I first stopped by a local spot hidden down the stairs of a back alley, perhaps nine blocks from where I lived. It wasn’t a short walk, though I cut the distance by taking the fastest route: hop on a carriage passing by the main trade route streets, then hop off and weave down the back rows until I arrived. I did this almost every time just to keep an eye on anyone following me—and I never got off at the same stop twice.

The food was cheap but delicious. A couple of years back, the owner had hired me to investigate an employee who had died outside his business. Since then, he had rewarded me with food whenever I came by, along with a few lame jokes about me meeting his daughter, as I was always the polite young man. I always declined—who could risk ruining a relationship that brought free food?

That didn’t stop the owner from asking, though.
“Back room is open for you… you know the deal.” He handed me a tray of well-smelling food. It had taken me over a year to get him to accept money for using the back room for meetings. It wasn’t that the owner cared about whether the meetings were shady or not; he was just too kind to charge.

A casual café—a place most overlooked as merely a meeting spot—became my usual meeting ground with clients. That isn’t to say other businesses within the massive city walls didn’t arrange meetings like mine; it was just an unwritten rule not to search too hard if you know what I mean.

Not long after I arrived, ate, and downed a jug of water, a man in a cloak appeared at the front door. Stepping through, he was hunched and moved with a light, deliberate step. The owner “overlooked” his arrival, dismissing the sound of the door jingling as it swung open to the back.

The cloaked man made his way down a small hallway. Glancing briefly to the side, he entered a room where I was lounging with my feet up on a table, a smoke in hand. His face was scarred, as if by a large animal; yet it wasn’t just the scars that made him dangerous—it was the way he grasped the door handle and slowly closed it behind him, all the while keeping a steady, watchful eye on me. As soon as the door shut, the cloak—and the dim light of the hallway—caused his form to blend into the darkness.

“So… what did you find out?” His hoarse voice was low enough for me to hear.

I replied, “The old man you’re looking for must have come from the far regions—maybe the City of Magics, one with a loose gate that could transplant him near enough to the city. There were no marks indicating that anyone was paid to smuggle him into the city, whether above or below ground. No sightings of strange powers or a peculiar item on a man…” I pulled a slip of paper from my chest and added, “…over the age of 85.”

“I heard there was a strange occurrence,” he said, his hoarse voice lingering as if he’d moved closer, though the shadows made it hard to tell.

“I was getting to that,” I continued. “A person was burned alive in the streets—no bystander, from what I could tell, even knew where the body came from. Two inquisitors arrived just as smoke and flames engulfed a human figure in tattered clothing. It was too coincidental; I don’t know if it’s related to something else…” I kept silent about the old man I’d encountered—especially since he’d given me the book, which had vanished from my hand.

I wasn’t about to say, “I met this old man, he gave me a book, and it disappeared.” That might be the truth, but it would be the stupidest thing to mention—especially since this client was looking for an old person with a peculiar object.

He then asked, “What else?”

I replied, “I found traces of someone entering the sewers. Some of the underground has ways to detect such movements, yet they never identified who it was. From the site of the burning body, it was within 0.6 kilometers of all the sewer entrances I have on record. I’ll check for any prepaid residences nearby and determine how close they are to those access points. That’s my next step—along with venturing into the sewers to investigate the routes that might converge.”

“I see… here is the money.” From the shadows, a glint caught my eye. I had to stop myself from instinctively reaching under my jacket. Thankfully, it was just an ornate ring. A stack of bills landed on the table next to where my hand hovered over an ashtray, and I sighed inwardly.

“Wait…” I stopped him just as he began to turn toward the door’s knob.

He turned, and in the sliver of light, I could see his scarred, questioning face.
“…What about the old man you’re looking for? If I knew what to search for—magical equipment, something that resonates, even a color would help. Spell residue? Circles? You never even told me his name—just his age and a ‘peculiar object’?”

I knew I was pushing it, but I needed the details.
“That doesn’t matter… don’t ask more than you need to know.” His eyes darted to the door as he inspected it. “It won’t be worth it… soon it won’t even matter…” His tone was conflicted, even sad. That perplexed me, so I slowly lowered my hand and sank deeper into my chair.

“Alright…I’ll get back to you as soon as I uncover anything,” I said with a shrug, though inwardly I was annoyed and even more curious.

“Good.” The man pulled his hood up further, turned, and then vanished as quickly as he had come.

I stubbed out my cigarette, stood up, and stretched before leaving the room. There was no point in sitting around and mulling over things when the answers were out there.

Halfway to the front door, the owner called out, “Wait! My daughter finally arrived! Come on in—after all this time, aren’t you going to at least MEET her? Come on!” He smiled sincerely. I couldn’t help but loosen my grip on the doorknob. To the owner, I was a smart and capable man—and by my own standards, I was—but I had always been alone.

Like many other parents, he just wanted his child to have a companion, whether successful or not; he knew I had connections in the right places.

With a deep sigh, I nodded, lit another cigarette, and walked over to a table to settle into one of the two comfortable chairs. The windows, all at ground level, framed the table I now occupied. Smoke drifted from my hand up through a crack, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh scent of rain.

There was something indescribable about that smell. While many might hate the stench of the city, to me the rain was like a caring friend who kept the foul odors at bay in the lower parts of town.

The owner soon brought over some coffee, rich with the aroma of beans—it was, in fact, a kind of magical brew. You see, while mages in the city were branded as heretics, magical engineers and alchemists were revered for their knowledge. The irony wasn’t lost on those in the trade.

Unlike regular coffee, this brew subtly energized you without leaving you fidgety or tired later.

“Thank you… you do too much for me,” I said as he walked away. The owner waved at the door—and that’s when I noticed a girl enter. She shook her body vigorously over a drain to rid herself of the water, then hung up her rain jacket and umbrella. I spat my coffee onto the table, tossed my cigarette pack straight out the window, and quickly used my sleeve to wipe the table clean and tidy my hair.

Right as she turned, I resumed sipping my coffee. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the owner’s mouth hanging open. I looked up at her—a gorgeous face, with a smile that radiated warmth. She was a bombshell, dressed in a striking mix of gothic black and crisp white.

As she smiled, she stepped aside to reveal a body mirror that pointed directly at me.

“Shit… forgot that was there…” I muttered under my breath.

She walked over, snatched a cigarette from my pack, lit it, and then casually kicked her feet up on the table. “Nice to finally meet you… I bet you always get told about this young boy who comes in and is so nice and smart?”

“Well, he doesn’t always try to set me up with men, no… today he mentioned you, and I thought maybe he was finally coming around to the idea of who I’m into.” I smirked, and she let out an honest, sincere laugh.

“Seems we have some catching up to do,” she said, blowing out a ring of smoke.

She smoked too. My gods, and she didn’t even mind that it was vanilla.

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I woke up the next morning, my arm long numb from having supported my head throughout the night. I didn’t mind the numbness—quite the contrary, as the tingles had finally kicked in.

“Why didn’t I take up that old man’s offer sooner… she’s amazing,” I berated myself the moment I awoke.

Alexandra—though she preferred to be called Lexie—was a beautiful name for a gorgeous girl.
“He could have shown me a photo at least… are we moving too fast?” I sighed with a light laugh as Lexie turned over, looking at me with deep brown eyes. Although her bare skin couldn’t be felt on my still-numb arm, her chest pressed gently against my side.

“What are you up to today?” she asked in a lightly sarcastic tone, tinged with jovial fervor.

“Well…I have to wander around the city’s shitholes. I’ve got a lead for a client,” I replied vaguely. She already knew most of what I did from her dad.

“Sounds pretty shitty,” she smiled, then got up and pulled the blanket around her. I shivered involuntarily but let out a sigh as the fresh, rain-laden breeze filled the room when she cracked the window. Standing there, she gazed out at the neon illusion signs lighting up the city. A soft glow illuminated the wall beside her as she exhaled a plume of smoke, catching the starlight of the urban night.

“Is this like the story of my dad? So sudden… will it end tragically?” I had a million thoughts racing through my mind—being young does that. But I didn’t care about a potential bad ending; right now, the present was what mattered, not possibilities that might never materialize.

My eyes traced her like a beautiful painting, and with the atmosphere setting the perfect scene, I soon lost track of my earlier thoughts. Slowly, I pushed myself to stand, shuffled over, and grabbed two of the only cups I had. Lexie turned, watching as I awkwardly danced around the kitchen while the coffee machine whirred and coffee grounds flew about. After a while, that same cheerful alarm sounded, and I poured two cups.

“Do you like creamer?” I asked. I’d never been one to buy such a thing—a sugary concoction that outlasted the rare non-shit oat or almond milk I’d heard about in passing. It was the latest fad, with the label boasting that it “make whatever you drank taste better and less bitter.”

“Yeah, sure. What flavor?” She casually tossed her cigarette out the window and walked over to the table, completely unbothered by leaving her blanket behind. The confidence she exuded had me sweating, though I couldn’t quite explain why.

“Vanilla…I’m kind of addicted to its flavor. When I can, I even lace my smokes with it, as you’ve probably noticed… weird, right?”

“Wanna know something funny? I’m the same with caramel,” she replied as she took the creamer bottle from my hand and poured it into our cups before we took our first sips.

“Come find me at my dad’s business—I’m going to be working there from now on. I quit my last job,” she announced.

With a nod, she got dressed and left just like that.

I took a deep breath, a grin spreading across my face—a grin I’d never felt before. With a light skip in my step, I headed over to a tiny closet, quickly got dressed, and briskly left for the nearest smoke shop.

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Several minutes down the street was the vendor I always bought from—a potbellied man with a horrible laugh. Ever since I started smoking at 16, he had more than once let me sleep on the floor of his shop after I left the orphanage, arriving soaking wet under his overhang. Not a classy guy by any means, but few people were as kind in their own odd ways as Lexie’s father.

“I’ll buy all the vanilla-laced stuff you got,” I said simply as I spread out a fan of notes on his counter.

“Seems you got paid recently, huh? You know, if you saved for your future…” he said with a sarcastic sigh. Then he reached around and under his counter to pull out several packs of ‘Vanillgirettes’—my favorite brand. “I only stock these because of you, you know. Clover is far more common.”

“…and far more harsh,” I remarked, grabbing the packs, several high grade protein bars, and a wrapped bread loaf, skipping out of the store with that same damned smile I’d worn since leaving my apartment.

Under the overhang, I took a deep breath of the rain before pulling up my collar and lighting a cigarette. People passed by on the street—some walking briskly, others nonchalantly—as the rain poured down.

“Get your umbrellas! Cheap prices!”
“Cheap meats! Mystery meat special!”
“Need a good time? My girls and guys will give you the relaxation you need! Come one—come as often as you can pay!”

The last shout from a vendor almost made me laugh, but then I heard a nearby huddled group discussing something that made the frown on my face vanish in an instant.

“Did you hear? The fog rolled in from the north this time… they say three people disappeared! One of them was a homeless man that everyone in the area knew and helped out from time to time. He wasn’t some nut either… the first time it was only one person, and most assumed it was just another murder like the regular business around the lower regions beneath the ‘scrapes.’”

“Scrapes” was the casual term people used for the ground-level area of the city, as opposed to the skyscrapers that soared into the clouds.

The tallest buildings were supposedly hundreds of stories tall. The “ground region” comprised the area from street level up to roughly the tenth floor of most buildings, where the middle to inner parts of the city were found. This middle region—often called the “Meridian”—was a cascade of neon signs, walkways, and platforms stretching between levels, effectively creating a second city in the sky. However, beyond that, only a few scrapes were interconnected by walkways—typically those in cahoots or with villas built to overlook the sky.

The rich, the powerful, and the people who never looked down all resided above.

Not many buildings were directly connected; most managed their own internal infrastructure. Still, the Meridian was a playground for both the ground region and the high region. I lived nine stories up, just below the lowest sections of the mid-region. I kept it that way—well, rather, I got such a good deal on the spot that I couldn’t afford to live any higher, even if I wanted to.

People fought and died to move up the levels; I was just lucky that the previous tenant died and let me move in.

“Fog… people being kidnapped, or is it merely coincidence?” I approached the murmuring group. “I’m an investigator looking into one of the deaths. What kind of fog is this? We have fog all the time, especially at ground level.”

A thin, bean-like man from the group leaned in, glancing around before whispering, “It isn’t normal fog… I hear it’s slightly darker, almost like storm clouds, and it’s colder too!”

“I see… thank you,” I replied.

I mulled it over for a while before leaving the group and heading toward the nearest entrance to the underground—the sewers—a refuge for many. The sewers served as merchant travel routes for the black market, for drug addicts, the homeless, you name it; every city had one but not on the scale of the Abyss. I peered into the darkness through inch-thick bars and a gate as tall as myself.

“Damn…” I muttered as I covered my mouth and lifted the gate.

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