I told Rida about the magic change.
I told her the truth about everything before tonight. And then I lied.
Or—well—not really a lie, just a version. The same one I told Mr Stanton.
Said Mr Stanton. wrote the letter, and I went to the villa to hide. Said I didn't expect to see Umar Stanton there. Said he opened that black door under the big tree. That I hesitated. That I walked in. That I saw Umar dead, the weird altar, and that I ran.
All true.
Kind of.
I didn't mention the rest.
Rida didn't say anything at first.
Her face changed. Smile gone.
She left me there like some unwanted dog at the door and said, "You wait a minute."
Five minutes later, she came back.
"I've arranged for the church personnel to deal with it," she said. Quick. No fluff. Not like before. She walked over. Stared at me like I had something crawling out of my eye.
"Mr. Feron Mornez… other than that. Are you hiding anything?"
Shit. I hate being stared at. It always makes me feel like I did something, even when I didn't. Which I did. Which I didn't. I don't know.
Still—I had my speech ready. Rehearsed it three times walking over here.
"I admit I took a few items. But—Mother above—I deserve it. I know what the Church allows. Spoils of the mission. Right?"
I mean, not taking anything would've been more suspicious.
Rida didn't blink. "Of course," she said. "That's your freedom. But you know this involves the Evil God. I expect honesty."
"I'm a follower of the Saltmother!" I snapped back. I even frowned, which is rare for me. "Devout. Loyal. I said everything. All I took was Sterlings and some weapons."
That was a little dramatic, sure. But the only way I know how to get through conversations like this is to perform.
She stared a little longer. Then, "Mother is above," she said, like a priest at a funeral.
I watched her sit back down.
Then I added fuel.
"I just became a Beyonder. And I only accepted the commission to look into the 'Enigma.'"
She got what I meant. She didn't look up. "The Church made a mistake," she said. "You'll get what you're due."
I nodded.
Didn't say a word.
It was risky. Could've pissed her off. Could've pissed the Church off. But if I kept quiet, what then? They'd think I was some kind of lapdog?
Ha. Just like Umar. He said he followed the Saltmother. Turned out he served something worse. And now the Church? The Saltmother people?
They don't really trust anyone.
Not fully.
Can't blame them, honestly.
Who's to say it won't happen again? You think the Church hands out commissions like candy? No. You're lucky if they remember your name.
I learned a lot from all this.
First thing?
Don't trust the Church so easily.
Rida saw me out with politeness like a sword sheathed.
I left the room.
Walked straight to the bar.
"Miles," I called. "Glamour Night. One glass."
There's something comforting about Miles. Maybe I'm projecting from all those movies in my past life—but a bartender's easier to talk to than a church agent with a knife behind her smile.
Miles raised his brow. "You'll like her."
He moved fast, smooth, poured a glowing violet drink into a tall, slim glass.
"Job went well?" he asked.
God, the bar was a blinding mess of color. But somehow, his face was calm in the chaos. Like… purposeful static.
"Awful, actually," I muttered. "But the reward's in my pocket."
I picked up the glass.
Swirled it like I'd seen wine snobs do.
Sniffed it. Sipped it.
"Excellent," I said.
Genuinely.
Better than anything I've eaten or drunk in days. Which isn't saying much.
Miles chuckled. "That's a sobering drink. Makes the night a little more… energetic."
"Energetic, huh?" I laughed a bit too loud. "So that's the glamour of the night?"
"Exactly."
We shared a laugh. Unspoken understanding. Men stuff.
Yep. I liked Miles more than any church worker.
A drunk guy stumbled over. Bottle swinging in his hand. Mumbled something about another bottle of Halimea.
Miles just sighed and handed him one. No lecture. No fuss.
Guess he knew the guy.
Didn't mention Sterling either.
"This guy's in the same line of work," Miles said after a moment. Wiping down a glass now. Calm. Casual.
I nodded.
Mental note made.
"His name's Sunderland Yanso. Folks here call him Black Cat."
Black Cat, huh? That name—that name has bite.
There's an old saying—back from… somewhere: You can fake a name, but a nickname? That sticks for a reason.
"A top-level agent?" I asked. Took another sip.
"You decide," Miles said.
Right. Translation: he's not spilling details. Not to me.
Miles continued, casually cleaning glasses. "Business hits walls. Without help, you stall. Not everyone's lucky enough to keep going."
I got the message.
Beyonder ranks don't grow on trees.
You need potions. You need formulas. And not everyone gets them.
Sunderland Yanso's probably one of those. Looked worn down.
I didn't feel too pressured though.
Not that I understand what's going on with me yet.
My… golden finger? Cheat? Power?
Still figuring that out.
"Yeah," I said. "Business is tough."
Fake sympathy.
After finishing the drink, I felt heavy.
Tired.
"Thanks, Miles," I said. "Heading home."
He nodded. I left.
---
Stanton House. Underground chamber.
Mike Techer stood at the center of the altar.
Expressionless.
Eyes cold behind golden-rimmed glasses.
His robe—white with green and gold trim—shone faintly under the soft altar light. The copper-edged Tree of Life on his chest confirmed his rank: Priest.
His fingers traced the stone platform, stopping at the small black porcelain bottle.
He didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Around him stood four others. Three men. One woman.
All in divine robes.
No gold trim. Black iron badges on their chests—Deacons.
"Captain," a calm young voice spoke behind him.
Collins Robinson.
Handsome. Measured. Looked like his brother, Jaden—only more… photogenic.
Priest apprentice.
"Mm." Mike's response was barely a sound.
Claude understood.
He got straight to it. "Confirmed: Umar Stanton died of Black Mamba poison. But we found no signs of the creature itself. No crawling trails. Reagent tests came up clean. Conclusion—the Black Mamba was taken."
If Feron had heard this, he'd probably laugh bitterly.
He'd put the snake back just to seem innocent.
Didn't matter.
The Church saw through him anyway.
Malik didn't react.
"Feron Mornez?" he asked, voice flat.
Colines hesitated.
Just two seconds.
Then nodded. "Yes."
Mike turned.
"A follower of the Saltmother. No priors. And a friend of your brother's. The snake was his by right. I won't pursue the matter."
Collins
exhaled quietly.
He tensed the moment Mike spoke the name.
Relaxed just as fast.
Thankful. Silently grateful for the captain's… grace.
Malik added: "Inform Priest Rida at the Salt Tarvan. Mark him. Keep an eye."
That's how Mike operated.
Not his job to care—but someone's.
"…Understood."
Collins said nothing more.
But in his head?
He knew he'd worried too much.