Lowe looked out of the cafe’s window, watching the way the Celestial Temple caught the morning light. From this angle, it looked almost benign as it stood gleaming against the sky. It might have been his imagination, but somewhere up there—just at the edge of sight—he thought something twinkled at.

  If you get really stuck, pop up and see me,, the Merchant had said. Or whoever had been wearing the NPC’s skin.

  Lowe didn't need to bring all his considerable powers of deduction to bear to figure out Arkola was meddling in his life again. Because that always worked out great for him, didn’t it?

  At least Hel still had her traditions. ‘Crazy Xim’s Cafe’ was a relic of a simpler time. It was a place that had seen generations of adventurers pass through, some to rise, some to fall, and some to disappear altogether. It also happened to be where she and the rest of her fugitive Out of Bounds squad had plotted the death of Gianna d’Avec.

  Latham was already working through his third plate of bacon sandwiches, a mound of greasy bread and meat that he was dismantling with almost religious reverence. Hel was nursing a cup of coffee so black it looked like it could swallow midnight whole.

  “We heard about what happened in the Vault,” Latham said between mouthfuls. “You okay?”

  Now that they were free of the Dungeon, both of his friends seemed a little more like themselves. Looser. Less ‘on show,’ as it were. Hel was slouched in her chair, while Latham, when stuffing his face, didn’t look quite as epically intimidating. Although, considering the speed in which the Agency Server delivered a new plate of sandwiches, it did suggest all such things were very much relative . . .

  Lowe shrugged the big man’s question away, pushing his own fried food around the plate with a fork. He hadn’t really had much of an appetite for anything that wasn’t Mylaf’s cooking lately. “I’m fine. It was what it was.”

  “From what I heard, Lowe, it was more than that.” Hel’s gaze was suddenly sharp over the rim of her cup. “Bodies everywhere. And you were called out. Mentioned by name just before the guy who murdered the hostages went boom himself. Your work or …”

  Despite being a supposedly retired Out of Bounds agent, Hel had an infuriating knack for keeping herself suspiciously well informed. “Wasn’t me,” he said. “And I don’t think it was self-inflicted either. Someone was pulling a whole lot of strings back there.”

  “A someone who mentioned you by name?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  Hel raised an eyebrow. “A someone who you might have the teeniest bit of history with?

  “Maybe.”

  “And you’re going to pretend it doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’ll summon the mental reserves to get over it.”

  Latham wiped his mouth, washing down his latest bite with a long swig from a chipped ceramic mug. “So how are you going to play this? I presume you’ve got more going on in that head of yours than just seeking to power up? Though I don’t think that’s a bad move. Even with, you know, all your blatant cheating, a Level 60 Heroic boss kicked your arse.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk. But I’ve got nothing much yet. I met up with a guy from my old team. He’s got his own version of an ‘I’m back!’ message too.”

  “The Black Knight,” Latham rumbled. “He was a nasty fucker. Even we were put on watch for him at the height of it. Though he never came for an Avatar, more’s the pity. The way I heard it, you nearly caught him . . .”

  And then Lowe was back in a different cafe, the warm glow of Crazy Xim’s being replaced by a very different vibe. Although similar faded wood. Equally greasy tables. He’d been sitting in the far corner, hadn’t he? Back to the wall, where he could see both the entrance to Goldleaf Park and that all-important bench. It had been perfect for the job. And then Rook was whispering bad vibes into his Sending Stone.

  You should turn that frown upside down, Rooky. We’re all about to be heroes.

  In a blink, the memory faded, leaving only the clatter of plates and the worried faces of his friends in front of him.

  “Sorry?” Lowe said. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “I’m not surprised. You were fucking miles away!” Hel said. “If it wasn’t for your insane Mental Fortress Skill I’d have thought someone might have possessed you.”

  “You okay, little man?”

  Lowe shook his head, as if he could dislodge the memory, As if Grid View hadn’t made it a permanent fixture in his mind. “Once I catch this fucker, I will be.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Hel and Latham exchanged worried looks. “From your lips to Arkola’s ears,” Latham said. “So I’ll say again. What’s your play?”

  “I’ve apparently got a meeting with some grand wanker called the Warden of the Reserves scheduled for this morning,” Lowe glanced at his watch. “Right about now, in fact.” He stood and offered his hand to his friends. “Cheers for the boost today, guys. I really appreciated it. Not all the bullshit comedy routine around it, but, you know. Thank you.”

  Latham grabbed a sandwich and stood. “You want some back-up? Be just like old times.”

  “Not this time, mate.”

  “Look, far be it from me to be a hand wringing panty-wetter, but I don’t think you should be walking around on your own, little man. Even with that,” he pointed at the manacle, “you’re still far too squishy for my liking. Anyone that can rob the Vault and leave your name in the mouth of a ticking timebomb is going to be worth keeping an eye out for.”

  “Appreciate it, but I actually have someone else to ride shotgun on this one. Figure I owe him that much.”

  ***

  "You know, I don't get out too much in the daylight anymore," Rook said, pulling his overcoat around himself self-consciously. "You’re sure you want me in on this?"

  They were sitting outside the most expensive office Lowe had ever seen. The whole building made some of the better houses in Jewel Town look like slums. The domed building towered over the rest of the street, all polished marble and enchanted glass. And once inside this place, money didn’t just talk—it dictated the laws of reality.

  Lowe looked again at the golden plaque in the middle of the heavy double door: Warden of the Reserves, Aven Morholt. Sovereign Bank of Soar.

  “You got the same message as me," Lowe said, watching Rook pull his coat tighter around himself. "If the Black Knight is back, then you know as much about him as I do.”

  And that was true, wasn’t it?

  Rook had been the key information officer in the investigation, the one who was tasked with spotting things others didn’t. Not just because he worked harder than anyone—though he did. Not just because he followed the threads until his fingers bled—though he had.

  No, Rook had a Skill for it. Pattern Recognition. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t set off fireworks in a fight, but it had saved plenty of lives. It was the reason their squad had suspected the Black Knight was going to change it up and look to take a child after all.

  They’d been pouring over data for weeks, looking for a pattern in the killings that had been plaguing the well-to-do of Jewel Town. The victims had all been bankers, politicians, a few trade officials. A brutal, methodical culling of the rich and famous and each murder had been staged and heavily dramatic.

  The Black Knight was the name on everyone’s lips. Lowe wasn’t surprised the Temple Warders had been put on alert. Dropping an Avatar would have been right up that wanker’s street.

  He was the dashing shadow who stole from the rich and . . . well, if he hadn’t got around to giving to the poor yet, then that was surely just a matter of time. So much so, in fact, that it would be fair to say that the level of public interest in catching the guy was massively inversely proportional to how much pressure was being put on Cuckoo House from the Mayor’s office.

  Lowe had assumed—wrongly, as it turned out in the end—that the next target would be another figure at the top of society. Someone high-profile. Another statement kill.

  But it had been Rook who had been the one to make the necessary intuitive leap.

  "Not the powerful," he had said to Lowe, running into his office carrying a case file, eyes fever-bright. "Not this time. I think he’s going to target the protected."

  And just like that, they had almost got ahead of the bastard. Almost.

  But they hadn’t been able to predict which kid he’d take. They hadn’t guessed it would be the Highberg’s child who would be the one taken.

  Lowe saw the way Rook's fingers flexed, remembered the way they had clenched back then—white-knuckled, shaking, pressing against his forehead as though he could force the truth into place faster.

  Rook had blamed himself when the report of the kidnapping had come through. They’d been so close to preventing it.

  Just as Lowe blamed himself for what had happened in the park. And for what had been left in the warehouse.

  For the things neither of them had stopped.

  Which was why, if Lowe was going to finally bring this guy down, he was going to ensure that Rook was going to be right by his side.

  “I probably should have asked this beforehand, but did you retain your Abilities when you, you know, came back from the dead?”

  “Fraid not. New Class, new rules, Lowe. Everything I’ve got now is a bit more . . . shall we say ‘death orientated?’”

  “Actually, shall we not say that?” Lowe said, as the door to the office opened. “It sounds fucking creepy.”

  A willowy blonde wearing glasses and holding a clipboard appeared in the doorway, her expression politely neutral. Her suit was white and crisp, her posture impeccable, and the glint of a … was that a warding pin on her lapel told Lowe she wasn’t just here to take notes.

  Bodyguard? he thought. Was it usual practice for the PA of the Warden of the Reserve to have game?

  “Mr. Morholt will see you now,” she said.

  Lowe stood. Rook hesitated, fingers tapping against the arm of his chair in a nervous rhythm before he sighed and followed suit, pulling his coat even tighter around himself.

  The blonde had already stepped aside, turning on her heel and pushing back through the doors, expecting them to follow without question. The hallway beyond was exactly as Lowe had expected—polished marble floors, chandeliers with bound-light enchantments, and the hush of wealth.

  Rook muttered under his breath as they walked. “How the other half live, eh?”

  But Lowe wasn’t really paying attention anymore. His gaze had drifted upward—to the soaring ceilings, to the intricate carvings of celestial constellations inlaid above them. And somewhere up there, through the massive arched windows that overlooked the city, the Celestial Temple gleamed.

  Then there was a bright flicker. A twinkling of the light.

  Coincidence?

  Or was someone watching?

  Welcome to the Dark Ages - coming your way to paperback, KU and Audible next week ??????