If life gives you oranges, make sure they're not lemons in disguise.
Oranges
As I opened the door and stepped into the familiar warmth of home, the scent of old paper and ink immediately hit me. The living room was a mess—a sea of books, scattered papers, and half-empty cups of tea littered every available surface. In the middle of it all sat Rolo, legs crossed on the floor, surrounded by a fortress of tomes, his focus glued to a particular page.
"There's a bounty on your head," he muttered, not even bothering to look up from his book as if he was mentioning the weather.
I froze mid-step, my hand still on the door. "A bounty?" I echoed, closing the door behind me.
Rolo finally glanced up, his expression one of mild exasperation, as if he couldn't believe I didn't already know. "Yeah, quite a bit, actually. Apparently, you're worth more dead than alive these days."
"Great," I muttered, dropping my coat on a nearby chair and stepping over a pile of books to sit across from him. I sighed. "Just what I needed."
Rolo stretched, finally putting the book down. "On the bright side, it means you're important. Not everyone gets a price on their head this high."
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help but smile. "You always know how to make me feel better, Rolo."
He shrugged, that carefree grin never leaving his face. "Just doing my part. Now, what are you gonna do about it?"
Instead of answering, I pulled out my phone, scrolling to Ruben's contact and firing off a quick message:
[Who's gunning for me now?]
Rolo raised an eyebrow at the lack of a response, then rolled his eyes and returned to his book, flipping through it. The moment of silence was short-lived as my phone buzzed in my hand.
Fat Rat: [Who's not? Ugh, do you have any idea how hard it is to track this stuff down? I've been busting my ass all week with no sleep, and now this? You need something else? Can't a guy get a break?]
I stared at the screen, unimpressed, while Rolo looked over from his book, clearly having heard the soft ping of the notification.
Another buzz.
Fat Rat: [I mean, seriously, the amount of info I've dug up on these people—mage factions, corrupt officials, and don't even get me started on the mercenaries. Half of them change their names every week! Do you have any idea how difficult this is? I've been living off bad coffee and stress for TWO DAYS.]
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Not exactly what I asked for, Ruben," I muttered, typing out a quick reply.
[Can we skip the whining and get to the names?]
Rolo sighed from his spot on the floor, his eyes flicking back to his book. "Figures. Why is it that the one guy who can actually help you always has a meltdown first?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," I muttered, glancing at my phone as it buzzed again, Ruben's rant apparently far from over.
Fat Rat: [And another thing! You think this is easy? Half the people hunting you are covering their tracks better than ever. And my equipment? Don't even get me started on how outdated everything is...]
I sighed, leaning back in the chair, my thumb hovering over the reply button. "I should've known better than to expect a straight answer."
Rolo didn't look up, only gave a half-hearted wave. "Let me know when you get past the whining. I'll be here. Buried in research. Alone."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, sending Ruben another brief message:
[Focus. I need names, Ruben.]
Another rant.
As I sat there, my patience wearing thin, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I opened my banking app, quickly transferring a chunk of cash to Ruben.
[Take this and just shut up for a minute.]
Almost immediately, my phone buzzed again.
Fat Rat: [Wait—did you just send me cash? There are perks to having a needy boss after all!]
I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the couch. "Great, now he thinks he can milk me for money."
Rolo shot me a look, his eyes narrowing in that way that told me he was already forming a judgment and maybe plans to make my life a living hell.
"Fuck me," I muttered, opening my banking app again. I transferred a small sum to Rolo.
Rolo's eyes widened as he checked the transfer, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Oh, look at this! A generous benefactor!" He beamed like a well-fed cat, clearly pleased with the unexpected windfall.
"Don't get used to it," I replied.
After transferring money to Rolo and enduring his smug grin, I sighed and turned my attention back to Ruben's endless whining. I needed the names, not a therapy session.
[Just give me the names.]
Another moment of silence stretched before my phone vibrated once more.
Fat Rat: [Alright, alright. Here's what I've got: some mages with a grudge, a couple of wild cats, and an assassin family]
[Assassin family? That sounds lovely. Care to elaborate?]
Fat Rat: [Of course! The Lumin family. They're notorious for hunting mages and monsters, and their last target? A guy who made the mistake of crossing them. I think they're drawn to your situation, since you've got all these people talking about bounties on your head.]
I let out a low curse, my mind racing. "Fantastic. Just what I needed."
Fat Rat: [And the mages? They were mainly the underdogs of the Circle. They've been sniffing around since your last stunt.]
With one last impatient prod, I sent Ruben a larger sum of cash, hoping it would cut through his dramatics.
Fat Rat: [I love you, boss, please live a long and healthy life] he quipped before finally sending what I needed—a document, not just a message. I opened it, and my eyes scanned the lengthy list of names. More than I'd hoped for. Too many.
"Great," I muttered under my breath, exasperated. "Just what I needed. A who's-who of people trying to kill me."
Rolo didn't even look up, still preoccupied with his own research. "Sounds fun," he said dryly, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Ignoring him, I shot off a quick message to Mazen. I filled him in on Livius's idea about the alliance.
[Need you to talk to the dark mages for me. See if they'll bite.]
I hesitated for a second, then added, [Also, there's a bounty on me.]
Mazen's reply came quicker than I expected, and it was unnervingly calm.
Frosty Darklord: [Not surprising. Already started handling it. Some of the dark mages were planning to gang up on you.]
I blinked at the message. [You're cleaning them up?]
Frosty Darklord: [You seem surprised.]
There was a hint of amusement in Mazen's reply. I chuckled under my breath. [Good work. I'll send you the rest of the names. Keep going.]
I forwarded the list to him, feeling a strange mix of relief and tension. Knowing that Mazen had already started taking care of the issue helped, but the sheer number of names on that list weighed heavily on me. Even with Mazen's help, this was going to be a long game.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before glancing back at Rolo, who was still immersed in his books.
"Got anything useful over there?"
Rolo didn't even look up. "Working on it. Unlike some people, I actually read through things instead of bribing others."
"Everyone has their methods," I shot back, cracking a small grin despite the situation.
And now, it was time to deal with the next move. One alliance, one enemy at a time.
I sighed, staring at the lengthy list Ruben had sent me. Mazen would take care of the mages—he'd already started picking them off, and he was more than capable. I shot Leo a quick message:
[Keep your cats in line. They're coveting my life.]
But the assassins? That was another story.
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. Those killers were a different breed—unpredictable and ruthless. And I knew deep down, I couldn't leave this one to anyone else.
Looks like this is on me.
(...)
George Willingham was sprawled on a white hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his chest and head, both hands in plaster like some broken marionette. His usual air of superiority was nowhere to be seen, reduced to a grimace of pain as he shifted slightly.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he growled, trying to muster a facade of authority. But let's be honest—he wasn't exactly imposing while strapped down and unable to lift a finger.
"I brought oranges," I announced casually, dropping into the chair beside his bed.
Without waiting for an invitation, I fished one out of the bag and began peeling it. Slowly, deliberately, as if I had all the time in the world. The citrusy aroma filled the room, clashing with the sterile scent of the hospital, and once I was done, I flung the orange peel onto the bedside table, letting it pile up like unwanted décor.
Willingham let out a tortured sigh, the kind that begged for a swift and merciful death.
I glanced at him. "Oh, come now, George. Aren't you glad I visited you?"
His eyes narrowed at me, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I know why you're here."
I popped a slice of orange into my mouth, not breaking eye contact. "Impress me."
He swallowed, trying to maintain what was left of his dignity. "You're here because of my fight with Pitou."
I shook my head, slowly savoring the citrus. "Yes... and no. I mean, I'd love to hear all about your heroic battle," I added with a smirk, "but what I'm really interested in is your meeting with Eden."
Willingham stiffened, just the tiniest bit, but enough to notice. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression turned to frustration.
"Why do you always know everything?" he muttered, voice tinged with irritation.
I grinned, leaning back in my chair. "I have my ways."
He sighed again, clearly wishing he were anywhere but here, and I could see the weariness in his eyes. "Eden… even though he's a powerful mage, he doesn't like meddling in royal affairs. You shouldn't have to worry about him."
"Splendid," I said, satisfied.
For a moment, I just sat there, peeling another orange in silence, deliberately tossing the peel onto the bedside table again. Willingham's patience was hanging by a thread, and I could feel it. I was halfway through the fruit when he snapped.
"That's it, isn't it? That's why you're here? Why are you still here?"
I studied him for a long moment, finding it hard to believe I was actually starting to appreciate George Willingham's company. Strange times indeed.
"It used to be easier," I mused quietly, "back when I knew exactly who my enemies were."
Willingham's curiosity piqued, and for once, his gaze wasn't filled with annoyance. He seemed genuinely interested. "And now?" he asked. "Who do you consider your enemies now?"
I smiled faintly, finishing the last bite of orange.
"Lately, I've been thinking more about who isn't an enemy." I looked down at him, my voice dropping just enough to catch his full attention. "What do you know about the Lumin family?"
At the mention of that name, every muscle in Willingham's body tensed. The Lumin family—their reputation spoke for itself. They'd once been part of the hunters, proud defenders of humanity. Until, one day, they decided that the fight wasn't worth the sacrifice. Instead, they opted for a more lucrative profession: assassination.
"I know enough," Willingham said, his voice suddenly lower, darker.
"Then talk," I urged. "Because I'm going to need all the information I can get."
The Lumin family had long been elusive, unpredictable, and dangerous. If they were after me, I had no choice but to take them on headfirst. And George Willingham, whether he liked it or not, had just become a piece of my plan.
Rising from my chair, I rummaged through the bag and pulled out another, larger orange. The crinkling of the plastic was the only sound in the room for a moment.
He had the look of someone who suddenly realized the stakes were much higher than he thought. After a moment of silence, he sighed deeply, wincing at the pain from his wounds.
"They're not just any assassins, you know. The Lumin family... they're master assassins. You don't see most of them until it's too late. Shadows, magic, poisons—they don't leave traces. Not unless they want you to know they were there."
I stopped peeling my orange mid-turn and raised an eyebrow. "And if they do want you to know?"
He grimaced. "Then they leave their calling card—subtle, but unmistakable. A cursed symbol or a specific kind of poison that only they use. You'll know it's them. And you'll know it's the end."
I considered that for a moment, popping a slice of orange into my mouth as I chewed slowly, giving him space to continue. "What else?"
Willingham groaned, adjusting his position slightly. "They've got safehouses scattered around—old ones, from back when they still worked for the hunters. If you know where to look, you might find them. Problem is, they move constantly. And when they want to disappear, they do."
"Safehouses..." I murmured, storing that bit of information for later. "And what about their strengths? Weaknesses?"
He gave me a tight smile. "Strengths? Everything, really. They're trained from childhood. Physical combat, magic, strategy—it's like a military operation disguised as a family. But their true ace is that they're in possession of something... dangerous."
I leaned forward, my interest piqued. "Go on."
"There's a relic they have, something ancient. Some say it can suppress magic. Mages... when they're around it, their abilities don't work right. Makes them sitting ducks. No one knows how it works or where they keep it, but it's there."
Suppressing magic?
I shifted in my seat, my voice low. "And their weakness?"
He chuckled darkly. "Oh, they've got one. They're not as united as they like to pretend. Lots of factions within the family. Ambitious, power-hungry types who'd love to be the ones in charge. They fight amongst themselves, though they're careful to keep that hidden from outsiders."
"Infighting..." I mused. "That's useful."
"Maybe. But don't think that makes them any less dangerous." Willingham's eyes hardened. "They're ruthless. If you're on their list, they won't stop until they finish the job."
I finished the last of my orange, discarding the peel on his bedside table and standing up. "Thanks, George. You've been very helpful."
He muttered something under his breath about wishing I'd brought less trash and more useful gifts.
I smiled faintly, rising from my chair. I rummaged through the bag and pulled out another, larger orange. The crinkling of the plastic was the only sound in the room for a moment.
I placed the orange right on Willingham's chest with a satisfied grin.
"Congratulations, you did well," I said, giving him a slow nod. "I knew you'd get Pitou."
Before he could process my words or even react, I was already out the door. I didn't need to see his face to know he was probably glaring daggers at me. If it weren't for his hands being wrapped in plaster, I was sure his first instinct would've been to hurl that orange straight at the door.
Well, I thought to myself with a smirk, he should be grateful. Learning how to peel an orange with both hands in casts is an essential life skill. Builds character.
As I walked down the hall, I could almost hear Willingham's frustrated groan. Small victories. Always the sweetest.