Chapter 8, Part 1: The Art of Not Dying (Again)
You'd think after making an ungodly amount of money in under a day, I'd feel like the king of the world. That I'd finally have some breathing room. Maybe kick back, sip a fancy drink, and revel in my newfound riches.
Nope.
Because the first thing my brain did was scream, How the hell was that so easy?!
Seriously, if Solace could casually pull off financial wizardry like that, then what about the others? What could they do? And—more importantly—were they safe to keep around?
Now, let me clarify. I wasn't questioning their loyalty. They'd saved my ass too many times for that. But let's be honest—if someone handed you a button that could destroy the world and then said, "Don't worry, we're responsible"… you'd still hesitate, right?
But the thing about paranoia is that it only gets you so far before it turns into pure stupidity. If I started second-guessing the people (or voices, whatever) that kept me alive, I might as well start digging my own grave.
So, I shoved that doubt aside, locked it in a tiny mental box, and threw away the key.
I wish I could say that was the end of my trust issues. That I never had another moment of suspicion.
But that would be a lie.
Because, spoiler alert: I did doubt them again. Multiple times, actually. But every time I looked at them—at Solace, Asher, Riven, Fang, and the rest—I saw myself. Not copies, not illusions, not alien entities playing pretend.
Just me.
And one thing was painfully clear: if I died, they died.
So, yeah. Survival instinct won that argument.
Of course, Asher decided to be a little menace about it. "You know we can hear your thoughts, right?" he said, voice dripping with amusement. "So, do us a favor and stop doubting us in the long run."
Not ominous at all.
But honestly? After that, something shifted.
I didn't notice it at first, but they became… more supportive. Their usual personalities didn't change—Solace was still a smug know-it-all, Riven was still a chaos gremlin, and Fang was still a growly murder machine—but there was a difference.
Their intent.
It was clearer now. Sharper. Less like detached voices in my head and more like… comrades. Partners.
Dysfunctional, morally questionable partners, but partners nonetheless.
Food First, Existential Dread Later
After resolving that mental crisis, I finally addressed the other burning issue: food.
Because, apparently, I hadn't eaten in over eight hours.
That might not seem like much, but for someone who recently discovered that evolutionary hunger was a thing, it felt like an eternity.
And, look, I won't lie—I love food. Not in the "fancy gourmet meals" kind of way, but in the "if it tastes good, I'll eat it" kind of way. If I was going to be stuck in this weird, chaotic life, I was at least going to enjoy my meals.
I found a street food center, picked out some absurdly greasy but delicious-looking dishes, and devoured them like a starving beast.
By the time I finished, I was happy. Not just full—happy.
Maybe that's why I let my guard down.
Because the moment I stepped out onto the street, I felt it.
A presence.
The kind of feeling that crawls up your spine when you know someone's watching you.
And Here Comes the Paranoia Again
Fang growled my name.
"Arthur."
That was all he said, but that was all he needed to say.
Even Solace, the unflappable mastermind, hesitated for a second.
Something was wrong.
And that's when I knew—I was being watched.
Now, you might think, "Big deal, maybe it's just a random passerby."
Yeah, no.
Random people don't lurk. They don't observe. And they sure as hell don't give off an aura that makes my inner murder dog start growling.
So, of course, my first instinct was to do something smart, like—oh, I don't know—leave the area, blend in, act natural.
But before I could make a move, someone started laughing.
A genuine, entertained laugh.
"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Riven said, practically vibrating with excitement. "My turn."
Solace sighed. "You always say I toy with things. But let's see who the real master is."
And then, just like that—
Control shifted.
Riven's Playground
If Solace was all about calculated efficiency, Riven was the opposite. He was a performer, an artist of chaos.
The moment he took over, my posture changed—looser, more confident, a little too relaxed. Like a predator playing with its food.
I wasn't just avoiding the spy anymore.
I was baiting him.
I took slow, casual steps, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Not too fast, not too slow—just enough to keep my tail interested.
And, oh, they were interested.
I could feel them adjusting their movements, trying to stay unnoticed while keeping me in sight.
Amateur.
Riven practically purred. "Oh, come on. Make it at least a little difficult for me."
He led the spy on a slow, winding chase through the streets, taking unnecessary turns, pausing at random intervals, slipping into crowds only to reappear somewhere else.
And the poor bastard followed.
They probably thought they were being sneaky. That I hadn't noticed.
Which made it so much more satisfying when I abruptly ducked into an alleyway, spun around, and waited.
Sure enough, a shadow hesitated at the entrance.
Trapped.
Riven grinned. "Gotcha."
Interrogation Time
The spy froze.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, carefully, they stepped into the alley.
A man—mid-thirties, well-dressed but deliberately plain, the kind of outfit designed to blend in anywhere.
"Who sent you?" Riven asked, voice casual, almost lazy.
No response.
Ah, silent type. Great.
The man shifted slightly, weight adjusting.
Oh, he was thinking of running.
Riven tsked. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The spy bolted.
Riven sighed, almost disappointed. "They always pick the dumb option."
And then, before the poor guy could even reach the alley entrance, Riven moved.
Not ran—moved.
One second I was standing still, and the next, I was right behind him, arm already grabbing his collar, yanking him back into the shadows.
The man barely had time to gasp before Riven slammed him against the wall.
"Let's try this again," Riven said, voice still annoyingly cheerful. "Who. Sent. You?"
The spy swallowed hard.
And, for the first time, I saw something flicker across his face.
Not fear.
No, that would have been expected.
What I saw was worse.
Recognition.
He knew who I was.
Which meant someone had been talking.
And suddenly, this was a much bigger problem than I thought.
To Be Continued…
You ever have one of those moments where you realize you're in way deeper than you expected?
Yeah.
This was one of those moments.
Chapter 8, Part 2
You ever see a cat toy with a half-dead mouse? That's what Riven was doing. Except the mouse was a fully grown man, and instead of playing, Riven was butchering.
"Hey there, my friend," Riven purred, his tone almost affectionate. "I won. You couldn't catch me, and now it's your turn."
The spy looked dazed, probably wondering where exactly his life had gone so, so wrong. One second, he was tailing an unassuming young man; the next, he was in the grip of something far worse than he had prepared for.
Riven got annoyed when the guy didn't respond, and let me tell you—that was a mistake. Because what happened next? Yeah, I wouldn't want to experience it again.
See, Riven doesn't just hurt people. No, he enjoys it. He makes it an art. He picked the guy up using my fingernail—which, by the way, isn't even long enough to pick anything up—and in the blink of an eye, the man was... ventilated.
There were so many puncture wounds that he looked like a human-sized fountain.
That was also the first time I realized just how terrifying each of these voices really was. Solace may have been a calculating perfectionist, but Riven? He was a demon masquerading as excitement.
The spy was dying. Fast. Before he could even think of saying anything useful.
"Stop!" I yelled, and—surprise, surprise—I actually managed to take control back from Riven.
That was new.
"Aww, but it was just getting fun," Riven whined.
Fun for who? Definitely not for the poor guy currently bleeding out at my feet.
I ignored Riven's sulking and focused on the now very much alive but very much regretting it spy. My voice steadied. "Who are you?"
Now, let me ask you—what does a spy do when they're caught?
Yeah. Suicide.
This guy was no different. The second I asked my question, his mouth moved, trying to swallow something. A pill.
Classic.
Unfortunately for him, I was faster.
I punched him—not too hard, just enough to force his stomach to reject whatever he just tried to swallow.
Worked like a charm. The pill flew out of his mouth… and hit me square in the forehead.
Great. Now I literally had the blood of my enemies on me.
I wiped my face and glared at him. "Try that again, and I'll let Riven turn you into a fine-mist sprinkler."
That got him talking. Sort of.
"They're watching," he rasped. "They know you use it."
That caught my attention. "Who's 'they'?"
The spy hesitated. His lips parted. "He—"
A keychain—a freaking keychain—came out of nowhere and speared him through the ribs.
You ever see someone get sniped by pocket accessories? Because I have.
And just like that, the guy was dead.
I didn't even get a name.
Riven snickered. "Damn. That's rough, buddy."
Ignoring him, I crouched and checked the guy's pockets. No ID, nothing traceable. But there was something.
A visiting card.
John's Trading Agency.
I stared at it for a long moment. Then I exhaled. "Solace."
"You know what I'm going to say," he responded smoothly.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Endure it, and don't if you can't?"
Solace smiled. "Exactly."
This was going to be a problem.
Because I didn't know who 'they' were.
But 'they' definitely knew me.
And they weren't just watching.
They were acting.
The moment the spy's lifeless body slumped to the ground, silence settled in. Not the peaceful kind—no, this was the awkward, we should probably talk about what just happened kind.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Well. That was... an experience."
"A waste," Riven muttered. "I could've had more fun."
"Yes, because turning him into a human pincushion was completely necessary," Solace said dryly.
"It was necessary," Riven shot back. "He was an enemy. What, you wanted him to get a comfy chair and a cup of tea?"
"Yes, actually. A controlled interrogation would've been preferable to whatever that was."
I cut in before they could start another endless debate. "You both suck. Focus." I held up the visiting card. "John's Trading Agency. Any guesses?"
"Considering our recent financial success," Solace said, with just the right amount of smugness, "I'd wager it's not a coincidence."
"So, what?" I asked. "Someone's mad that we made money?"
"More like someone noticed how we made money," Asher interjected. "No way a random kid pulls off that level of market manipulation without raising some red flags."
I clicked my tongue. "Great. So they either think I'm a fraud, a criminal, or something worse."
"You are something worse," Riven pointed out cheerfully.
"Shut up."
Fang, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. "He said they were watching. More than one person. More than one group, maybe."
That was the part I didn't like. If there were multiple people keeping an eye on me, that meant I was already in deeper than I thought.
"Alright," I said, rubbing my temples. "Options?"
"Leave the city," Asher suggested.
"That sounds like running," I shot back. "And I hate running."
"Find out who 'they' are," Solace said. "Before they decide to escalate."
Oh yeah. Because they hadn't escalated already.
I exhaled. "Fine. But next time? No more fountains."
Riven snickered. "No promises."