"It happened during my third patrol with Danial Dredge," Malvin began, his voice steady but his eyes distant, preparing himself to recount the memory. "We were in the Cogsworth Market district, while Silas and Archie Willow were stationed in the Steamworks District at the time." He took a measured breath, as if to brace himself. "It was around four o'clock when Danial and I decided to take a break..."
---
"All clear," Danial announced, snapping his notebook shut with a sharp motion. His handwriting dotted the last few lines of the page, neat and precise. "The sentinels presence seems to have made criminals think twice about trying to do anything," he added, slipping the notebook into the inner pocket of his coat with practiced efficiency. He glanced at Malvin, who stood leaning against a stone wall with his arms folded, his gaze locked on the road ahead.
"Sure looks like it," Malvin muttered, his tone indifferent but his eyes scanning for any hint of trouble.
Danial mirrored him, his hands disappearing into the deep pockets of his coat as he joined in watching the street. They stood in a silence that felt more like a mutual agreement than an awkward gap, their dynamic as partners firmly established. Unlike Silas, Danial Dredge wasn't much for conversation. He was stoic, efficient, and relentlessly focused on his duty. At first, Malvin thought he'd appreciate the quiet professionalism, a stark contrast to Silas's constant chatter. But now, three patrols in, he found himself yearning for that annoying voice, the way Silas's unending commentary broke the monotony of long hours.
Malvin tapped his fingers idly against his arm, his thoughts wandering. *I hate that I miss hearing you talk,* he admitted silently. At least Silas kept things interesting. With Danial, their work felt mechanical—patrol the area, respond to crimes, assist civilians, repeat. It was efficient but exhausting in its monotony. Malvin let out a low sigh, barely audible over the hum of the market.
Danial noticed. His sharp eyes flicked toward his partner. "Feeling tired?" he asked, his voice flat but tinged with mild curiosity.
Malvin waved him off with a dismissive hand. "No, just a sigh. That's all."
Danial tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanging. "If you're tired, you should consider some caffeine. We need to stay on high alert."
Malvin rolled his eyes, finally turning to face him. "I told you, I'm not—"
"Malvin!"
The sharp, breathless voice cut him off mid-sentence. He froze, his eyes widening in shock as he whipped around to see the source.
Running toward him, gasping for air, was Noemi—his little sister. Her face was flushed, and she clutched her side as though she'd been sprinting for miles. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, and she looked moments away from collapsing.
Trailing just behind her was an equally disheveled Archie Willow, his Guard uniform scuffed and out of place. He stumbled to a halt next to her, bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
---
"You see, for their safety, I always let my family know where I'm assigned before I leave in the mornings," Malvin explained, his voice heavy with resignation. "I never thought it would come in handy... or more accurately I just hoped it wouldn't..."
---
"What the hell are you two doing here?" Malvin demanded, stepping forward, his sharp tone masking the spike of worry in his chest. "And what happened? Why are you together?" His eyes flicked between his sister and Archie, searching for answers.
Danial stepped up beside him, his posture tense as he scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger.
"And if you're here," Malvin continued, his gaze now fixed on Archie, "where's Silas?" His voice carried an edge of urgency, the unspoken worry laced beneath his words.
Noemi and Archie straightened up, still catching their breath as they opened their mouths to speak.
As the words spilled from their mouths, Malvin's eyes widened, his chest tightening with dread. Without warning, he seized Archie by the shoulders, his grip ironclad, and demanded, "Where!? Tell me now!" His voice was sharp, desperate, as he shook the officer with a force that startled everyone present.
"It—it was an abandoned sawmill in the slums!" Archie stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of Malvin's urgency.
The moment the words left Archie's lips, Malvin shoved him back, pivoting on his heel without a second thought. He broke into a dead sprint, his boots pounding against the snow covered cobblestone as he darted down the road.
"Stop! You'll get killed!" Noemi screamed, her voice laced with panic as she watched her brother disappear into the distance.
Danial made a quick move as if to follow, but then froze, his mind racing. A better plan formed in an instant. He turned sharply to Archie. "Come with me. We need to gather some sentinels—now." His tone was calm but commanding, his eyes leaving no room for argument.
Then, he faced Noemi, his gaze steady but urgent. "You. Get to the Ironguard Station as fast as you can. Tell them everything that happened. Understood?"
Noemi hesitated, torn between worry and practicality. Her eyes darted toward where her brother had vanished, but she nodded, her voice trembling. "Okay! Just—just go help him! Please!"
Without another word, she turned and bolted toward the station, her heart pounding in her chest. Danial nodded to Archie, and the two of them hurried off, their strides purposeful as they moved to gather reinforcements.
Meanwhile, Malvin's lungs burned as he sprinted through the streets, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes darted wildly, searching for an alley or path that would lead him into the slums. He begged and hoped for Silas to still be alive.
---
Silas dropped to one knee, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep himself upright. His breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts, and every muscle in his body screamed for mercy. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, dripping down his temple and mixing with the sweat on his face. He planted one trembling hand on the ground, trying to force himself up, but his body wouldn't respond.
"Looks like this is it," Silas muttered through gritted teeth, his voice a mix of exhaustion and grim acceptance. His gaze lifted to Philip Crude, who stood over him like a predator savoring the final moment before the kill.
Philip wiped a smear of blood from his nose with a smug grin. "You put up a good fight," he said, his voice casual, as though they were discussing the weather. He chuckled darkly, flexing the claws of his right hand. "But it's time to die."
Silas's lips curled into a weak, defiant grin. His teeth were stained red, and his vision blurred, but he forced himself to meet Philip's gaze. "Yeah," he murmured as the claw came down, his voice tinged with resignation. "It really is."