The streets of Dunwich's Reach were silent, save for the sound of boots against damp stone.
Elias walked a step behind Greaves, watching the man in the dim glow of the oil lamps. He was a large man, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a thick coat that had seen its share of years. His steps were slow but deliberate, carrying the ease of someone who knew the streets well.
He had been expecting someone like Greaves.
Back in Vundora's capital, Elias had tracked down a travel agent named Edward Wren, a man who specialized in connecting outsiders to the more inaccessible corners of the country. For a price, Wren had arranged for Elias to have a contact waiting in Dunwich—a man who would help him settle in, show him around, and make sure he didn't starve on his first night.
That man was Greaves. And so far, he had done his job.
He had helped Elias secure an apartment, carried his luggage up the narrow stairs, and was now leading him to a place where he could eat after such a long journey. Of course, none of it had been free. Elias had already paid him for the arrangements, but Greaves had still found ways to squeeze a little extra out of him—an added cost for carrying the bags, another for handling the paperwork.
A man like Greaves would never do more than necessary unless there was money involved.
Elias didn't mind. Most middlemen were like this.
What mattered now was figuring out how much Greaves really knew about Dunwich—and how much he was willing to share.
Ahead, a sign creaked in the wind. The Black Harpoon.
The paint was peeling, but the image was still clear—a swordfish, long and sharp, leaping from the water. Elias frowned.
Swordfish weren't found in these waters.
Another piece of history that no one had bothered to change.
Greaves pushed open the door without hesitation. The moment Elias stepped inside, he felt the shift.
The bar was warmer than expected, thick with the scent of salt, smoke, and whiskey. A fire crackled somewhere unseen, casting faint embers into the air.
No one stopped talking when they entered. But Elias noticed the shift in voices—a slight lull, the way a room lowers its volume when someone unfamiliar walks in.
He took in the scene.
The miners were gathered in one corner, silent, their coats still dusted with the filth of the day. A rowdy group of fishermen sat closer to the bar, laughing too loudly. Their joy felt forced, like a performance.
Near the back, a woman sat alone, hunched over a drink. Her fingers traced lazy circles on the wood, her lips moving in an unheard whisper.
And near the center, a group of men played cards. Elias didn't miss the way one of them was watching him more than his hand.
Greaves barely looked around. He walked straight to an empty table near the wall and sat down, waving a hand toward the chair across from him.
Elias took his seat carefully. Back to the wall, where he could see the whole room.
Greaves didn't ask what he wanted. He stood again, made his way to the counter, and spoke to the bartender in a low voice.
Elias watched as the woman behind the bar glanced at him mid-conversation. A quick look, unreadable. Then she nodded and disappeared through a door into the back.
A few minutes later, Greaves returned with a plate of rice and fish. He set it in front of Elias before dropping into his own seat, cradling a glass of whiskey.
Elias looked down at the meal. Fish. Of course it was fish.
Dunwich's Reach had no real trade routes. If you weren't eating fish, you weren't eating.
He picked up his fork. "You always order for people, or is this a special courtesy?"
Greaves smirked. "Didn't think you'd want to draw more attention to yourself."
Elias didn't argue. Instead, he took a bite and leaned back.
"You live in Dunwich, then?"
Greaves chuckled. "Live is a strong word. I exist in it. That count?"
"Guess it depends how long you've been existing here."
Greaves shrugged, taking a sip of whiskey. "Long enough to know it's a hard place to leave."
Elias nodded, setting down his fork. He watched Greaves's face, then asked, "How do you know Edward Wren?"
Greaves chuckled, tapping the rim of his glass. "Funny you should ask. Edward's family owns this place."
Elias processed that. He hadn't known Edward had family in Dunwich.
It wasn't important—not yet—but he filed it away.
He took another bite, then shifted the conversation. "Henry Pike. Name familiar?"
He wasn't watching Greaves's reaction—he was watching the room.
There was no full silence, no dramatic pause. But the shift was there.
The miners glanced his way again.
The woman in the back—she had stopped whispering. Her fingers were still against the wood now, her eyes sharp and unmoving.
And the card players—the ones closest to him—had slowed their movements.
Only the fishermen remained unchanged, too caught up in their own world.
Greaves didn't answer right away. He took another sip of whiskey, swirling the glass in his fingers.
"We don't talk about missing people," he said simply. "It's bad luck."
Elias let the words settle.
Bad luck.
Not a tragedy. Not a problem. Just bad luck.
Elias picked up his fork again, pretending to focus on his meal. He wasn't done pushing.
He took another bite. "The police don't seem concerned with all this bad luck."
Greaves scoffed. He didn't answer right away, just ran a finger along the rim of his glass.
Elias had met enough men like him to recognize when someone was holding back.
"You'll have a harder time getting answers than you think," Greaves finally said.
Then, just as smoothly, he set down his glass, stood up, and stretched his shoulders.
"You'll pay for that," he muttered, motioning toward the meal.
Elias exhaled through his nose. "Of course I will."
Greaves smirked. "Good luck, journalist. You'll need it."
With that, he walked out, disappearing into the night.
Elias didn't follow.
He finished his meal slowly, reading the room. The tension had faded, but the presence of it still lingered.
The miners had gone back to their drinks, but a few still glanced his way.
The card players were more discreet, but Elias knew they'd been listening.
And the woman in the back—the one who had reacted the most—was standing now.
She moved carefully, fingers tight around her coat as she made her way toward the door.
Elias didn't move yet.
Instead, he stood, heading to the counter to pay.
As he pulled out his wallet, he kept a side-eye on the woman.
She stepped out into the night.
And Elias knew he'd be seeing her again soon.