Bethany was still worried, but in the end, she decked to path along. It all balls down to her. Whether or another anything would happen was entirely up to her, and she didn't even know how else to make it work.As she reached home, trying to rest her head, she noticed the doorbell ring again. At first, she didn't want to believe it was her door, but with time, it immediately showed. However, there was a lot involved. Her heart shook, and she tied to control her expression when she saw who was at the door, but despite that, her expression was still harsh. So harsh it scared her. “You!” Lana swallowed. She lowered her head, and then raised it up again almost like she was ashamed.However, it was going to be worse than she actually thought. She knew where was a lot involved, and she was worried about It so bad.Her heart drummed, and she immediately tried to hug Bethany, but Bethany pulled out of the way. There was a feeling of uneasiness on her, and she tried he eBay to actually make

She walked over to his car, and she needed time to understand what else to do. A week passed, and Bethany had been living with him. She knew it wasn't easy for them, but try had to live like that until the whole thing happened well enough. “Are you sure you're alright…” she asked when she saw him in thoughts sorry the entire thing. Her heart was drumming, and she needed time to understand him.“Please make sure you are always this trying to make things right. You being in thought doesn't make energy. When are we going to the grave of your master?” He sighed, and she sat down close to him, taking his hands in hers. So many thoughts popped up in her head, and she was trying her best to be fine. After so many things were involved, she was worried about the way things were.“Are you sure you want to see the things. I don't know what else was making me feel strange.”There was no doubt that things were involved. I felt like things were going to be hard.She hugged him, and then retired t

The air in Jackson's tavern hung thick with the stench of stale beer, cheap cigars, and greed. It was a monument to excess, a gaudy shrine to his newfound wealth. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their golden fixtures reflecting the bad light and sending it scuttling around the room in asymmetrical, blinding forms. The walls were covered in velvet, a deep crimson that engulfed the shadows and provided the room with the feeling of being within a throbbing heart. Exotic spirits in bottles glowed on the bar, their labels written in script that most patrons couldn't read. The tables were packed with men and women in flashy attire, their laughter was raucous and derisive, their eyes aglow with a greed that could only be satiated by money. Jackson's business was booming, and Valkoria was paying the price. Jackson leaned back in his own private booth, a throne of beautifully polished mahogany wedged into the side of the bar. His suit was custom-made, black as the night, with a silk tie th

The police station itself was a battered sentinel in the middle of Valkoria, its gray stone facade battered and stained from generations of rioting and neglect. The interior air was stale, thick with the smells of ink, sweat, and burnt coffee. The flickering fluorescent tubes across the ceiling cast their hard glare across the cramped desks, their surfaces buried under reports, half-finished mugs, and crackling computer monitors. The station throbbed with tension, its officers moving through with the brusque urgency of men and women who understood the city was slipping. Bethany paced in the evidence room, the scraping of her boots on the cracked linoleum floor, the fingers sorting through a box of confiscated files. Her arm ached from a day of working, but she kept going, her gray eyes alight with purpose. The Black Spire's secrets were spilling over into the city, and she was running to keep pace.Outside, night rolled in with fog, the kind that clung to skin and muffled sound. Stree

The night in Valkoria was a shroud, heavy with fog and the acrid bite of smoke from distant fires. Jackson's saloon blazed like a torch in the city's rotting center, its gold chandeliers casting shattered light on red walls. The air inside was heavy with the stenches of whiskey, sweat, and greed. Civilians laughed too hard, their laughter strained, their eyes flashing toward the shadows as if anticipating Drake's goons bursting through the doors. Jackson held his private booth, a king upon a throne of highly polished mahogany, his black suit spotless, his gold watch beating like a pulse. His business boomed, built on the corruption of the city, but tonight his mind was a whirlpool of calculation and distrust.His mercenaries had come back, scuffing the shiny floor with their boots as they walked. They were rough men, weathered faces, tactical vests smeared with dust and blood. The leader, Kane, a wide-shouldered giant, stood in front of Jackson, hands folded across his chest, scarred.