Lowe’s flat wasn’t much to look at, but it was home.

  Or at least, it was where he ended up when he had nowhere else to be.

  The furniture had seen better decades, its various scratches and stains telling stories he hadn’t been around to witness. The lighting was dim, not out of any conscious preference, but because he hadn’t gotten around to fixing the overhead rune in the sitting room. And because Mylaf, his Drudge, did not like to overstep her boundaries. If the master wanted to stumble around his flat in the dark, she was the last person to interfere.

  A half-empty bottle of something extremely strong sat on the low table beside him. But it was untouched because he knew exactly how this night would end if he let himself get too comfortable with it. So, instead, he was sipping a Banana and Strawberry smoothie through a straw.

  It gave him a 15% increase to his Intellect and Lowe figured he needed all the help he could get.

  The Highberg file lay open on his lap, pages spread out like an autopsy. He’d been reading the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes, not really seeing the words, just feeling them. Letting them settle deep in his ribs, carving out space where there wasn’t any left to give.

  But this wasn’t just about Highberg anymore, was it?

  There was Rook. And then there was what had happened in the Vault.

  Lowe had seen a lot of ways to die. But nothing like that. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t desperation. It was brutal control. And to leave the only man left breathing in that place as an Accountant who kept babbling about ‘the Black Knight.’

  The words squatted in his head like a slow-acting poison.

  He leaned back into the battered couch, rubbing his temple. He should sleep. Should rest. Should do anything but sit here, picking at the edges of something he couldn’t yet see. But instead, he reached for the next page in the file.

  And kept reading.

  He was so engrossed that he didn’t even look up when he heard the bedroom door creak open. Mind you, he didn’t have to. The scent of soap and something faintly floral drifted through the air, and that was enough.

  "Are you not coming to bed?" Arebella’s voice was soft, causing Lowe to look up.

  She was leaning against the doorframe, one arm crossed under her chest, the other resting lightly on the wood. She was wearing one of his shirts—it was far too big for her and the collar was slipping just slightly off one shoulder, the sleeves rolled up to keep from swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the bath she’d taken earlier, a stray curl clinging to her collarbone.

  He knew the look on her face. Knew that she already had a read on the situation before she even spoke.

  Lowe gestured vaguely to the mess of papers around him. "Homework," he said. "Cramming for my next inevitable disaster."

  "Right. Because you’ve always been such a diligent student."

  "Hey, I’ll have you know that I passed my last psych evaluation with flying colours."

  "And that, my dear, is a big fat lie."

  "It is," Lowe admitted, tapping a finger against his temple. "But you can’t tell for certain, can you?"

  She frowned at that. "You know I can’t."

  "I could get used to being deeply, profoundly unreadable. I’m liking being an enigma wrapped in a mystery stuffed inside a cynical bastard. Feels like we’re playing on a level playing field."

  "You know, where I’m from, we call that sort of attitude being obnoxious, not being enigmatic."

  “No reason I can’t be both," Lowe said, grinning despite himself.

  Arebella moved to sit beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. “Jana, I don’t need to switch on any truth-telling Skills to know you’re struggling." She picked up a few pages from the table and grimaced at some of the images. “The Black Knight? Again?”

  "Hey, I didn’t go looking for this. But it’s … found its way back to me."

  “I know. Rook called me.”

  “Rook?! What the fuck, Bella? Did you know he was still alive?”

  “No!” Arebella glared at him. “No, I did not! My Sending Stone lit up while you were out. I didn’t know who it was and then there was Rook’s voice. He’s still pissed with you.”

  “How does he have access to your Sending Stone?”

  “This again? For fuck’s sake, Jana!” Arebella opened her mouth to say more, and then closed it. “No. We’re not doing this now. I know what’s going to happen if you let yourself get lost in it again. You can’t tangle with the Black Knight again."

  "It’s not like I have a choice, is it? He slaughtered a whole bank full of people tonight and left me a message."

  That gave her a moment’s pause. "Just like before?”

  “Just like before.”

  “Okay. But that doesn’t mean you need to throw yourself back into it like it’s some kind of penance."

  "What? You expect me to let it go?! After everything?" Lowe’s voice came out sharper than he’d meant, the words bouncing too hard off the walls of his flat.

  Arebella flinched back, but before she could respond, a creak sounded from down the hall.

  Mylaf’s head poked around the doorframe, her expression somewhere between concern and sleepy irritation. "Everything okay, sir? Miss?"

  Lowe ran a hand down his face, willing the sharp edge in his voice to smooth out. "Yes. Sorry, Mylaf. Didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep."

  The Drudge didn’t move immediately. Her gaze flicked from Lowe to Arebella, the assessment quick but thorough. Arebella gave a slight nod, something almost imperceptible passing between them. Only then did Mylaf retreat, her door closing softly behind her.

  And then came the silence.

  It went on so long that Lowe almost wished Mylaf had stayed to chew the fat.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "Jana, what I know is that this case broke you last time," Arebella said eventually. "I was there, remember? And they were my friends too. I saw what it all did to you. Is still doing to you. I don’t think I can cope if you open all of it up again."

  Lowe turned his head, staring at the far wall like it might have answers for him. "No," he said. "Me neither. Mind you, if it all goes tits up, at least you’ll have Rook to keep you warm, eh?"

  There was a beat of silence, and then she laughed. "You’re impossible!"

  "That’s what they tell me. Mind you, I should warn you. Having met with him, I’m not sure body heat is really his thing."

  "Come to bed, Jana."

  He hesitated.

  "Not because I’m telling you to stop," she added. "Just… because you need to sleep at some point. And because I don’t want you sitting out here all night alone, staring at something that isn’t going to change just because you glare at it long enough. Things will look brighter in the morning."

  Lowe looked down at the closed file in his hands. He could still feel the weight of it, even without reading the words inside. But Arebella was warm against him, solid and real. And, for the first time in hours, he felt something other than the slow, gnawing pull of guilt from the past.

  He sighed, pushing the file onto the table. "You’re a terrible influence."

  "Actually, I think I’m the best influence you’ve got," she corrected, standing and holding out a hand. "Come on, before I start using the nice voice."

  "You fight dirty."

  "Absolutely."

  And, just this once, Lowe let himself be pulled away.

  ***

  Lowe squinted blearily at the Dungeon console.

  Early morning starts were very much not his thing, and voluntarily showing up to one of Soar’s public Dungeon Gates before the sun had fully risen suggested he was going through some kind of psychotic break.

  But here he was.

  And he was serious about this. If the Black Knight was back, then he needed to be back to his fighting weight. The last time he’d gone up against this guy he’d had all of his Skills and his team at his back. And he’d still had his arse handed to him.

  The queue behind them was shorter than he had expected—but he guessed most of Soar’s early risers were coffee-fuelled Merchants or disgruntled Clerks rather than Level-hungry adventurers. Still, a few high-Level types were already turning up, and he figured most of those were ones who viewed Dungeon delving as a job.

  A dangerous, high-wire act of a job. But a job nonetheless.

  The console in front of him was a circular block of ancient stone, its glyphs barely visible beneath layers of weathering. In its centre, a polished gem pulsed lazily. The various levers and dials beneath it were less mystical and more an example of whatever arcanist first designed this thing overcomplicating a fundamentally simple process.

  “Okay,” Lowe said, cracking his neck. “Remind me what I do again.”

  Latham, standing beside him in a freshly polished Temple Warder cuirass, cuffed him on the back of the head. Roll with the Punches kicked in and healed the concussion. “Little man, don’t piss about. You put your hands on the stone, you clear your mind, and you try not to make a tit of yourself. I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

  “I can promise you two out of three.”

  Latham ignored that. “Okay. Well, let’s have a quick recap here so that you have a chance to pussy out. We’re going to be running a Level 60 Heroic, here. Hel and I do this every morning and it’s a nice way to wake us up before work. You’re here because . . . I don’t know. Arebella finally noticed you’re going soft around the middle or something.”

  “That’s not entirely fair,” Hel said, ostentatiously flexing her muscles. “It’s just as likely our mutual friend here has read the runes and realised it’s just a matter of time before a certain cute Veritas Assessor decides to trade up for someone who, I don’t know, can truly bring the thunder. To be fair, this is probably just a common-or-garden suicide by Dungeon attempt.”

  “Neither of you is remotely funny, you know?”

  “I don’t know,” Latham said. “I think I’m a hoot.”

  “I was stood in the middle of an absolute bloodbath just a few hours ago. A little something approaching sympathy would be nice.”

  “Oh boo-hoo. Did the poor Inspector have to do some Inspectoring? Seriously, mate, if the two of us are your go to for a bit of TLC, you’ve absolutely misjudged your audience.”

  Lowe smiled at that. “It’s absolutely not TLC I’m looking for. That’s why I’m here. I figure a bit of recreational violence and power levelling will be just the ticket. On the other hand . . .” He placed both his hands on the stone and, immediately, the pulsing light steadied, then flared, and a translucent screen popped into view in front of him.

  Welcome, Jana Lowe.

  Please select your chosen difficulty.

  A flood of greyed-out options filled his vision. Because of the ticket he’d bought - at Latham’s urging - all but one unavailable to select.

  Lvl 60 - Heroic

  Well. No backing out now.

  He tapped the option. More options appeared.

  Select Dungeon Environment:

  - The Smouldering Ruins

  - The Bone Orchard

  - The Gauntlet of Chains

  Lowe frowned. “The Gauntlet of Chains? Isn’t hat’s a bit on the nose.”

  “Pick that one,” Latham said. “Straightforward. No puzzles. Just mobs, a mini-boss, and then a solid big bad. Exactly what you need if you want something to punch in the face. I usually leave him to the little lady - ow!”

  Hel’s eyes glittered as she let a second bolt of lightning strike Latham. “People who wear that much metal armour probably should make sure they don’t chat quite so much shit.”

  “Look guys, I appreciate you letting me join you. Especially what with me paying for this morning and all. It’s always been your selfless altruism I’ve most respected about you. But what I need from this is for it not to turn into an embarrassing death march. Something about this case makes me think I’m going to need the levels.”

  “I can’t promise you anything, little man,” Latham said. “But I’m very much appreciating your moxy right now. Trust me, we’ve got you as you make your hesitant, baby deer steps into becoming a real man.”

  “Oh, I am just drowning in sloshing man juice, right now, aren’t I?” Hel’s white-and-gold Wind Tyrant coat fluttered in the morning breeze. All of these early morning Dungeon runs - as well as her recent combat against a rampaging Dreadnaught - had helped her finally breach Level 50. She was radiating the easy confidence of someone who’d already killed something before breakfast and was looking forward to seconds.

  Lowe selected The Gauntlet of Chains.

  The screen flickered.

  Dungeon Party Formed:

  - Temple Warder Latham (??)

  - Wind Tyrant Hel (50)

  - [No Class] Lowe (26)

  Entry Fee: Paid

  Initiating Delve in 3… 2… 1…

  The world of the Undercity vanished in a whirl of light and gut-wrenching disorientation. When Lowe’s vision cleared, he found himself standing in a place that made absolutely no effort to be inviting.

  The Gauntlet of Chains was exactly as advertised. A long corridor stretched ahead of him, lined with rusted manacles hanging from the walls, each linked by lengths of chain that rattled softly despite the lack of any visible wind. The floor beneath them was slick with something that might have been water, but - somehow - Lowe doubted it.

  A distant thud sounded from up ahead. Then another.

  Something was waking up.

  Lowe sighed. “So what’s the plan?”

  Latham rolled his shoulders. “We kill everything. You stay alive. Sound good? No need to overplan these things.”

  Hel cracked her knuckles, lightning dancing at her fingertips. “Oh, and if you do die? Try not to be too annoying about it. Oh, and don’t worry about Arebella in the event of your untimely demise. I’ll make sure that Arebella is appropriately comforted.”

  “Great. Fantastic. Loving this party dynamic already.”

  Then the chains started moving.

  And the Dungeon run began.