The streets of New Aldmoor stretched out before Isaac and Seraphine, wrapped in thick tendrils of fog. The gas lamps, lined neatly along the cobblestone road, flickered softly, casting ghostly shadows that swirled with the evening mist. It was a typical night for the city, where the clinking of clockwork machinery blended with the low hum of steam engines from passing carriages. The streets were busy, but Isaac walked with his usual unhurried stride, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, his sharp eyes catching everything around them.
Seraphine, walking beside him, kept glancing up from under her hood. "So, when are you going to take this case seriously? We both know the Bransfield murder is more than just a simple robbery gone wrong."
Isaac made a non-committal sound, his gaze shifting briefly to a street vendor selling mechanical trinkets. "Perhaps. But as it stands, it's just another dead noble."
Seraphine frowned. "Come on, Isaac. You know it's not that simple. The police have no leads, no evidence—"
"They never do," Isaac interrupted, his voice calm but sharp. "And that's why I'm not interested. This isn't about justice, Seraphine. It's about power, wealth, and politics. Nothing more."
They turned a corner, heading into a narrow alley that cut through one of the city's busier districts. Isaac walked with purpose, but his mind was elsewhere. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years, and right now, something was pulling at his attention. Someone was following them.
Seraphine continued talking, trying to probe further into his disinterest, but Isaac wasn't listening anymore. His steps slowed just slightly, his head tilting as he caught the faint sound of footsteps behind them, barely audible over the noise of the city.
"Seraphine," Isaac said softly, cutting off whatever she was saying. "We're being followed."
Seraphine stiffened, her hand instinctively moving toward the concealed blade she carried. "Are you sure?"
Isaac nodded. "The man's been tailing us since we left the tavern back on Ironclad Street. He's not particularly skilled, but persistent."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to take care of it?"
Isaac shook his head. "No need. He's not here to harm us. He's just watching. And clumsy enough to get caught."
They continued walking, Isaac leading them deeper into the maze of alleyways that crisscrossed the district. He made no sudden movements, but his pace shifted, taking unexpected turns and doubling back on their path. The pursuer stayed with them, unaware of the trap Isaac was setting. Finally, they reached a dead-end alley, a perfect spot for what Isaac had in mind.
Isaac stopped abruptly, pulling Seraphine into a shadowed alcove just before they reached the brick wall at the end of the alley. They waited, silently, as the man who had been following them rounded the corner, thinking he had them cornered.
Isaac stepped out of the shadows, his presence quiet but commanding. The man—a wiry figure, clearly not used to this kind of work—froze in place, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Funny thing about following someone like me," Isaac said, his tone cool and casual. "You really shouldn't do it unless you know what you're doing."
The man stammered, his nerves getting the better of him. "I-I wasn't—I mean—"
"Don't bother lying," Isaac cut him off, stepping closer. "You were sent. And poorly, I might add. Whoever hired you didn't think this through."
Seraphine emerged from the shadows behind the man, her expression a mix of amusement and disdain. "You really picked the wrong night for this."
The man's eyes darted between Isaac and Seraphine, panic creeping into his features. "I was just…just following orders. I wasn't gonna do anything. Just watch, that's all."
Isaac studied him, his sharp mind already piecing together the truth. The man was no professional. His clothes were worn, his boots scuffed and stained with oil from the industrial district. His hands shook slightly, betraying his nerves. But that wasn't what caught Isaac's attention. It was the fact that this man, clearly a low-level thug, had been sent to follow him, of all people.
"No one hires someone like you to follow me unless they want me to know," Isaac mused, almost to himself. "Which means this isn't about watching. It's about sending a message."
The man flinched, but Isaac pressed on, his mind working quickly. "Who hired you?"
The thug hesitated, but under Isaac's steady gaze, he crumbled. "I don't know his name. Just some guy. He paid me good money to tail you. Said to let him know where you were going."
Isaac's eyes narrowed. This wasn't adding up. If someone powerful enough to have resources in the city's underworld was interested in him, they wouldn't send someone this incompetent. Unless…
"They wanted me to know," Isaac said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Whoever hired you didn't care about stealth. They wanted me to realize they're watching."
The thug's face paled as he realized what Isaac was implying. "I don't know anything else, I swear! Please don't hurt me."
Isaac waved him off, already losing interest in the man's pleading. "I won't. You've served your purpose."
The man took the opportunity to flee, disappearing back into the foggy streets as fast as his legs would carry him. Isaac stood still for a moment, his mind turning over the new information.
Seraphine approached him, raising an eyebrow. "So? What do you make of it?"
Isaac let out a slow breath, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Whoever's behind this isn't hiding. They know exactly who I am and what I'm capable of. And they think they can manipulate me into playing their game."
Seraphine crossed her arms. "And are you going to?"
Isaac turned, his eyes gleaming with newfound interest. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice now, do I?"
They walked out of the alley, the fog swallowing them up once more. But now, Isaac's mind was fully engaged. The Bransfield case was no longer just a simple investigation. It was the start of something bigger. And whoever was pulling the strings was smart enough to know exactly how to get Isaac's attention.
The real game had only just begun.