I swallow hard, turning my gaze back to the front. We're walking slowly now, but at least I've managed to keep pace with Leonhart without tripping over my own feet. Progress.
"Doesn't matter if someone's dead or not," Leonhart drawls, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "The Goldies got twitchy after the attack."
"The attack?" I echo, falling into step beside him. My voice sounds more composed this time, and I can't help but think I'm getting better at this.
Leonhart casts a sidelong glance, his eyes darker than usual, stripped of their usual mocking gleam. "Of course, they kept it under wraps. Six months ago, Gloam went up in flames. Took half the depraved nobles and a handful of diamond-spoon heirs with it. Ever since, we've been living in slow rot."
We stop in a square where a fountain glimmers at the center, its graceful statues carved in the old Elarion style. For a moment, my cynicism takes a backseat. My eyes widen as I drink in the sight, the beauty clawing at something buried deep in my chest.
"Whoa." The word escapes before I can reel it back in.
The fountain stands proud amidst the grime, a relic from when Crossreach had aspirations of grandeur. A robed woman is sculpted in the middle, her hands eternally cupped, spilling clear water that somehow glistens in this godforsaken city like liquid silver. For a heartbeat, I forget my aching feet and burning lungs.
Leonhart smirks, clearly amused by my slip. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Get it together, Mel.
"So, who lit the place up?" I ask, forcing my eyes off the fountain and back to him.
But he's already stopped, shoes squeaking slightly on the damp cobblestones as he jerks his chin toward a building behind us. "We'll wait here," he says, producing a silver cigarette case with a practiced flick. I nearly bump into him, my focus elsewhere.
"How am I supposed to know that?" he replies, biting down on a cigarette, a flick of flame igniting at the tip.
I shrug. "Figured your fancy trading company might know a thing or two," I deadpan.
A cloud of smoke curls from his lips, a lazy grin following close behind. "You give us too much credit, love." He gestures grandly. "Speaking of which—behold, The Midnight Syndicate, my home, Your safe zone from now on,"
I turn and almost choke on my own breath. I can't help but be struck by the stark difference between his building and the rest of the city's filth. It's pristine, like it's been plucked from a fairytale and plonked down in a nightmare. Men in dark uniforms are unloading bolts of fabric from steam-powered trucks, while well-dressed businessmen linger at the entrance, speaking in low, conspiratorial tones.
Leonhart, catching my gawking, extends his cigarette case toward me. "Want one? C'mon, let's be friends. We did commit a murder together, after all."
My pulse stutters.
Yes, We did.
"Don't call me love,"
I glare at him but, for some reason, I take one. Maybe I'm losing my mind, or maybe I'm just so far in that I might as well try new vices. He lights it for me, and I inhale too deeply, immediately regretting it as the acrid smoke claws at my throat. I cough hard, nearly doubling over, while he watches with that insufferable grin.
"First time I tried, I puked up my lungs," he says, way too cheerfully. "But hey, if you ever find yourself in trouble, you know where to find me."
I roll my eyes. Yeah, right. I'd rather scream for my mother.
But my attention is drawn back to the building behind him. It's like a monument to ambition amidst the city's decay. Sleek, angular lines, an immaculate façade, and a symbol etched in gleaming gold on the largest window—a crescent moon, the Syndicate's emblem. The architecture is almost too beautiful for a place like Crossreach, a jarring reminder of what power and money can achieve.
Like the dukedom, Like anywhere my mother stands.
My gaze lingers on the highest window, the crescent moon glowing faintly as it catches the sunlight. And then I see him—a figure standing there, watching us. Just a shadow against the glass, but something about his stance makes my skin prickle. It's not just idle curiosity; it's like he's dissecting me with that gaze, layer by layer.
I can't see his face clearly, just a silhouette, but when he leans forward, placing a gloved hand against the glass, my heart skips a beat. The sensation of being peeled open, scrutinized... it's unnerving.
"Who's that?" I mutter, more to myself than Leonhart.
"Who?" he asks, following my line of sight. But of course, by the time he turns, the shadowy figure is gone, leaving only the crescent window's darkened arch.
I shake my head. "Never mind," I mumble. Probably just another ghost in this city of the damned.
The rattle of approaching hooves and the hiss of steam signals the arrival of our carriage. Leonhart flicks away his cigarette, grinding it under his heel with a practiced ease. "Let's not keep our hosts waiting," he says, opening the door with a flourish.
The carriage interior is cramped but somehow still manages to be over-the-top, with plush seats upholstered in dark green velvet that have definitely seen better days. Leonhart sprawls across from me like he owns the damn thing, arms stretched along the backrest, eyes fixed on me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
I lean against the window, letting the cool glass soothe my flushed face as we lurch forward. The city outside begins to change, shifting from the faint traces of light to a darkness that seeps into everything. The cobblestones grow rougher, the buildings leaning in like conspirators sharing secrets. The air smells of dirty water, piss, and old rot—Crossreach's real perfume.
"Buckle up, love," Leonhart murmurs, a devilish grin playing on his lips. "You're gonna need more than a fire poker where we're going."
I'm honestly surprised at myself for not being surprised by him. The things I'm getting used to…
"So, you were watching?" I raise an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I was watching for a bloodbath," he smirks, like the thought amuses him. "But... you're a virgin, aren't you?"
I know exactly what he's doing. The bastard. Both of them, actually. I flip my head to the side, eyes shooting daggers out the window. "You're disgusting."
"Hey, I'm just advising," he says with mock sweetness. "Virgins are as rare as dark violet diamonds. So, you know, be careful." I almost thank him for that little gem of wisdom, but instead, I roll my eyes hard enough to feel it in my skull. "I'll be fine."
"Who was that, anyway?" he suddenly asks, shifting gears. He must be bored of poking at me with the whole "virgin" angle.
I look at him, trying to mask my irritation. "What do you want me to say? Brandon fucking Emberthorn? I don't know who that was."
His gaze sharpens, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips. "Tell me his features."
A warning bell rings in my mind, but I keep my face neutral. I've dealt with worse. "Tall… deadly handsome… pretty lips... red eyes, must be a legion."
I peek at him, my pulse catching for a moment when I realize what I just said. The words red eyes are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Leonhart's gaze flicks to me like a predator homing in on a wound. "What do you mean?"
I give a nonchalant shrug. "What? Legion? Maybe I saw wrong or he colored his eyes, who knows." I force a laugh, though the words sound hollow, even to me.
His eyes narrow, and I can feel him piecing things together in that twisted little mind of his. "Legions don't exist, Mel," he says, almost like he's testing me.
But trust me, Mr. Leonhart, I have seen one and stabbed him in the heart, and have made him live through the pain.
I'm starting to feel the weight of his stare, the kind that makes you feel like you're about to be dissected. I clear my throat. "Yeah, I was just messing around. Who cares?"
He doesn't buy it for a second. The silence between us thickens. "Yes," he leans back with a deep exhale, looking way too comfortable in his own skin, "nothing's a big deal… But if you see him again, you run."
"Oh, am I?" I tilt my head, voice dripping with mockery.
"Yes, love, trust me."
I clench my fists, trying to reign in the anger bubbling under my skin. "If you call me 'love' one more time—"
"Hold tight!" He suddenly lunges for the metal holder above his head, cutting me off mid-threat.
"What—?" I start to ask, but before I can even finish, the carriage jerks, throwing me forward with a gut-wrenching lurch. The ground seems to disappear beneath us, and I barely have time to react as the world flips upside down.