Ciel stopped mid-stride, boots scuffing against the cracked pavement, and turned to face her crew with a smirk playing at her lips. Her eyes glimmered under the neon haze, her fingers tapping idly against the grip of her revolver.

  “So,” she drawled, tilting her head, “are we fighting right off the bat, or what?”

  “Yes.” Gorrug didn’t even hesitate. His massive tusked grin stretched wide, and his huge hands flexed, itching for violence.

  Raze, standing just beside him, exhaled sharply, his storm-gray eyes sharp and tired all at once.

  “No.” He cut a glare toward the orc before turning back to Ciel. “Let me do the talking. Maybe... maybe, we can get out of this without spilling our own guts all over Grimm’s carpet.”

  Ciel raised an eyebrow, grin widening. “You really think we can smooth-talk our way out of this?”

  Raze sighed, rubbing a scarred hand down his face. “No. But at least pretend to let me try before you start shooting.” He let his hand fall and met her gaze with a quiet warning. “That goes for all of you. Be ready to fight your way out, but don’t start the damn fight if we don’t have to.”

  The crew exchanged looks, but no one argued.

  And with that, they pressed on toward Grimm’s den.

  Unlike most of Lost Angeles, Grimm’s estate still held some trace of old-world refinement. The building loomed ahead, its blackened steel and reinforced stone walls rising like a fortress, seemingly untouched by the decay that plagued the rest of the city.

  Where the streets were usually cluttered and loud, this area was eerily quiet. No merchants. No loitering drunks. Just Grimm’s men, sharp-dressed enforcers in dark coats marked with the gold-fanged sigil of their boss.

  Torches and salvaged electric lamps lined the entrance, casting a low, golden glow over the cobblestone path that led to a grand set of double doors, made from reinforced wood and iron, polished to a sinister sheen.

  A relic from a better time. A reminder that Grimm was different. He wasn’t some street-level thug scraping by.

  He was the underworld’s king.

  The moment they reached the entrance, two guards stepped forward. Armed. Tense.

  One of them, a lean half-orc with silvered tusks and a wicked scar across his cheek, glanced at them, then tipped his head toward Raze.

  “The boss is waitin’,” he said, voice low, knowing.

  No one said anything. No one needed to.

  They were expected.

  The doors groaned open, revealing a lavish interior that belonged in another world entirely.

  Velvet-lined walls, a grand chandelier cobbled together from old-world crystals and arcane-infused bulbs, a long table lined with fine liquor and golden trays of food that smelled far too good for a man who made a living bleeding people dry.

  They were quickly led to his office.

  And there, at the center of it all, seated behind a massive mahogany desk, was Grimm.

  A werewolf in a tailored black suit, his gray fur sleek, his sharp features refined and lethal. His piercing yellow eyes cut through the dim candlelight like knives, sizing them up in a single glance.

  He slowly leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk, and smiled just enough to show fangs.

  “You got balls, walkin’ in here like this.”

  Ciel grinned back. “Well,” she said, golden eyes gleaming, “I like to keep things interesting.”

  Grimm leaned back in his mahogany chair, his massive, clawed fingers unclasping and tapping lightly against the polished surface of his desk. His golden eyes gleamed with something between amusement and disappointment, the kind of look a predator gives when its prey doesn’t die fast enough.

  “You know, I’ve seen a lot of failures in my time.” His voice was smooth, unhurried, rich with a distinct old-world accent—a relic from a time when men like him controlled the world before it fell apart.

  Ciel slouched into a chair across from him, tossing one leg lazily over the armrest, making herself at home. “Bet they weren’t half as charming as us, though.”

  Raze, still standing, shot her a sharp look. “Ciel.”

  “What?” She smirked, golden-violet eyes gleaming. “I’m just saying. You can’t stay mad at this face.”

  Grimm’s lips curled back just slightly, flashing just enough fang to remind them all what he really was.

  “This isn’t a joke, sweetheart.” He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before fixing his piercing gaze on Raze instead. “You… you I expected better from.”

  Raze’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact. “The job went sideways.”

  “Oh, did it?” Grimm tilted his head, mock surprise dripping from his tone. “See, I figured you just woke up that morning and decided to waste months of my time. That must’ve been it. Because I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that a job I hand-picked for your crew, a simple vault job, ended with the contents of said vault gone.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Ciel grinned, lifting a hand. “In our defense, it was fucked from the beginning.”

  “Ciel.” Raze’s tone snapped sharp, but it was already too late.

  Grimm’s expression didn’t change. He just turned back to her, slowly, like he was just now deciding how painful he wanted this conversation to be.

  She smiled wider.

  “Explain,” Grimm said.

  Sylva sighed, muttering something in sharp elven under her breath.

  Raze rubbed a hand down his face. “We—”

  Ciel interrupted. “So, funny thing. The vault had failsafes. And by failsafes, I mean it sort of... self-destructed.”

  Grimm went very still.

  Raze hissed through his teeth. “There was a more complicated measure of security than we were warned about.”

  Grimm exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “Let me get this straight.” He leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. “You broke into the vault, tripped the failsafe, and lost the target? In one simple motion?”

  Ciel tapped her chin. “When you say it like that, it makes us sound—”

  Raze grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed, just enough to make her shut up.

  Grimm’s clawed fingers tapped rhythmically against his desk again, the slow, steady click-click-click a warning in itself.

  “What you owed me was worth more than your lives,” he murmured.

  Miri sighed dreamily from the far end of the room, where she was examining one of Grimm’s expensive gold candelabras like she was already imagining how it’d look in her collection. “Ah, debt so large it becomes existential. What a tragic fate.”

  Veyra, leaning against the doorway with a hand on her hip, snorted softly. “We are really good at pissing off powerful people.”

  Gorrug grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Then we fight?”

  Raze’s fingers twitched toward his blade. Sylva’s hand drifted to the dagger at her hip.

  And then, just as the tension reached its peak, Grimm let out a low, dark chuckle.

  “No.”

  They all stilled.

  Grimm leaned forward again, steepling his fingers together. “You’re not getting out of this debt. That much is certain.” His golden gaze burned into them, sharp as a knife’s edge. “But there’s something you can do for me.”

  Ciel perked up, intrigued. “Ooooh. Are we about to be sent on some deadly suicide mission? I love those.” Her voice was somewhere between mocking and legitimate.

  Grimm ignored her. “There’s a place. A ruin. A relic of the old world buried beneath this city. No one’s cracked it open, no one’s come back alive from trying. But inside…” His gaze flickered, voice dropping into something almost reverent. “Inside is something worth more than all the vaults in Lost Angeles.”

  Raze’s expression darkened. “And you want us to steal it?”

  Grimm smirked. “No. I want you to wake it up.”

  A pause.

  Ciel tilted her head. “Wake what up?”

  Grimm leaned back, his feline, golden gaze sharp as ever.

  “A god. A relic. A ghost of the past.” His voice was smooth as silk, heavy as iron.

  “The Frozen One.”

  Silence.

  None of them spoke. Because none of them had ever heard of that before.

  Grimm leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes gleaming, the weight of his words settling thick and final in the air.

  “Now, I assume you’re all smart enough to realize there ain’t a third option here.” He let that hang for a moment, his clawed fingers drumming lazily against the desk. “You take this job. Or you die.”

  Gorrug cracked his knuckles with an audible pop, his massive shoulders squaring up as if he were already preparing for a fight. “Now we fight.”

  Raze exhaled long and slow, barely turning his head toward the orc. “Shut. Up.”

  Ciel grinned, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “I don’t know, old man. It’s kinda fun watching him posture like that.”

  Raze gripped her wrist again, tighter this time.

  Grimm’s smirk widened, just slightly. He wasn’t even worried. Not even a little.

  “You think you can take me, orc?” He tapped his chest once, casually. “You think you can take all my men?” He gestured lazily to the guards that had begun to fill the room, melting in from the shadows like they had always been there.

  They weren’t loud thugs or brutish enforcers, they were silent professionals, the kind that didn’t need to make a show of force because everyone already knew what they were capable of.

  Gorrug’s golden eyes flicked around the room, taking in the sheer number of them, the readiness in their stances.

  Then he grinned. "I like these odds."

  Raze, clearly on the verge of a stroke, hissed under his breath. “For fuck’s sake, Gorrug.”

  Ciel, who was still lounging in her chair like they weren’t seconds away from a massacre, glanced up at Grimm, tilting her head. “So, hypothetically, what happens if we say no?”

  Grimm sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders as if the idea was exhausting. “Well, sweetheart, first I’d have to make an example outta you. You’ve worked real hard to build a reputation, and I can’t have people thinking you can just walk away from your debts.” He gestured lazily. “Maybe I take your head and put it on a pike. Maybe I start with one of your crew instead. Tough choices.”

  Miri sighed dreamily, kicking her feet idly. “Oh, I love a good public execution.”

  Sylva shot her a glare.

  Ciel let out a low whistle, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Raze didn’t let her finish. “We’ll take the job.”

  Ciel turned, blinking at him. “Wow. That was fast.”

  Raze tightened his jaw. “Because we’re not dying today.” He flicked his gaze back to Grimm. “We’ll take the job. But we’re gonna need details.”

  Grimm’s sharp, wolfish grin widened. “That’s the spirit.”

  Grimm stood, brushing off his pristine black suit, and walked to the window overlooking his domain.

  “You ever hear about what’s beneath this city?” he mused, voice dripping with something too smooth to be casual. “Most people don’t think about it. They don’t want to.”

  Ciel tilted her head, intrigued. “You talking about the sewers? The tunnels?”

  Grimm chuckled. “Those? Those are just scraps of the surface.” He turned, his golden eyes catching the candlelight. “I’m talking about the city beneath the city.”

  The air in the room shifted, something heavier settling in the conversation.

  Lost Angeles had its secrets, but there were rumors—whispers of entire districts lost beneath the rubble, buried not just in stone, but in time itself.

  Miri’s black-silver eyes gleamed. “The Sunken Quarter,” she murmured.

  Grimm nodded. “Now you’re getting it.”

  The Sunken Quarter. A myth, a warning, a legend. Some said it was where the old world truly ended, a place that had been swallowed up when the Collapse came. Others said it was where the powerful went to die, where ruins weren’t just forgotten but erased.

  The few who had gone looking for it never came back.

  Raze crossed his arms, his expression grim. “And you want us to go there?”

  Grimm nodded. “Deep below the city, past the wreckage, past the old tunnels no one dares step foot in, there’s a vault that’s still sealed. The only one left.” He turned back to them, his presence filling the room.

  “That’s where the Frozen One is.”

  Silence.

  Veyra, who had been leaning against the wall looking vaguely bored, let out a slow whistle. “So you’re sending us to our deaths.”

  Grimm shrugged. “I’m giving you a chance to clear your debt.”

  Sylva’s crimson eyes narrowed. “No one has ever come back from the Sunken Quarter.”

  Grimm smirked. “Then I guess you’ll be the first.”

  Ciel, grinning wide, leaned forward. “Oh, I like this.”

  Raze shot her a glare. “You like everything that’s a terrible idea.”

  Ciel winked. “Exactly.”