"Tommy! Let me introduce you. This is Mr. Feron Mornez. He lives on the third floor. We're neighbors!"
Alan's voice cut through the room like he was announcing royalty or a new flavor of jam.
And I stood there… pretending I wasn't shrinking into myself.
Technically, I should've been the one introduced second. That's how it works, right? I think?
Anyway.
I smiled. Or something like a smile. More of a quiet, subtle lift of the lip. That's all I could manage.
I took off my hat. Nodded. Said, "Hello, Tommy."
"Mr. Mornez, this is my good friend Tommy Hanson. We grew up together!"
Tom rubbed his hands against his trousers like he was trying to erase his palms.
He looked—nervous? No. Uncomfortable.
No, nervous. Definitely nervous.
I nodded at him again. Just in case the first nod hadn't landed.
"Oh, oh, hello, Mr. Mornez..."
There it was. His voice, a little cracked. His eyes darted.
And his fingers.
Callused. Especially the tips. A rough texture. I noticed that immediately. I don't know why that stuck out to me, but it did. I always notice things like that.
Alan beamed like he'd just completed a successful diplomatic exchange.
He motioned for me to sit.
And I did.
Because I have a hard time saying no to people when they're smiling like that.
"I used to work as a helper in a restaurant!" Al announced, as if we were all gathered for a job interview. "Though I was fired for breaking a plate—doesn't matter! I stole some tricks from the chef there. Mr. Mornez, give it a try!"
Sure.
Of course.
I picked up the iron knife and fork like they were tools from a different life. Stabbed a chunk of beef. Brown. Soft? No—overcooked. Definitely.
I chewed.
And chewed.
Tasted like… beef.
Nothing else.
Salt, maybe.
Not that I expected more. Spices cost a fortune now. Too expensive to waste on sincerity.
"It tastes great," I said.
I even added a touch of surprise in my voice. Alan caught it.
His face lit up like a boy with his first coin.
White lies. They come easier the more you say them. And I've said plenty.
It's not about dishonesty. It's about kindness. Polite fiction. It's what civilized people do to avoid hurting feelings.
But truthfully?
That beef was... edible.
The King of Verna could've ordered better from a food cart.
Assuming Verna had food carts.
"It suits your taste!" Alan said, bouncing in his seat.
I reached for the bread. Brown and rough like dried clay.
We chatted.
Mostly Alan chatted.
Tommy sat quiet.
Eating without a word. I wasn't sure he blinked.
"I'm not going to be a helper anymore. Tommy learned tailoring. He makes teddy bears. I just sell them."
Teddy bears.
Right.
"That's great," I said, swallowing something that might've been a potato. Or bread. My mouth couldn't tell.
"I think kids would love those little bears."
"Yes! Tommy said the same thing! He told me to sell them to little girls. It works really well! I sold 10 yesterday. Earned 2 silver Narcs!"
Alan glowed.
And I got it. Today's meal was a celebration.
Even if it tasted like wet regret.
I turned to Tom.
Forced eye contact. "Your hands are very clever. The bear's beautiful."
He jumped a little.
"Thank you, Mr. Mornez," he muttered.
The rest of the meal... Alan stayed bubbly. Tom stayed stone.
Me? I ate slowly. Three or four pieces of beef. No more.
Didn't want to look greedy. Or like I didn't appreciate it.
Fortunately, I'm thin.
People believe you more when you're skinny.
I made an excuse. Said I had somewhere to be. Which was true. I needed to speak to Derek.
Alan, of course, insisted on walking me out.
Good man.
Door closed behind me. I started down the stairs.
And then—
I heard it.
Tommy's voice. Through the door. Barely a whisper.
"Al, you shouldn't have invited him. Guys like that—dressed like that—don't respect us mud legs. He barely ate. Pretended your food was good. Just like those rich liars..."
I stopped.
Looked down at my clothes.
Neat.
Clean.
Too clean.
Maybe I overdid it.
I sighed.
Didn't wait to hear more. Didn't need to. I already knew the script.
Back home, I washed two red oranges and stuffed them into my coat. No idea why. They just seemed useful.
I didn't expect much from Derrick Rose.
Religious people don't usually like me. Especially when we're on opposite ends of the pantheon.
Still.
I'm not exactly honest, either.
I rented a carriage. Cost me 35 copper Narcs.
Took nearly forty minutes to get there.
19 Shang Yu Street.
Villa was smaller than expected. So was the garden.
I rang the bell.
A servant opened the door. Young. Stiff. His eyebrows were already halfway to suspicion.
"Who are you?"
"The Church of the Saltmother Veriditas" I said. "I'm here to speak with Mr. Derrick Rose."
The boy wrinkled his nose like I'd just tracked mud into his soul.
"You sure you know where you are, sir?"
"I do. I also know Mr. Rose worships the Twin Nigredessa Moon Goddess."
His lip curled.
I didn't care.
"I'm looking into another property. I found it connected to Mr. Rose. I figured I'd speak directly with him."
He hesitated.
Which meant he knew something.
"I'll ask the master."
He left.
I waited.
Hat in hand.
Ten minutes later, I was inside.
And staring at a bloated man melting into a leather sofa.
"Good day, Mr. Rose. I'm Feron Mornez."
He grunted and pointed me to the couch.
"Sit. I don't know anything about that damned villa."
"Can you tell me what happened while you lived there?"
He sighed. Then exploded.
In words.
"It's cursed! Evil gods cursed it! Filthy stuff in the yard. Blood on the walls. Scary scribbles. My poor dog—twisted into some hell shape on the grass!"
I let him talk.
I nodded in all the right places.
The stories didn't match the Stanton' version at all. Not even close.
Which was… odd.
"And then the Stanton bought it. Thank the stars! Saved me the trouble."
My ears perked up.
"They didn't know?"
"Of course they knew! I told them! But turns out it was the wife's idea. Women. Always chasing cheap deals. Even the noble ones."
Mrs. Stanton…
Wait.
Wait.
That connected something in my brain.
Hard.
I stood up.
Derek flinched.
"Thanks for your cooperation."
Hat back on.
Feet ready to leave.
"Wait!"
I turned.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Uh—Mornez—do you think this'll affect me? Legally? Spiritually?"
He didn't even remember my name.
"Not if you keep it quiet. We'll handle the rest."
As I walked out, I heard him muttering to himself:
"That's fine. That's fine. Only fools talk about these things…"
And I couldn't help but agree.