyes his features blurred breaking one of the cages and freeing three children. He then carried them on his back and ran outside.
The third: the black haired man stood facing another figure. That figure stepped forward, revealing a face half ruined by a deep scar running from brow to jaw. His hair was wild, his skin pale as if it hadn't seen the sun in centuries.
The moment Graves saw him, he muttered through his teeth:
"Valentine Crow…"
And as soon as he said the name, the shadows dissolved, and the vision vanished.