I relaxed, allowing the connection. My vision blurred for a second before snapping into sharp focus as Frank took control. My eyes darted over the page, following the twists and curves of the script.


    Old Tongue, he said. Lower demon caste notations added later. That symbol at the start? It’s a warning. Says the information is from a dubious source. The one at the end? Tells you not to get your hopes up. Means the text might not mean what it seems to.


    My vision snapped back to normal, but a pounding headache hit right after. I hated doing that—it felt like unleashing leeches in my brain. I gritted my teeth and relayed Frank’s interpretation to Cali.


    She studied me for a moment, skeptical. “Frank told you all that?”


    “He has his uses,” I replied.


    Unlike you, Jack, I’m not just a tool.


    Cali smirked. “If that’s true, it says a lot about the demon caste system. Demons with warning labels? How considerate.”


    Not all of us are out to destroy, Frank interjected, demanding that I relay for him.


    Ever been to the rougher parts of town? Yes, they’re dangerous, but you will also find some of the kindest people—because they have to be. It’s like sharing a lifeboat in a storm.


    “He’s got a point,” I added. “There’s a weird bond in the worst places, an unspoken rule of survival.”


    The Abyss beyond the Rift isn’t just chaos. It has rules—a code. Even the damned look out for each other.


    “A language built on survival,” she mused.


    Precisely.


    “Well, that’s comforting,” I added.


    Jack, you know who we need to see about this.


    “No way. I’m already too deep in her debt as it is.”


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Even if we get the Nightstone, we’ll need someone who knows how to distill it properly.


    “Not happening, Frank. We don’t even know if Mildred will help us or gut us. She’s not exactly my biggest fan.”


    But she tolerates me, Frank insisted.


    Cali watched me argue with Frank, who, as always, was only in my head. She didn’t hear his voice, but by now, she knew the drill.


    “I hate to say it, but Frank’s right,” Cali said, breaking the silence. “She’s the best option you’ve got.”


    “Mildred always gives me the creeps,” I grumbled.


    Cali stepped back, a determined glint in her eyes. “Then it’s settled.” She tossed me a few bottles of her tar concoction. “It’s the best lead we’ve got, and we need that Nightstone, Jack. Sooner rather than later.”


    I slipped some cash into her hands, more than half of what I earned from the Aylin gig. She tried to push it back, but I insisted. I was starting to think I got underpaid.


    Out back, my car waited in the second garage—a ''55 Chevrolet Bel Air that had weathered the years with a quiet dignity. The once-shiny black paint now bore the scars of a life well-lived, the patchwork of dents and scratches a testament to countless close calls. Cali did a hell of a job fixing it up. Despite the wear, the curves and lines of its body still held a timeless elegance, a reminder of a world that hadn’t completely gone to hell.


    As I approached, the scent of aged leather and old rift soot greeted me, stirring something deep within. The car’s red seats were lovingly maintained. The dashboard, a mix of chrome and polished wood, featured an array of analog gauges and dials.


    We stocked up the car with a day’s worth of the gunk.


    “It’s all I’ve got,” she said. “Whenever you start to get peckish, drink up.”


    “Thanks, Cali. I owe you one.”


    “You owe me more than one,” she retorted, her tone light despite the tension.


    I slid into my car, the engine’s purr a comforting sound amid the chaos. As I pulled away from the garage, Frank’s voice echoed in my mind.


    She really cares about you, you know.


    Yeah, I know, I replied, feeling a pang of guilt. But I can’t drag her into this any more than she already is.


    The hunger gnawed at me, but Cali’s brew took the edge off. I felt like a model on a Hollywood diet, sipping lemon water to stave off the pangs. Things were going to get a lot worse before they got any better.


    “You even filled up the tank,” I muttered, gratitude washing over me.


    Tires squealed as I pulled away from the curb, leaving the garage behind in the harsh midday sun. The Bel Air glided over the asphalt, its engine growling with power. The city blurred into streaks of color as I sped through the streets.


    The wind whipped through the open windows.


    I needed a weapon. Time to visit the Shop.