But the cab didn't take them to the same place.
Gerlyn—coffee orders balanced carefully in hand—arrived at the Elimination Company first, as expected.
Elis, however, stepped out alone, boots meeting damp pavement just outside a familiar exhibition hall on the city's edge. Yes, the Lingering Afterglow.
Mist curled at his heels, wrapping around his coat like unseen fingers grazing skin. The air hung heavy—not with rain, but with something weightier. Unseen. Watching.
My voice slithered into his mind, smooth as silk, cold as the fog itself:
"Elis, I have fulfilled my end of the bargain... Will you uphold yours? Or shall I remove her?"
He paused mid-step. His breath remained steady, but his eyes darkened. Fingers twitched, curling into fists.
Without a word, he turned toward the looming building ahead.
Behind the trees, I emerged—shaped from fog, sliding between trunks like a shadow made flesh. I adjusted my spectacles with a flick, pulling a mask over the lower half of my face. Just enough to hide the smile tugging at my lips.
Day two of the auction had begun.
And I, Gacanagh Spade, would be entering once more—under the name printed on my invitation: Mr. Spade.
A subtler name for a man the world need not remember too clearly.
The hall swelled with murmurs and movement. Guests flooded in, dressed in designer desperation. Laughter rang hollow, stitched together with boasts and backroom secrets. The air reeked of perfume and cigar smoke, layered so thick it clung to the lungs like rot.
Elis sat near the front in a velvet chair, crystal trim catching the chandelier's light like fractured stars. He looked like he belonged—polished, composed, unreadable.
I, on the other hand, had no interest in belonging.
I claimed my usual place in the last row of the VIP section. From here, I could see it all—smiles with knives beneath them, deals whispered behind manicured hands. Close enough to listen. Far enough to remain invisible.
Then, a ripple.
Two men in immaculate suits entered cautiously from the side, gloved hands steady as they carried a black stone orb resting on a jade pedestal.
Wait a minute.
That looked familiar.
It was mine.
Then, Roulette's voice cut through the chatter like a blade:
"Careful."
One of them flinched, adjusting his grip.
"What is this, madam?"
"A fail-safe," she replied, smooth and vague, offering no further explanation.
But I knew.
Magic from my world.
Forged by dark fairies.
A prison-world orb.
Few in this realm understood its horror. A prison world is a realm outside of time, a sentence worse than death. Those trapped within fell into a loop of nothingness, forgotten. Gone. Never returning.
The orb?
A one-way door. No key. No plea. Just silence forever.
My jaw tightened.
No one should've had this. Not here. Not her.
Not unless someone from my world had walked through the door I never truly closed.
How did she get it?
I thought I left it behind when I escaped Fairy World in the 1900s. Had someone followed me through the cracks? Had she dealt with something I buried centuries ago?
This wasn't just precaution.
This was control.
And Roulette… Roulette shouldn't have had this.
Elis didn't flinch, but his gaze lingered on the orb longer than expected—long enough to suggest something in him, ancient and instinctual, stirred.
Was this her weapon of choice?
A secret execution for those who crossed her?
How many had already vanished behind that painted smile?
Or was she actually going to auction it?
She wouldn't. Not really.
This was insurance. Or a message. Maybe both.
The orb shimmered as they carried it backstage, its glassy surface flawless—like a lake before it swallows a child whole.
The lights dimmed, but my eyes remained fixed on the orb.
Shadow swept across the room, swallowing corners and conversations alike. Then a single spotlight flared—molten gold spilling across the stage.
Roulette stepped into it.
Her scarlet gown whispered against the floor, every step a warning. Each movement calculated, like a predator confident in its kill.
Her lips curled in a smile—not warm, not kind. A blade dressed in velvet.
She raised one hand.
Her voice slid across the room, smooth as honey over warm bread:
"I am Roulette, your host for this afternoon's proceedings."
The crowd fell silent.
Every eye locked onto her.
The show had begun.
And somewhere backstage…
an entire prison world waited.
Hungry for its next victim.
A realm beyond time.
A price waiting to be paid.