The morning light slinked across the cobbled streets, filtered through rain-dark clouds still stubbornly hanging overhead. Dorian shuffled about the shop in his robe, half-awake, half-hoping Elira would be gone by now so he wouldn't have to awkwardly figure out what the hell last night was.
But no, there she was. Fully dressed now, in her now dried up Hexguard uniform, her damp hair tied back with more discipline than he'd ever mustered in his life. She gave him a polite nod as she reached for the door.
"Thanks.... for letting me stay the night," Elira said without looking at him.
Dorian waved lazily, pretending to sip something from an empty teacup. "Anytime," he said.
She opened the door. And immediately, a fist slammed into her face.
Elira hit the ground hard.
The men in soaked coats stepped into the shop. One of them, the largest, wiped his knuckles on his sleeve. "That's the girl. Grab her."
"What the-" Dorian started, nearly dropping the cup. Before he could move, two men burst in, one dragging Elira's limp body by the arm.
He wasn't a fighter.
He wasn't even brave.
But he was a damn good liar.
"Hey," Dorian said. His voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat and tried again, calmer this time. "What... are you doing with my customer?"
The man holding Elira blinked. "Huh? Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
One of the other thugs behind him, clearly younger and significantly more pale, tugged at the man's sleeve. "Boss... that's the Curator."
The air shifted.
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You're messing up my store."
The boss stiffened. "S-Sorry about the mess, sir. Didn't realize-"
"I didn't say I forgave you," Dorian said, now walking slowly toward them. Internally, every fiber of his body was screaming. But externally, he just scratched the back of his head like a man who was irritated. "Leave."
The gang leader hesitated. "But-"
Dorian looked up. His eyes were wide and calm, in the way only madmen or people with nothing left to lose could manage. "Leave."
That did it.
The boss grabbed his men and stumbled backward, dragging Elira's unconscious form to the edge of the doorway before carefully setting her down. "S-Sorry for the trouble!"
They bolted down the alley, muttering curses and apologies, disappearing into the early fog.
Dorian stood frozen. The whole event took less than thirty seconds.
He stared at Elira on the floor, her uniform scuffed, a light bruise already forming on her cheek. He slowly bent down, hand hovering over her shoulder to check if she was breathing, when, the inquisitor arrived.
"Oh, don't worry, I've got her."
A voice, smooth, cheerful, and entirely too casual, came from behind him.
Dorian turned.
Standing there was a man in a crisp black coat, hair neatly combed, face familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
(A clone?)
Before Dorian could say anything, the man knelt, picked up Elira like she weighed nothing, and gave Dorian a nod of genuine appreciation.
"Despite your looks, you're a pretty nice guy, huh?" the stranger said. "Thanks, mate."
And with that, he walked off into the mist with Elira in his arms.
Dorian blinked.
"What the hell just happened," he muttered to himself, rubbing his face.
After standing in the same spot for a full minute, Dorian returned behind the counter. There was tea in the kettle. At least, he thought it was tea. And the porcelain frog he was fiddling was staring at him.
"Don't look at me like that, I did my best," he told it.
The rain had stopped by noon.
Dorian finally stepped out to buy food, tucking his coat around himself. The streets still filled with puddles and the occasional trail of muddy prints. His thoughts were elsewhere, mostly trying to make sense of the last twelve hours. The wet footsteps. The thugs. The talk. The unconscious Hexguard officer being carried off by some unknown gentleman who thanked him like they were old pals.
"Okay," he muttered, counting coins, "we'll get bread, cheese, maybe some brandy and-"
He turned a corner and stopped.
A group of five men were standing in the alley.
The same ones from earlier.
"Well, well," the boss from before said, arms crossed. "Look who finally stepped out of his little lair."
Dorian froze. "Ah. Gents. Hello... Lovely weather we're having yes?."
The thugs were visibly tense. Not one of them moved.
The youngest of them whispered to another, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"We already look like idiots," the older man hissed back. "He humiliated the boss. We must finish this."
Dorian could feel the tension tightening like a rope.
"I'm a businessman," he said carefully. "No need for violence. You're free to leave, and I promise not to hold it against you."
The boss took a step forward. His lip curled in disgust. "You think you can threaten us? Just cause people are scared of your freak shop?"
Dorian kept his face blank, but his hands were sweating. He slipped one hand into his coat. Not for a weapon. Just to feel something solid.
"I think," he said slowly, "you should consider what happens when I get upset. I have... policies."
"Enough!" The boss pulled a pistol from his coat.
One of his men gasped. "Boss, no! Stop!"
"He's just a fraud," the boss snapped. "Let's see what happens when you shoot a lie."
Dorian froze as he stared at the pistol aiming for him.
A loud crack split the alley.
Pain spread in Dorian's chest like fire. He hit the ground, eyes slowly closing, breath stolen.
The other thugs stared, horrified.
"He... he actually went down," someone whispered.
"He was human?"
The youngest one stepped back. "You just, you just shot the Curator!"
From across the street, a figure leaned against the shadows, arms folded. Callum, the clone of the Inquisitor, had been watching the entire time.
He stepped forward now, just a little. Just enough to see Dorian's body lying on the cobbles.
"Huh," he muttered. "So he really was a fraud."
He didn't intervene.
Not yet.
The men, still stunned, began to back away. The gunman, their boss, stood frozen, face pale.
"I... I killed him," he muttered. "Hah!! See boys! This is what happens when you mess with me!"
No one replied.
The alley was quiet except for the soft patter of a distant gutter emptying its last drops of rain.
Then, among the silence, a whisper of breath.
Dorian's fingers twitched.
His eyes opened.
And then....
I awoke once more.