Apart from the silence, there was breathing around Jaxton. He pressed his ear against the door, waiting for Corolla to enter the abandoned apothecary. Every time he believed he’d heard the door open, he mistook it for hail pounding the roof above him.

Four Colors, Jaxton, and the agent general positioned themselves in the side room. The owner here died a few weeks prior to this operation, and so his possessions were auctioned and sold, then the proceeds passed over to his family. But this room, his garden, was untouched. Plants hung with strings and shelved on stands, and all have long since died to a lack of care.

There was a foul smell, like spoiled milk tarnishing a good cup of coffee.

A small draft of cold, refreshing air pushed into the room from the bottom crease of the door, chilling his shins in this otherwise hellish room, kept hot through the glass above, magnifying the through the day, and the tight lock of the room containing the arid air inside overnight.

The glass ceiling was smeary and coated in moisture, dropping slightly like the first warning signs of a rainstorm. The ground formed puddles, but Jaxton’s sweat—along with everybody else in the room—contributed to that.

“How long do we have left?” a Color asked. Jaxton believed his name was Cavin, two or so years older than Jaxton. Not the brightest of the Colors, but his skill apparently matched the Soucrest Prince. “This wait—no, this room is killing me.”

“Be patient,” Carter said. He pulled a canteen from his waist, tossing it over to Cavin. “Drink some water. Stay hydrated, all of you.” When Cavin took a drink with the Colors, he handed it back to Carter, who shoved it into Jaxton’s chest. He gave a look that said, you too.

Jaxton drank; the water inside would be room temperature anywhere but here. Jaxton drank a whole mouthful, taking in a swallow that rushed down his throat like a river streaming down a lake on a cold, autumn night. Suddenly, Jaxton did feel a little better.

“Thank you,” he said, giving his canteen back.

Carter clipped it to his belt, then cleared his throat, coughing. Ordinarily, any sign of sickness would have appalled Jaxton to the thought of sharing a canteen, but tonight was special. He felt like a part of the team; their sickness was his sickness. And their success was his success.

And today, of every single day he’d been alive, seemed to be the pinnacle of his importance to this world. Some said that a wedding or the birth of your first child would be the most valuable moment in your life. But this, taking down a drug lord, stopping his drugs from ruining a city, helping his friends and Gordon…

Nothing could top this.

Jaxton heard the creak of the front door open. Steps, many of them stomped on the wooden ground before the door finally shut.

Then words, though muffled, could be heard through the door. Jaxton believed the words came from Hendricks and likely said something along the lines of, “Good evening, Corolla.”

***

Gordon and Jarlson—a Color recruit—hid behind the counter shelves, hiding behind the front counter the moment Corolla entered. They sat between piles of glass flasks, removed from the tall cases along the back wall for their reflective nature. Some were empty while others were rancid with green filth, expired far past their life expectancy. The room was quite dim, with only lit candles on the floors like toys on a messy kid’s room, keeping the Color’s armor less reflective and, therefore, less conspicuous as their shells didn’t bounce off the white painted walls in front of them.

When Corolla entered, Hendricks was the first to greet him, citing his name, confirming.

You better not backstab us, Gordon thought. He still didn’t completely trust the lad, but Jaxton was adamant about giving him a shot. Fair enough, he often had better judgment than Gordon anyway.

From the sound of it, more than just Corolla entered. The number could be as low as four but as great as maybe eight. Either way that put Gordon and his Color companion at risk. If they scoped around the front counter, they would lose their initiative. If anybody passed Hendricks, seated in his chair, he was supposed to give a subtle cue that would spring Gordon and the Colors to action.

“What’s his name again?” a voice said. Corolla? Lorgrad’s Fire, his voice was softer than he expected. One would think a man capable of so much, a man who could order the extinction of an entire town, would have a rough, terrible voice. He spoke in a manner that didn’t instill confidence in himself, even if his words said otherwise.

“Sir, I believe his name is Hendricks,” said another, “he operates in the park, finds clients at the bar. You don’t remember him?”

“Oh, wait, I do. He’s the one who always does business with that girl…” Corolla said. “Where is she?”

Dammit! Gordon scowled. He knew it was a bad idea to keep her out of this, and now Corolla spotted a key difference right away.

“She’s sick,” Hendricks said. “Dara and I meet many in our work. She’s less accustomed to social interaction as I am, so she often catches illnesses I’m already immune to.”

“Oh, very well then,” Corolla said, buying into Hendrick’s convincing lie.

Relief flew over Gordon, and he started to breathe a little easier. Perhaps he was wrong about Hendricks. Then again, he came up with that lie in a second. Someone so conniving could never fully be trusted in Gordon’s book.

“You’ve been doing well, our reports say,” Corolla said. “You were consistent in Midhelm, but you’re our most profitable distributor in Steepcreek. Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m honored to hear you say that.”

“We are collecting. We’ve received your receipts and are happy with the numbers you’re pulling.”

Gordon heard Hendricks lifting a large sack of coins, hearing the avalanche of coins clink down. “It’s all here,” he said.

“Get it for me, Don,” Corolla said.

“Yes sir,” another voice replied. Steps—Gordon recognized the sound to be iron boots—pounding on the hardwood floors as Don grabbed the bag and walked back. “Should I start counting?”

“Go ahead. We have some matters we need to discuss in the meantime,” Corolla sighed. “We are ramping up distribution in Steepcreek as well as another city in Soucrest. We are going to expect even more from you. But you will be well rewarded for your work, a better commission than what you’re getting now.”

“That sounds great,” Hendricks said. “And you’re expanding to another city?”

Corolla said nothing, but Gordon imagined he nodded.

“Where, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Are you looking for another transfer?” Corolla asked. “I could perhaps arrange it, but losing you would be a big hit to our production in Steepcreek.”

“I’m just surveying my options, sir,” Hendricks said. At that moment, Gordon knew that he was on their side. He was prying information out of Corolla, with no incentive to do so other than to help the Colors out.

He spoke respectfully, always knowing how to talk to different people. He could sway Corolla as well as he persuaded Jaxton. He would be among the more dangerous nobles Soucrest had ever seen if he was one.

“I’ll consider it,” Corolla said. He seemed to ignore naming the city as if it were top secret. But that wasn’t imperative to the mission. Not when Gordon could get that information after they arrested him.

Corolla was like an infected wound on a warrior’s wrist. It was bad, but it was better to cut the infection off at the elbow than to have it crawl up and eventually kill the entire body. In this case, while Corolla had ruined Igor, he could be stopped right before he did any more irreversible damage.

“You get to choose your hours,” Corolla said, “but you may need to work more than you currently are while we stabilize. It’s an unfortunate reality, but when we get back on track, your hours will wane back to normal. Are you up to this?”

“Yes sir,” Hendricks said.

After that, there was a moment of silence. Don poured the gold coins on the floor, counting in whispers. Each coin he pulled to a pile scraped the boards. The process would take a while.

Gordon waited for the right opportunity but held off from springing up over the counter. Jarlson looked steadfast in his seated posture, no nerves present. But Lorgrad’s Fire, anxiety was present within himself. Gordon didn’t shake; his armor was too heavy for that. But he heard his heartbeat, and he pinched his lips closed as if his pounding heart could leap out and through his mouth.

“Very interesting gauntlet you have,” Hendricks said. “It looks like you have some candy installed in the palm?”

Candy? Gordon thought. No, a Soulgem! Hendricks is warning us he’s wielding a Soulsmithed gauntlet!

“Oh, no, this is nothing but a glove,” Corolla said

“For your left hand?” Hendricks laughed, though Corolla grunted as if it weren’t a joke. Or at least, he didn’t like mentioning his gauntlet. “Apologies, sir. I just have a way of speaking every thought that comes to my mind.”

“Well,” Corolla said, his voice now coarse, “you should start watching what you say before it gets you killed.”

Gordon swallowed. Jarlson eyed him with concern. He lifted two fingers to give the signal, not yet.

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Hendricks said.

Gordon looked over to Jarlson. The time to act was approaching as Hendricks’ deal was coming to an end. Everything so far went as planned, and they had enough to incriminate Corolla as the one behind the Gem Candy in Steepcreek.

As Gordon grasped the hilt of his sheathed sword, Obsidian's Strength, he heard steps approaching.

“It’s a dark night today, isn’t it?” Hendricks asked.

The signal. The side door exploded open, and the Colors rushed out, shouting commands. Gordon and Jarlson sprung up, unsheathing their swords, pointing over the counter.

“DON’T MOVE!” Gordon yelled. His roar rumbled in his throat, vibrating the flasks beside his feet. Jarlson and Gordon leaped over the countertop first. Gordon had his purple-skinned sword pointed at Corolla.

The rest of the Colors aimed toward Corolla’s men. There were about five of them; one had a crossbow out, aiming at Gordon. He’d have to get lucky and strike Gordon in the head, for his armor would deflect even the most powerful bolt.

But the crossbowman halted, the sack of coins by his feet as he’d been counting. Don.

Corolla wore his orange suit to this meeting, with the only hint of white coming from his undershirt and the silver of his gauntlet, marked with a red cross. He held his free hand to his oddly stiff, brown scarf. The light bounced off the scarf like it did rubber. An odd accessory to have to an otherwise exquisite suit.

“What is this?” Corolla said.

“You’re under arrest, bastard!” Gordon said. He inched closer.

“No…” Corolla shook his head. His eyes and lips down to his jaw were all that was visible behind the mask. Gordon recognized that metal off sight alone. Dryhood Steel, the most absorbent metal known to man, an alloy so robust it could take a war hammer without cracking. It would dent, but its softness distributed the blow. It made for the best armor but terrible for swords. Expensive, too, as Gordon would need two full years of salary to afford a single shin plate.

“Corolla,” Carter raised his voice yet kept it calm and clear. “Remove your gauntlet, toss it aside, then surrender. The same goes for your men and their weapons.”

Though, Corolla avoided looking at any of the colors. Instead, he eyed Hendricks.

While most of his men looked to Corolla, unsure how to proceed, Don kept his eyes and crossbow steady on Gordon. From the sound of it, Don was his most trusted man. And if Don didn’t expect to go down without a fight, then neither should the Colors…

“You…” Corolla said, his eyes alone were dyed red in rage. His right hand clenched his scarf before he pulled his fingers free, bringing his palm forward and out forward to Hendricks in his chair. “You lied to me… TO ME!”

Hendricks stood slowly. If there was a danger zone, the kid was in the center of it all. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, flushing red.

“I…” Corolla said, his eyes blinked twice. His breaths had long strides, speechless. “Hate…” Corolla took one step forward, and Hendricks flinched heavily. The Colors were hesitant to act. Otherwise, the brawl would begin. Suddenly, silence. Hendricks took one step back, and Corolla finally leaned his head forward and shouted, “LIARS!”

Hendricks tried jumping back toward Gordon, but Corolla lunged, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back, throwing him to the floor, hard. He mounted on top of him, his right hand over his throat, squeezing.

“COROLLA!” Gordon shouted. “STOP THIS! NOW!”

He ignored Gordon’s command. Corolla held his left, Soulsmithed hand up to his side. Suddenly, the pink mist from the Soulgem activated. It was now on, whatever his power did.

Jaxton pulled out his pistol, which Don caught, promptly shifting his aim toward him.

Gordon, to draw Don’s attention back to him, charged forward, aiming Obsidian’s Strength in a thrust for Corolla. Don, deciding again, chose the riskier threat to Corolla, the aging man wielding the blade over the young man holding the gun.

Don readjusted his aim once again, holding his crossbow high toward Gordon’s head. Then, he pulled the trigger.

The bolt came out half as loud as Jaxton’s gun did in the open air. Gordon lifted his chest and head, the bolt coming to his chest ricocheted off and spiraled into the air, leaving only a dent in Gordon’s heavy plated armor. The bolt spun, vibrating like it harnessed a lightning bolt.

Gordon lowered his head, seeing Don’s face shift to worry. Gordon aimed his sword straight at the back of Corolla’s spine. With his refusal to comply, Gordon had grounds to slay him in order to protect Hendricks’ life. He bellowed out a war cry, feeling the thrill of killing once again. Today, he would be the murderer he once was.

It’d been so long since he’d drawn blood from another being. He worried while he ran in, what would happen to his mind after, and if he would fall again. He thought for a brief second about retirement. That way, he could retire after solving Soucrest’s largest case in a decade. He could put these crimes to rest, then finally put his role in the Colors to the same.

But as he closed in, Corolla’s hand swung back behind his back, the palm of his gauntlet hand slapping Gordon across the side of his face.

And suddenly, all light vanished from his eyes—leaving him in pitch darkness.

Death.

***

“NO!” Aeryn yelled.

It all happened so fast, from Don shooting the crossbow to Corolla swiping behind his back. Jaxton one second saw Gordon lunge heroically, shrugging off the bolt shot like it was nothing. The next, his body fell cold to the floor, all but a jitter to his corpse. His sword slipped out of his hands as it crossed his arms awkwardly past Corolla, sliding, spinning on the floor to land right by Aeryn’s boots.

This isn’t happening, Jaxton thought. This has to be a dream! A terrible, awful, horrible dream!

But the image was all too vivid and real to be anything else. The Colors stood shocked. Jarlson slid off the back wall to get to the others safely.

Corolla brought his hand back to his side, looking at its palm. The mist climbed the atmosphere, rolling up his mask before fading out to the air above.

While his eyes were down, Aeryn bellowed out in a rage Jaxton had never heard from him before. Corolla’s men were too far away to stop him, and Don hadn’t the time to reload his crossbow. Aeryn, having more courage in a single finger than Jaxton had in his body, charged, holding his sword out and aiming for Corolla’s head. He could do what Jaxton was too weak to do.

Avenge Gordon’s death.

“AERYN!” Carter shouted after him. “STOP!”

Aeryn halted only a couple of feet away, but Corolla lunged back after him, shooting his left hand forward with a motive to give Aeryn the same twisted fate as his uncle. But Corolla froze, his hand a mere inches away from Aeryn’s face. He could have gone forward a few inches more with one final step, killing Aeryn. But he stilled. The prince retreated back in haste, regrouping with the fear of death in his eyes.

Corolla looked down, and Jaxton finally noticed why he froze. His right index and middle finger were caught between Hendricks’ teeth, munching down.

Rage boiled over the drug lord. He yanked his hand out from Hendricks’ mouth, preparing his kill shot. He crouched down with his left hand.

Jaxton whipped his pistol up, aiming for Corolla’s chest for the heart, where there was no metal protecting him. He pulled the trigger, and with his eyes sure; he knew his hasted shot was perfect.

But Corolla’s head snapped down, unnaturally like he had the reflexes like a stray cat. No, even faster than that. His orange mask caught the bullet right in the square of his forehead, where the metal was most robust, catching his shot like a dartboard moving automatically to guarantee a bullseye. His eyes were forward, and now Jaxton feared his death.

But Corolla, thank the Gem God, didn’t go after him. He stayed stationary for a moment, contemplating. His foot pinned Hendricks down. He turned to Don and the rest of his men. “If he reloads his gun, kill him,” he said.

Don brought his crossbow to the floor. Carter and the Colors remained frozen, lost for words or ideas to proceed. Carter lowered his brows, thinking. Corolla spoke as if the only threat to his health was Jaxton’s gun. But what about the swords? Why, when all he had was a suit, a gauntlet, and his mask, did he fear a firearm more than a sword?

Corolla looked down to Hendricks, the bullet trapped in his forehead fell in fragments. “Well,” he said, lowering down a little more. “This is it for you.”

No, Jaxton thought. “Please! Don’t!”

Hendricks turned his head to the side, giving Jaxton a downcast expression. He took his fate stronger than Jaxton, not even struggling as Corolla set up to kill him. He mouthed some words, however. Take care of Dara, Jaxton made them out to be.

“I wish I could give you a more painful death,” Corolla said. “Liar… Mercy smiles upon you with your death.”

Corolla pressed down on Hendricks, and his gauntlet’s power became obvious now. It was a large jolt of electricity. Hendricks died with only a jitter, dying a quick, peaceful death like Gordon, but its impact was just as horrifying to Jaxton.

It all went to hell before Jaxton’s eyes. He hadn’t blinked since Gordon’s death, as if every second alive was a second he had to live tortured.

Why Gem God? Why do you torment me? Why punish me?

The drug lord rubbed his bloody fingers on his scarf, then stepped off of Hendricks’ body and dropped down, sitting on Gordon’s corpse, using the back of his chest plate like a bench.

“Get off of him…” Aeryn said. “He’s not yours…”

“No,” Corolla said. “This is a valuable set of armor; I would be a fool to let this go. It’s worth a fortune.”

Reeling interrupted him as Don’s foot drove down on a lever, ready to reload his crossbow. He pulled out a bolt from a quiver attached to his right hip and started loading.

“Corolla, are you reasonable?” Carter asked suddenly.

“Depends,” Corolla said. “You want to strike a deal? I warn you. I tend to be unfair.”

“We’ll give you the armor and retreat for the night. All we ask for is their bodies.”

Corolla considered it, looking at the back of Gordon’s lifeless head. When his eyes returned, he shook his head. “Taking off the armor will take too long, long enough for reinforcements to arrive. I already noticed one of your men slip out. I’m no fool. Leave now, and you may take the dealer’s body, but nothing more.”

Jaxton hadn’t realized Cavin had left them. But at this time of night, who could help them?

“Bastard!” Aeryn grimaced. Then, he lashed out again, swinging his sword against Don’s wrist, breaking his grasp of his crossbow as blood slashed out. Aeryn circled to his back then drove him forward to the wall, yanking him around. The motion was so quick, the rest of Corolla’s men couldn’t even react in time to stop him. They raised their swords a little more but eyed Corolla waiting for a response, though his eyes remained focused on Aeryn holding Don.

Aeryn’s sword pressed against Don’s throat, holding him as a hostage. “How about we add this man to the deal?”

“Don—” Corolla said, pausing to think. His eyes shook. Jaxton feared that Aeryn only upset the monster even more and that Corolla would attack them himself. And a man who could kill Gordon so quickly and without looking, a man so flexible and reactive he could not only dodge a bullet but block it with his mask… he could kill them all, maybe even without much effort. They didn’t stand a chance against him. They were at his mercy. But time was running short. “—is not as valuable to me as the armor. You may take him. Now leave, otherwise, we will have to force our way out.”

Bastard… Jaxton was lost for words. He feared reloading his pistol, for if he did, nobody knew what this mad drug lord would do. Carter whispered in a Color’s ear. That Color sheathed his sword, moving over, getting dangerously close to Corolla. But he crouched down, shaking, knowing Corolla’s hand was only four feet away. He picked up Hendricks’ corpse, then retreated to Carter, carefully, his eyes on the drug lord at every step.

“You can’t be serious!” Aeryn demanded, eying Carter with frustration. “You’re gonna let him take my uncle’s body? Aren’t you even going to fight for him? I thought you were his friend!”

“Colors are renowned for their pride,” he said, turning toward the front door. He was in charge after Gordon’s death; his words were weighted as much as Gordon’s, despite not being a Color. “And that pride will get you killed. You are way in over your head if you think we stand a chance against him with our current manpower. Something about him is wrong and not in a good way. He killed our best man without even so much as an eye on him. We lost tonight. We leave this deal cutting our losses and keeping our lives.”

“No…” Aeryn said. He hesitated but ultimately followed the line of Colors retreating to the door. He kept his grip on Don tight.

As Jaxton followed Carter out, having only one Color behind his back, he turned, checking on Gordon’s corpse, now lifted over the shoulders of one of Corolla’s larger men.

I’m sorry, Jaxton thought. If only I could have done more…

“There’s a back door,” one of Corolla’s men said, pointing behind himself. “We should leave before they send word.”

Corolla only nodded, looking at Don, though, Jaxton felt his glare on his eyes. The sight of his eyes told him he was heartless, a psychopath.

They walked dreadfully on the street, hail making the moment much, much worse. Iced rain hit stoned Jaxton for his treachery. It didn’t hurt physically, but it struck him deep on the inside. Once a block away, they threw Don hard onto the street, restraining him properly with steel cuffs. He didn’t respond to their questions on the way, but he was boiling, much like Aeryn.

He felt betrayed too.

United, all of them, but not in what they could do, but what they couldn’t. What they thought they had was all a facade, a fantasy. They hoped it would’ve ended as expected, but they weren’t prepared for the other side of the coin to face up.

At the end of it all, everyone here, on this street, was one and the same.

Powerless.