A figure stepped elegantly into the doorway, immaculate as if pulled straight from the glossy pages of a fashion magazine. The only flaw in his polished appearance was a slight limp, which he attempted to balance with a sleek black cane, its silver raven handle gleaming under the muted light. His sharp, chiseled features were framed by a pair of dark, watchful eyes that glinted with a dangerous mix of amusement and menace. Despite the limp, he exuded a suave charisma that commanded the space.


    He smirked. “Miss me?”


    “Kane,” I greeted him, straightening up, doing my best to bury the irritation gnawing at me. “What brings you here?”


    Once something formidable, now a bureaucratic pawn for the Council. The menace hadn’t entirely left him, though. He strode forward slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, but there was still a predator lurking behind those sharp eyes. A wolfish grin spread across his face, never quite reaching his gaze.


    “Just business, Jack. And maybe to offer an old friend some advice.” He moved deeper into the garden, the limp in his step only adding to the unsettling edge of his presence. He took one good look at me and whistled. “Devil’s tits, Jack. You look worse than Sarge’s soggy breakfast.”


    I shrugged. “Still prettier than you. How’s the bum knee?”


    He smirked. “Gets me where I need to go. But honestly, what the hell happened? You look like you got in a bar fight with a blender.”


    I nodded and waved him on. “Go ahead, get it out of your system.”


    “I’ve seen fresher stiffs in the morgue. Looks like Death dragged you halfway back and decided you weren’t worth the trouble.”


    I nodded. “That one’s not too far off.”


    He squinted. “You gonna spill or what?”


    “Not if I can help it. Maybe another time.”


    He huffed, shaking his head. “Sure, Jack.”


    There was a beat, a silent exchange, and for the briefest moment, I was reminded of what it used to be like… before everything went to hell.


    His bravado slipped, and I caught a flicker of something raw—was it sorrow buried deep in those haunted eyes?


    “Listen, Jack. I know I’ve said it before, and I know it’ll never be enough, but I’m sorry. If I’d had any idea—“


    “Cut it, Kane. That chapter’s closed. No need to go opening old wounds.”


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


    A sharp pang hit my chest—a reminder that pain was still a privilege I hadn’t lost.


    Kane and I met in the War. What we saw out there… men have gone mad for less. War changes a man. Puts stone in your bones, ice in your blood and if you’re not careful, it can leave you hollow, ready to die at a moment’s notice. I was no exception. Plenty of good men came home already cracked under the pressure.


    But Kane got it—we shared the same scars and made it out with what humanity we had left. Afterward, we’d opened shop together: Kane and Callaghan, Private Eyes. Back then, he was more than a friend. Probably the closest thing I had to a brother.


    It was one of his cases I’d been running errands for, just a quick stop at the precinct… when I lost everything. Everything. I wasn’t even supposed to be working that day. That was before I’d packed up my caster days, locked Frank away, and walked out on that life for good—or so I’d thought.


    We didn’t speak for a long time after the incident. When we finally did, I learned he’d joined the damned Midnight Council. The caster community’s answer to control freaks—unelected, power-hungry, with their fingers in every pie. They claimed they were here to protect Normies from Relic-ranked Artifacts, the kind that could level buildings, cause possessions, or worse. But now, they were involved in anything that so much as brushed against aether. They were the invisible hand behind every enchanted lock, every forbidden spell whispered in the dark.


    And I was certain they had their slimy fingers wrapped tight around McGuffey’s corpse.


    Now, Kane’s just a reminder of what I left behind—and why. He stood before me then, a faded ghost of the hard-nosed bastard I once knew. Ol’ Killer Kane.


    My sword and gun, both artifacts in their own right, lacked Council Permits, but Kane pretended not to notice. I’d say he missed it, but he never missed a trick. They felt heavier on my hips.


    He nodded, and the veneer returned, the sadness in his eyes fading like a mirage, as fleeting and forgotten as a week-old dream.


    “I’ll skip the pleasantries, Jack. I know you hate them. Listen, you’ve got yourself in deep, tangled up with the wrong people.”


    I chuckled, low and cold. “Is that all? Here I thought you had something important to say.”


    Kane’s voice sharpened. “You need to walk away from this case, Jack.”


    I brushed shards of the cup from my shirt, bits of broken porcelain catching in the fabric. My brow furrowed, a familiar weight settling in my gut.


    “And why would I do that?”


    The charm drained from his face, replaced by a cold, unyielding glare. “Because the Council’s involved. That box you’re chasing—it’s not just some trinket. It’s royal magic, Jack. High-tier Relic rank. The kind of power that could tip the scales of the city.”


    “All the more reason they shouldn’t have their hands on it,” I said, keeping my voice low, steady.


    Kane exhaled, a slow, drawn-out sound that reminded me of the last drag off a cigarette. “They don’t know I’m here, Jack. Consider this a courtesy. Once I walk out that door, the gloves come off.”


    “You think I’m scared of you or your Council?”


    “You should be. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared. And Jack, you’re a stubborn bastard, but you’re no idiot.”


    “Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere with me, Kane.”


    Kane grimaced, a flicker of anger tightening his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. A heavy beat of silence hung between us before I shook my head, letting out a slow sigh as I pressed on.