Verant, Adventurer Guild.

  Guild Master's Room.

  Veyra sat behind a desk made of oakwood with a soft leather cushion on the chair. She was in her early thirties but looked a little older. Her iron-gray hair was cut short and uneven, like she'd done it herself without a mirror. Deep scars ran up the left side of her neck and jaw. They looked like cracked porcelain. Her left eye was cloudy white and blind, always shut tight. Her right eye was sharp hazel.

  She wore dark green robes with armor plates underneath. The high collar covered most of the scarring on her neck.

  On her desk sat a small cracked teacup filled with a mercury-like liquid. It never spilled no matter how the cup moved. She dipped one finger into it and traced idle shapes on the desk surface while reading the latest report.

  Continued kidnappings of young people inside Verant. Yesterday three more were reported missing.

  That brought the total count to fifty-eight missing over four months.

  Flip.

  She turned the page.

  All the young people had been from lower standings. Some were orphans. Most had something in common though. They were either Zero-Rank or unranked. Men and women both. Of all the people who were kidnapped, none of them were older than eighteen.

  The door to her office opened without a knock.

  A clerk came in holding another report. He was young, early twenties, wearing robes that hung loose on his thin frame. His name was Jack, and he'd been working under Veyra for two years now. He looked perpetually tired.

  "What happened?" Veyra asked, still reading the report in front of her.

  "The letter from main headquarters has arrived for you." He placed the sealed envelope on her desk.

  She didn't look at the letter immediately. Instead, she dipped her finger in the liquid again and drew a slow circle on the desk. The surface rippled faintly. "Why would headquarters send me a letter?"

  She looked up at Jack with her one good eye. "Has there been any trouble from our side?"

  The clerk hesitated.

  "Just say it," Veyra said flatly.

  "I think it's about Merchant Brad's missing daughter."

  "Hm." Veyra's expression didn't change. "Who is that?"

  Jack was lost for words for a full minute. She's joking, right? he thought.

  "Guild Master," he said slowly. "Merchant Brad is a very important donor to our guild."

  The answer didn't change her expression in the slightest.

  So she asked again. "What does that have to do with this?" She pointed at the letter.

  Veins were clearly visible on Jack's forehead at this point. His jaw clenched.

  "Merchant Brad has been in town for business with the noble houses," Jack explained, enunciating every word carefully. "His only daughter came with him. On the first day of Third Frost, she was kidnapped from their rented house."

  Veyra stopped drawing circles.

  "It's been such a long time since that happened. Why didn't he report the incident immediately?" she asked.

  Jack's face turned red with barely restrained anger. But he still maintained his calm, though his voice came out strained.

  "Because," he said, saying every syllable slowly and deliberately, "when he did come to report it, you, dear Guild Master, threw him out of the guild building. For having no manners."

  Veyra blinked. "Oh."

  She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Oh, now I remember." Then she stopped. "No, actually, I still don't remember anything like that happening at all."

  The sound of teeth grinding could be heard clearly in the quiet room.

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  "Thank you for your kind service, Jack," Veyra said pleasantly. "You can go now."

  Jack instantly left the room without waiting even a single second, afraid he might actually start cursing out loud if he stayed any longer.

  After the door shut, leaving only Veyra behind, she broke into quiet laughter. It was soft and almost elegant, though there was a sharp edge to it.

  "I swear, if not for dear Jackie, I might kill myself out of boredom," she muttered to herself, still smiling faintly.

  After having her daily dose of entertainment, she picked up the letter. She broke the wax seal and unfolded it, scanning the contents.

  ---

  Veyra Thornwood,

  It has come to our understanding that you have treated one of our important donors, Merchant Brad, very badly. This in itself is disgraceful behavior unbefitting of a Guild Master. But not only that—you have also refused to perform your duties as the Guild Master of the Verant branch.

  The kidnappings of young people in your jurisdiction have come to our notice. The leadership at headquarters is not happy with the current situation. Verant is an important town for our guild. Despite it no longer holding the value it had centuries ago, it is still the main hub for several great noble families. Therefore, you are to make this matter your top priority and solve it as quickly as possible.

  And do not make us demote you further. It already pains us to have sent you to such a small town.

  Regards,

  Jonathan D. Balm

  ---

  Veyra threw the letter onto the desk and leaned back in her chair. She massaged her forehead with one hand and took a deep breath.

  She'd been serious about the kidnapping case even before Merchant Brad's daughter had been taken. She wasn't some incompetent fool who ignored problems until they became disasters. The issue was that this case made no sense.

  Verant was not a large town geographically. There were only a handful of routes in and out, and all of them were monitored to some degree. There was no way people—fifty-eight people—could be smuggled out of the town without her knowing. Yet somehow, it was happening.

  There had been no clues found about the kidnappings. No witnesses. No signs of struggle. No blood. No bodies. Nothing at all.

  Which led Veyra to the conclusion that this wasn't simple human trafficking.

  That made things far more troublesome and dangerous.

  If this wasn't trafficking, then the other implications became progressively worse. Ritual sacrifices. Magical experimentation. Soul harvesting. Channel extraction. Any number of forbidden practices that would require living subjects.

  She just hoped it wasn't any of those.

  Currently, the manpower of the guild was spread thin. They didn't have many people to dedicate to this investigation. Or to be more specific, not many Investigators. Most adventurers were strong. Very few were smart.

  She sighed again. At times like this, she wished the guild could recruit more intelligent people instead of just muscle-headed combat junkies who only knew how to swing swords.

  As she closed her eyes, an image of a man formed in her mind.

  She opened her eyes instantly and shook her head like a crazy person. "No. No, no, no. Absolutely not," she said out loud to the empty room.

  "I am not asking that man for help. Not at all. Not even in a million years."

  Then she remembered the contents of the letter again.

  "Ah." She ruffled her hair with both hands, pulling at the uneven strands in frustration.

  She didn't really have a choice here. If her gut feeling was right—which it quite often was—then something truly horrifying was happening in this town. And if that was the case, she couldn't solve it alone.

  Even if it meant asking him for help.

  "Oh, great," she muttered bitterly. "I'm summoning another maniac into this town."

  She sat there for a long moment, staring at the letter on her desk. Her finger traced absent circles in the mercury-like liquid again.

  Fifty-eight missing. All young. All low-status ( almost all low-status ) All taken without a trace.

  The pattern was deliberate. Someone was selecting targets carefully. Someone with resources. Someone with knowledge. Someone who could operate undetected in a town under guild oversight.

  That last part bothered her the most.

  Either the kidnapper was extremely skilled at evasion, or they had inside help. And if it was the latter, then the rot went deeper than she wanted to admit.

  She picked up a blank piece of parchment and a pen. She stared at the empty page for a full minute before finally starting to write.

  Her handwriting was sharp and precise.

  ---

  I need you in Verant.

  Don't make me regret this.

  —V.

  ---

  She sealed the letter with a drop of wax and pressed her guild seal into it. Then she called for Jack again.

  He returned a minute later, still looking annoyed.

  "Send this by courier," Veyra said, handing him the sealed letter. "Priority delivery. It goes to Silas Crowe. Last known location was Millford, but he moves around. The courier network should be able to track him."

  Jack took the letter and left without another word.

  Veyra leaned back in her chair again and closed her eyes.

  She hated asking for outside help. It made her look weak and incompetent. But more than that, she hated asking him specifically.

  Silas Crowe was brilliant. Methodical and Relentless detective. He solved cases that others gave up on. But he was also insufferable. Arrogant. Cold. And he had a habit of uncovering truths that people would rather keep buried.

  He in simple terms was an Absolute Nut Case.

  But if anyone could find fifty-eight missing people—or at least figure out what happened to them—it was Silas.

  She opened her eyes and picked up the teacup. She stared into the swirling mercury liquid for a moment, then drank the entire contents in one smooth motion.

  It tasted like cold metal and left her tongue numb.

  She set the empty cup down and stood. She walked to the narrow window and looked out over Verant. The town sprawled below her, compact and bustling. Merchant stalls. Guild banners. People going about their lives, unaware that something was hunting their children.

  How many more before this ended?

  She turned away from the window and returned to her desk. She pulled out another report—this one detailing the most recent disappearances—and began reading it again, searching for anything she might have missed.

  There had to be something. A pattern. A clue. Anything.

  She just had to find it before the body count got any higher.