---
The city of Vash'Kael was alive with movement.
Not loud. Not obvious. But constant.
From above, it looked perfect—streets etched with symmetry, courtyards aligned with mathematical grace, towers casting long, exact shadows. Every step felt counted. Every breath timed.
But beneath the surface—
Something was shifting.
---
In the shadowed alleyway, Finn and Aurora stood still.
The book—still tucked beneath Aurora's arm—seemed heavier than before. Not with weight, but with implication.
Moss stood across from them, barely moving, eyes gleaming in the half-light.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like he already knew what came next.
The silence between them wasn't empty. It was full of pressure.
---
Elsewhere, in one of many Vash'Kael's shadowy alley, Jake, Sally, and King remained where they'd been—
Staring at the space where the messenger had vanished.
The message still hung in the air. Unspoken, but heard.
Sally's arms were folded tight. Jake's jaw was set. King hadn't blinked in minutes.
None of them said anything.
Because there was nothing left to guess.
Only what came next.
---
In the deep, quiet hush of the archives, Harry sat surrounded by pages that shouldn't have survived.
The shadow-familiar curled lazily in his lap, tail flicking over parchment, eyes half-lidded in faint disapproval as Harry turned another page.
He scratched behind its ear, absentminded.
The ink on the page beneath his hand shifted ever so slightly—breathing secrets for him to find.
But he didn't notice.
Not yet.
---
The city moved around them. With them. Beneath them.
Everything felt like it was being drawn forward.
Not by force.
But by design.
Every path they followed was leading somewhere.
Every word, every whisper, pulling them toward something.
And none of them—
Not Finn, Sally, nor King or Jake, Harry or Aurora—
None of them knew just how close they were to the edge.
---
The stillness shattered with a breath.
Moss shifted—just slightly—but it was enough.
He wasn't relaxed anymore.
"We need to move," he said, voice low but urgent.
Aurora narrowed her eyes. "Why? Who's coming?"
He turned, listening.
The whistle came again—shorter this time.
A signal.
"That damn whistle again." Finn said, already bracing.
"It's them," Moss muttered.
"The Watchers."
From the shadows at the far end of the alley, something shifted. Just for a moment—a figure moving where there shouldn't be one.
Tall. Lean. Armor that barely made a sound. The light caught the edge of a mask.
Finn saw it too,
his expression tightening.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Multiples.
Moss muttered,
"Too late."
He stepped back and grabbed a cloth from a nearby crate, tossing it toward the book.
"Wrap it. Now."
Aurora didn't argue. She covered the book in a few quick folds, tucking it into her satchel just as Moss motioned onward.
"This way," he growled.
"Market's still loud enough to lose them—if we move."
They ran.
---
The alley narrowed before opening up into a busier stretch—half-market, half-mess. Vendors shouting, carts clattering, colors and scents clashing in a blur.
Moss weaved through with practiced ease, his broad frame somehow always finding the path.
Finn and Aurora followed, ducking low under drying racks, slipping past crates of herbs and caged beetles glowing faint green.
Behind them—
Shadows moved.
The Cloaked figures.
Faces covered in polished cloth. No insignias. No noise.
Aurora glanced back. "They're not chasing."
"They don't need to," Moss said.
"They're herding."
The three of them kept moving.
Turned left. Then right. Pushed through a curtain of bells strung above a teahouse.
Moss stopped.
"Change of plans," he said, breath steady.
Finn caught up beside him. "What now?"
Moss didn't answer him.
He was already looking ahead.
Three cloaked figures stood in their path—perfectly still.
One stepped forward.
"You've found something," the figure said, voice smooth and dispassionate.
"Something that doesn't belong to you."
---
Dust hung in the air, slow to settle. A quiet sound—vaguely resembling a whistle, sounding in the distance.
Jake stood where the messenger had disappeared, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to pull meaning from the empty space.
Jake let out a breath.
"I hate it when people do that disappearing act."
Sally adjusted the scroll in her hand dropped earlier by the messenger. Her fingers ran across the seal once more.
A simple line. No crest. No symbol. Just enough to disappear without a trace.
"Damn it. We should've asked more."
King leaned against the wall beside them, arms folded.
"That symbol on his arm," Jake said, still staring ahead.
"What do you guys think it meant?"
"...That mark was definitely part of something. A network, maybe. Or, a resistance of some kind." Sally added,
still distracted by her thoughts.
"Or propaganda," King muttered.
"We don't know what side that guy plays for."
"No," Sally said softly,
"but we do know he's right about one thing."
Jake glanced back.
She looked up. Her voice was steady.
"This city's about to break."
There was a pause—short, reflective.
Then Sally added,
"…He's right, isn't he?" she glances at King.
King finally said after a pause,
"I feel.. something big is coming."
They stood there for a moment—surrounded by stone and shadow, uncertainty pulsing through the silence.
Then,
"Come on."
Sally squared her shoulders. She tucked the blank-sealed scroll into her satchel.
"We don't have the luxury of standing by."
Jake looked over.
Her face was calm. Focused.
King nodded. "We need to find him again."
Jake tilted his head slightly. "The messenger?"
"You think he'll just show up again?"
"No," he replied.
"But maybe the place will.
King glanced between them.
"The courtyard. The one where he first appeared. There might be something we missed."
Jake pushed off the wall, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Or something dangerous."
King's gaze didn't waver.
"Either way, it's a start."
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then, Jake exhaled through his nose, resigned.
"Alright. Sounds like a plan.."
They exchange one last glance—then vanish into the city.
---
The light in the archives never changed.
It wasn't sunlight. It wasn't firelight. It was that same low, hovering glow from floating stones suspended between the rows—warm enough to read by, cold enough to forget time.
Harry sat cross-legged again, surrounded by open books and scrolls that had been buried longer than anyone cared to admit. The ink hadn't faded. Some of it looked like it had only been written hours ago.
Sat in the low light—filtered through thick glass and magical lanterns that hummed like far-off bees.
He was absentmindedly scratching behind the shadow-familiar's ears.
It had made itself comfortable across his legs.
All smoke and ink and too-large eyes,
it flicked its tail in slow arcs, as if timing his page turns.
"Y'know, for a creature made of literal darkness," Harry muttered, "you're oddly clingy."
The familiar blinked once, unimpressed, and stretched like a cat who owned the place.
From a nearby table, the librarian looked up.
"Perhaps it has taken a liking to you."
Harry smirked without looking up.
"A living inkblot as my new best friend. How lucky am I."
"Well, might as well keep you around. Could use a second opinion."
The creature purred.
He turned another page in the brittle journal resting in his lap.
The script was old. Sharp-edged. Annotated in the margins by different hands across decades—maybe centuries.
He scanned each line carefully until his eyes caught a phrase, buried mid-sentence:
"Hmm... let's see."
"The Chain of Vash'Kael was never meant to hold."
His brow furrowed.
"Well that's... dramatic."
He traced the edge of the page with a gloved finger—only to feel it catch, lightly.
A page had been torn out.
He flipped back. Then forward.
Gone.
But in the small gap where the parchment had once been, something remained.
A smear of ink.
And in it, a word—
"Vey."
Scrawled in rushed, slanted letters. Like someone didn't want it to be noticed… but didn't want it completely lost either.
Harry leaned in, breath held.
"Vey...?"
The familiar tilted its head.
Behind them, quiet footsteps passed down a distant hall. Nothing unusual.
But the familiar sat up straighter.
And the librarian, still at her desk, paused her pen mid-sentence.
"You are close to something, harry." she said, not looking up.
Harry just stared at the ink. At the space where a truth had once been—and maybe still was.
Then sighed.
"Yeah. That's the problem."
outside the archway—out of sight—
watchful eyes remain unseen.
---
Stone walls rose tight on either side, pulsing faintly with the rhythm of distant energy—like the city itself was breathing in.
Moss stood in front of Finn and Aurora,
one arm extended slightly to keep them behind him.
Across the way, the three cloaked figures stood silent.
One stepped forward.
His cloak shifted as he moved, catching what little light filtered in from the market behind them.
Beneath the hood: smooth silver armor traced with dull etchings—old, but well-kept. His voice, when it came, was calm. Clean.
"You must forgive the sudden introduction. But you have something valuable… and we'd like it returned."
"Look, we don't even know what this is." Aurora said, voice nervous.
The figure chuckled.
"Exactly why you should hand it over."
Finn raises a hand.
"Okay, but counterpoint—what if we don't?"
The amusement in the figure's eyes flickers.
Behind Finn, Moss mutters under his breath.
"...Careful, little elf," he murmured toward Finn. "This one's not just a talker."
Aurora's eyes narrowed.
"If this is just some old record… why do you care so much?"
The figure stepped forward once more,
the air around him suddenly humming with faint magic.
Then, he spoke.
"There are things in this city that should remain buried,"
Aurora glanced at the satchel.
Then at finn.
The two looked at each other, a decision passed between them without a word.
Then, she looked back to the figure.
"No," she said firmly.
A pause.
The silver figure raised one hand, fingers glinting with light.
"That is truly unfortunate."
A low pulse filled the air—subtle at first, then stronger.
The other cloaked figures began to step forward. Not fast. Not loud.
Just inevitable.
Finn's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Fight or flight?"
Aurora didn't hesitate.
"Flight."
---
They ran.
The air snapped behind them,
a sharp ripple of force striking the stone where they'd just been standing.
Dust shot outward. Someone shouted behind them.
Moss grabbed a hanging sheet and yanked it down mid-run,
tossing it over a crate to break the line of sight.
"Move!"
Finn ducked under a half-collapsed archway, Aurora just behind him, satchel clutched tight.
They burst out of the alley into another market row—narrower now, the noise thinner, the space tighter.
"Where are we going?" Finn hissed.
"Out," Moss grunted.
"Anywhere with a door between us and them."
They cut left.
The shadows didn't falter.
Then right,
the shadows slid along.
The path twisted—
uneven stone, a toppled cart, a narrow bridge over a dry drainage canal.
Footsteps echoed behind them—
too many, too close.
"Why are they so fast?!" aurora said, nearly breathless.
"I'd love… to stay and ask!" Finn somehow managed to let the words out among the chaos.
They round a sharp corner,
Then—
A wall.
Tall. Solid.
No openings.
They skidded to a stop, breath ragged.
Finn swore.
"Dead end."
Aurora spun, eyes darting across the stone.
"We can go back—"
"No, too late for that." Moss said.
Behind them,
The silver-cloaked figure appeared at the entrance,
unbothered.
"Still running?" the figure said,
calm, amused.
Moss steps forward.
"...You really don't wanna do this."
The silver-clad figure tilts his head, considering.
"Perhaps not."
"But I do want the book."
Moss took a deep breath.
He reached out,
touching the wall gently. Just for a second.
He turned to Finn.
"Got a trick, big guy?" Finn asked.
Moss cracked his knuckles.
"Yeah,"
He stepped in front of them.
"Stay out of the way."
Moss planted both feet, raised one fist—
And slammed it into the wall.
The sound cracked like thunder.
Stone splintered.
The alley exploded in a cloud of dust and fractured rock,
drowning out every sound,
swallowing vision in a thick gray veil.
The wall split— with raw, brute force.
And,
When it cleared—
Finn, Aurora, and Moss were gone.
No footprints. No direction.
Just the echo of force and the settling silence.
The silver-cloaked figure stepped forward,
brushing a flake of stone from his shoulder.
He sighed.
"Troublesome."
He turned to the others, his voice low but sharp.
"Find them."
"Before they understand what they're carrying."
The cloaked figures slipped back into the shadows without a word—like they'd never been there at all.
---
The courtyard looked smaller in the light.
Less like a place. More like a memory.
Jake stepped in first, hands in his coat pockets, eyes flicking from corner to corner.
The stone tiles beneath his feet were cracked in places, smoothed in others—worn not by time, but by repetition.
Sally followed behind, slow and thoughtful.
Her gaze moved across the space like she was trying to see it the way it had been, not the way it was.
King said nothing.
He brought up the rear, walking along the wall with quiet purpose, fingertips trailing just above the stone.
"This is where it happened," Sally said softly.
Jake glanced over. "You positive?"
She nodded.
"Right there," she pointed toward the archway.
"Stood just inside the shadow. I remember the way he looked at us. Like he already knew something we hadn't said yet."
Jake crouched down, examining the worn edge of the fountain at the center. It was bone-dry,
the basin cracked along one side.
"Feels as though no one's been here in a while."
"Or maybe someone doesn't want this place used anymore," King murmured, voice low.
He was kneeling now, one hand pressed gently to the floor near the outer ring of the courtyard.
Sally watched him for a moment.
Then walked to the wall where the messenger had first appeared.
She stood close—closer than she had during the encounter.
Studied the stone. The joints between them. The dust. The silence.
"He didn't walk in," she said.
"I remember that now."
Jake looked over. "What do you mean, sal?"
"He was just... there. One moment empty. The next, not." She reached out, laid her hand flat against the wall.
"Like he stepped out of it."
Jake joined her, eyeing the wall up close.
The surface was smooth. Seamless.
But—
"There," he muttered, tapping gently.
Sally leaned in.
Just above the base of the wall,
a subtle seam ran through the stone—almost invisible unless you were looking for it.
Jake traced it slowly with his fingers.
"This doesn't match the rest of the wall."
King rose and stepped beside them.
"It's a door," he said simply.
Sally nodded. "Or a passage."
Jake pressed his palm to it again—lightly this time, just to feel the shift in temperature,
the faint vibration humming beneath.
He stepped back a little.
"I don't know what's behind it, but it wasn't built for the public."
Sally looked at him.
"Only one way to find out."
---
The doorway gave way with a soft sigh.
Stone shifted—not loud, not dramatic. Just… inevitable.
Jake pressed lightly once more, and the hidden panel eased open, revealing a narrow corridor descending beneath the courtyard.
Dust rolled out from the space beyond, stirred by air that hadn't moved in too long.
They stood there for a moment, no one speaking.
Sally looked down into the dark.
Jake looked at her.
"We going in?"
She nodded once.
King stepped in first.
Jake followed next.
Sally last, casting one quick glance back at the courtyard before slipping inside.
---
The door closed behind them with a quiet click.
Jake turned and stared at the wall for a second, then muttered,
"I already regret this."
"Too late now," Sally replied, adjusting her pack. Her voice was steady—but quiet.
Even she didn't want to be too loud down here.
The passage was narrow.
Stone walls pressed close on either side, uneven and damp.
Old sconces lined the walls in long-forgotten intervals,
empty of light. A faint, stale draft moved through the tunnel like breath from a sleeping giant.
King stepped ahead of them, calm and deliberate, a hand trailing lightly along the wall.
Every few paces, one of them would test the ground before moving forward. Not because they expected traps—just because this place felt like one step away from collapsing.
"I hate how quiet it is," Jake muttered.
Sally offered a faint, forced smile.
"You'd prefer a choir?"
"...Over this? Totally."
They walked for minutes. The air shifted as they moved—cooler the deeper they went, tinged with something metallic.
At one bend, they found what looked like an old table pressed into a shallow alcove. Rotted wood. Dust.
And, something that might have once been a cup.
Jake poked it.
The cup tipped and cracked against the stone. Dust sprayed.
Sally sneezed.
"Great," Jake said dryly.
They kept walking.
---
The corridor sloped downward.
Slightly at first. Then more.
The stone changed as they moved. Smoother. Darker. Colder.
Sally's lantern—flickered faintly, its flame struggling to stay steady.
Then,
they stopped.
In front of them a break in the corridor wall.
A doorway, half-collapsed, opened into a wider chamber.
Jake stepped forward,
peering in.
"...Is that writing?"
Sally leaned closer.
The walls inside were etched.
Not with design. Not with decor.
Words scratched into stone—some neat, most ragged, carved with anything sharp enough to leave a mark.
Some had faded completely, worn down by time or touch.
Others were still legible.
The three of them stepped into the room slowly.
Sally walked to the far wall.
She ran her fingers just above the markings—careful not to touch.
Some were names.
Some were dates.
Most were messages.
---
"I was taken on the 4th. Tell Mura I'm sorry."
"He screamed for three days. Then stopped."
"If anyone sees this, my name was Lian. I didn't do anything."
"The walls move. They move when I sleep."
"They're going to make me forget."
---
Jake's voice was quieter now. "This is…"
He didn't finish the thought.
Sally crouched near the far corner, where the markings grew dense.
One section was marked over and over with the same words, looped and jagged, like someone had carved them again and again to keep from vanishing.
"Still here still here still here still here—"
King stood silently near the opposite wall.
His eyes moved over a dark stain in the stone. Old. Dry.
Unmistakable.
Jake swallowed.
"This is not a place we were meant to be see."
Sally rose slowly. "No."
"This was most likely a holding place, once." she said.
"Or worse."
No one spoke for a while.
The next few chambers were empty.
Dust and time had done their work—collapsing shelves, rotting benches, sealing old doorways with rubble.
Every path they followed ended in more decay. More silence.
No maps.
No messages.
No signs of the rebels.
Just ghosts—
and not the kind that spoke.
Sally ran a hand along one of the walls as they passed, voice low and flat.
"If this place was part of a resistance… it's long dead."
"Maybe it was never one to begin with."
"But.. the guy came through here, didn't he?" Jake questioned.
No one had an answer.
They reached a junction—two paths splitting off in opposite directions.
Both dark. Both identical.
Jake leaned against the wall.
"We've been down here nearly an hour. I've seen more dead rats than signs of life. Let alone any signs of the resistance."
Sally didn't answer.
King stood still in the middle of the split, eyes scanning the shadows like he was trying to make them talk.
"Should we split up and look separately?" Jake offered, without much conviction.
Sally shook her head.
"No. If there's a trap, we'd be more vulnerable."
"And, there's no point in that."
"So.. just follow one path and hope it's the correct one?"
"Well..." sally considered.
"If you ask me, that's even worse than splitting up. At least that way, someone will actually find the right path and not waste time walking blindly."
"We're not splitting up, jake." Sally said firmly.
Jake sighed and turned back.
"Then what? Just... call it? Say the guy in the alley was wasting our time."
King's voice was quiet, but firm.
"No. But, maybe we came to the wrong place at the right time."
Sally blinked. "That's not helpful, King."
"I mean," Jake said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It does sound just vague enough to be prophetic."
"And, we do need some kind of divine help right about now."
---
Sally gave one last glance down the tunnel.
"…Let's head back."
King gave a slow nod.
Jake was already turning, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered, "Next time we should just follow a map."
Sally smirked faintly. "If we ever find one."
They stepped back towards the corridor they came through.
Their footsteps felt heavier now.
Not from the walk—but from the weight of not finding what they came for.
Of thinking maybe they'd built too much meaning into too little.
Jake muttered as they walked,
"Whole city's a maze. Figures the one person who seemed like he knew where he was going ends up pointing us to a dead end."
"Yeah.. just our luck," Sally exhaled.
The passage curved again—tight walls narrowing slightly, the air even colder now. The kind of cold that didn't come from wind, but from stone that hadn't been touched in years.
Their shadows stretched long ahead of them.
And—
From around the next bend—
Came a quiet voice:
"You're a little off the mark."
They all froze.
Jake reached for his belt, instinct flaring.
King stepped forward fast, body tense.
From the shadows stepped a figure.
Young. Calm. Cloaked in worn gray. Eyes sharp, mouth curved faintly with amusement.
A familiar face,
of the young boy who had led them here, to this city.
Vey.
Just as they remembered him.
No fanfare. No magic flare. Just him.
Like he'd always been there.
Jake's hand dropped slowly from his side.
Sally stared.
Her chest rose once, sharp and sudden.
"…You."
Vey gave a half-smile.
"Didn't expect to see you three again so soon."
---
No one spoke for a while.
The torchlight flickered faintly between them, catching just enough of Vey's face to prove he was real. Not a shadow. Not another dead end.
Jake was the first to speak, voice low and dry.
"Seriously?"
Vey tilted his head.
"What, not the reunion you pictured?"
"You vanished," Sally said, stepping forward.
Her voice wasn't angry—it wasn't anything she could name.
"You just—left."
Vey nodded once.
"That's true."
"Without a word,"
King added.
"That's also true."
Jake crossed his arms.
"So what now, you just hang around spooky basements waiting for us to get lost?"
Vey smiled faintly.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
A long pause.
Then Sally asked, not quite ready to believe it:
"Why are you here?"
---
Vey's gaze softened.
"Some work just came up, you don't need to worry about that stuff for now."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we do, buddy."
"Vey, you can't just leave us in the dark like that forever. You have to tell us what's going on if you want us to trust you."
Sally added, her tone firm.
"It's funny, isn't it." Vey said.
Jake blinked.
"What is?"
"Trust, isn't the first thing that comes to mind. When you're struck in this type of situations."
"I mean,"
"You guys should know. You were in one.. not that long ago."
Jake stayed silent.
Sally opened her mouth—but didn't know what to say.
Because, he was right.
They had no choice but to trust him,
again.
"We came here to investigate. See if we could find a lead."
"That's all."
Kind said simply.
"And, we thought wrong."
"You weren't," Vey replied, stepping closer.
"You were just early."
Jake looked back toward the dead end behind them.
"So what—you were watching us?"
Vey's eyes didn't waver.
"You were never alone down here."
Jake muttered,
"That's not comforting."
Sally watched Vey carefully.
"You're with them, aren't you?" she asked.
"The ones trying to fight back."
Vey's expression didn't change.
He only looked at them, a smile forming.
"Come on. There's something you need to see."
---
Vey walked ahead without waiting to see if they followed.
He moved like someone who didn't need to explain. Like the silence between steps said enough.
Sally glanced once at King and jake.
Then followed.
Jake dragged his hand down his face.
"This can't be happening again," he muttered,
but moved too.
---
Vey led them through a path they had barely missed couple of corridors ago.
Jake looked at sally, who looked at king.
He gave a small shrug,
and followed vey ahead.
They passed a worn archway—barely visible unless you were looking for it.
The stone shifted slightly as Vey approached, groaning inward as if remembering it was supposed to open.
Beyond it: a narrow hall, then a low stone stair, winding down.
Leading to—
A door.
Heavy, iron-framed.
Mismatched hinges. The kind built to not be found.
Vey knocked once.
Sharp. Measured.
Then twice more in a rhythm.
The sound echoed.
A beat passed.
Then the door cracked open.
---
The chamber inside was low and broad, lit by a few quiet lanterns tucked into corners.
Their light flickered across stone walls and cast long, slow shadows.
The air smelled of parchment, ink, and steel.
Along the far wall, a long table stretched the length of the room.
Maps lay across it—
Some rolled tight, others spread open,
pinned by knives and cracked mugs.
Red ink marked paths across one map.
Circles. Xs.
Some sections blacked out entirely.
Some pages looked half-burnt,
like they were barely saved from burning away forever,
While others not legible from wear and tear over time.
Sally stepped in slowly, gaze catching on a wall of notes—pinned in uneven rows with faded sketches, symbols, and scraps of paper marked in hurried scrawl.
Jake let out a low breath, almost a whisper.
"Rebels."
A group of people sat at a table—quiet, mid-conversation,
turned their eyes toward them.
One of them—
a woman with short gray hair and a scar through her brow—set her cup down without looking away.
Another, younger, leaned forward slightly,
like he was about to say something,
then didn't.
The silence in the room was tense.
Jake glanced at Sally.
She nodded once.
Then,
she took a step forward.
"We're not here to cause any trouble," she said. Her voice was calm, steady.
"We came in looking for someone."
She paused, eyes scanning the room.
"The one who left the message."
There was a slight shift in the air—enough to show that at least some of them recognized what she meant.
king stepped beside her spoke up.
"We followed the trail left by him. Found this place with his help."
King looked at vey.
The woman with the scar stood.
Her chair scraped the stone with a soft drag, like it didn't want to interrupt.
She stepped away from the table, eyes on Sally.
She spoke, gently.
"You followed a ghost,"
Her voice was rough, like it had been used too hard once and never fully healed.
"And found us."
Jake shifted his stance slightly, but didn't move forward.
"We weren't trying to expose anything. We just… didn't know where else to go."
Sally replied.
The woman looked at them,
Her eyes sensing something within them.
The scarred woman spoke once more,
"You all felt it too, didn't you?"
King met her eyes without hesitation.
"Yes. We've been feeling it ever since we'd stepped foot here."
"Something's very wrong in this city."
The woman gave the smallest nod.
She turned.
And, glanced at someone behind her.
Another man—older, hollow around the cheeks, but with a gaze that didn't drift.
He tapped the edge of the table,
and the room seemed to shift just slightly, like everyone adjusted at once.
He stepped forward and,
Addressed the three of them,
In a low wise tone, he spoke.
"So," he said,
"you want to change it too."
It wasn't a question. But it felt like one.
King answered again with no hesitation.
"Yes. We want to change it."
Jake raised an eyebrow.
"Change what, exactly?"
The man looked at him. Not sharply. Just plainly.
"The city."
"Don't you?"
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 11]