The man stood before Morthisal, completely nonchalant. He wore a fitted navy-blue jacket, regardless of the heat, over a form-fitting green T-shirt, displaying a muscular build, and dark jeans. Clean-shaven, with close-cropped brown hair and a powerful build that suggested military or law enforcement background. His stance was relaxed but alert.

  Morthisal did something he was not used to. He took a step back.

  Who was this man, and why was he here? David Reeves had found him. Sent someone. This man had the look of a professional. Someone who knew how to handle problems quietly, and Morthisal was completely drained of his power.

  The guy held up a hand, palm out, fingers spread.

  "Whoa, easy there. Creed sent me." His voice was deep, calm. "Name's Joel Kelly."

  Morthisal's body relaxed, but the motion reminded him that he needed to get inside and break out the knives so he could get a jolt of power from an outlet. He involuntarily shivered at the thought.

  "Vince Logan." Morthisal extended his hand. "I am happy to meet an associate of Jackson Creed."

  Joel shook his hand firmly. "Creed speaks highly of you. Said you needed some help with a situation."

  Morthisal nodded. "Perhaps we should discuss this inside."

  "It's your dime."

  Morthisal pulled out his key and unlocked the door. Joel followed him into the small room, glancing around as if assessing the environment.

  Behind them, footsteps pounded up the stairs. Kenadee and Kristol appeared at the top, breathless and flushed.

  "Vince!" Kenadee jogged toward them. "Dude, we need to know everything about that party and whatever you're up to today. Rumors are crazy about you right now! What was Levi Blackwood like? I heard he's a dick. Did you meet anyone from Marvel? What about—"

  Kristol stopped mid-stride when she noticed Joel. Her mouth formed a perfect O. She smoothed her hair, bit her lower lip, and extended her hand with uncharacteristic shyness.

  "Hi. I'm Kristol."

  Kenadee's face shifted into an expression of exaggerated disbelief.

  Joel shook her hand politely. "Joel."

  "I have a meeting with this gentleman," Morthisal said firmly. "We can talk later about the party."

  "But—" Kenadee started.

  "Later."

  Morthisal closed the door and double-locked it before either could protest further. Joel stood near the window, hands in his pockets.

  "You live here?" Joel glanced at the faded wallpaper and worn carpet. "Thought you were some big up-and-coming actor."

  "I have landed my second role in a movie," Morthisal explained. "The first was low budget. This one pays better, but I am not yet established. I stay here because the residents have experience in Hollywood. I learn from them."

  Joel nodded slowly. "Smart. Keep your overhead low. Learn the game."

  "Precisely."

  "So." Joel pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. "Creed said you needed help with something. What can I do for you?"

  Morthisal chose his words carefully. "A man named David Reeves is blackmailing me. He has threatened to ruin my career if I do not comply with his demands."

  Joel wrote something in the notebook. He didn't ask what the blackmail material was. Didn't ask what the demands were. Professional.

  "You want him found?"

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  "Yes. And I need to know everything about him. Where he lives. Where he works. His habits."

  Joel closed the notebook. "Five hundred to get started. Another grand once I locate him. I'll get you his address, contact information, and daily routine. Everything you need."

  Morthisal's stomach sank. He had money in Vince's account, but that would leave him with almost nothing.

  "I do not have five hundred dollars available at this moment."

  Joel's expression didn't change. "Then I can't help you."

  "Wait." Morthisal pulled out his phone and opened the photo of the contract outline Regina had given him. "I have just secured representation. I am about to receive a significant check for my role in an independent movie with Serena Winters."

  "No shit?"

  Morthisal nodded.

  "Serena Winters? She's alright in my book. What's she like?"

  Why did everyone ask this question?

  "She is a lovely person, and I very much look forward to working with her on this film. It is being directed by Gus Mancini."

  "You're shittin' me, right? Dropping some big names. You sure this is for real?"

  "Very much so."

  Joel turned his attention to the agent contract outline. "When?"

  "The contract should be finalized within the week. I can have the money to you in three days. Four at most."

  "You're asking me to work on credit."

  "I am asking you to trust that I will pay you." Morthisal met his gaze. "Jackson Creed vouched for me. I am vouching for myself now. This man is dangerous. The longer I wait, the more leverage he gains."

  Joel was quiet for a long moment. He pulled out his phone and typed something.

  "I'm texting Creed. If he confirms you're good for it, I'll start the job. But I won't provide any details until I'm paid. I'll locate him, but the information stays with me until the money clears."

  "That is acceptable."

  Joel's phone buzzed. He read the message, then looked up.

  "Creed says you're solid. Alright. I'll start tonight. But remember, no payment, no information. And if you try to stiff me, Creed will hear about it. Worse. You'll hear from me."

  "Understood."

  Joel pocketed his phone and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob.

  "One more thing. This David Reeves. Is he violent?"

  Morthisal thought about the threat in the hallway. The casual way David had grabbed his arm. The thirty years of practice with powers the dark lord did not understand.

  "Potentially, yes."

  Joel nodded once. "Good to know. I'll be in touch soon. Don't screw me on this, man."

  "I promise that I will not."

  He left without another word.

  The rest of the week crawled by with agonizing slowness. Each morning, Morthisal checked his phone for updates from Joel Kelly, but found only silence. The waiting gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. David Reeves remained a danger in the back of his mind, just as the man in the wide-brimmed hat who had tried to kill him in Seattle. Were they working together? Which of these individuals had been lurking on top of a building, spying on him, a few days ago? For the first time since he had arrived, he considered moving to a new location.

  In the afternoon, he called Marty and was assured he would be paid by the end of the week. Morthisal had two thousand dollars coming his way, money he would likely pay Joel Kelly directly.

  Morthisal constantly checked for an official notification that he had secured the role in The Last Bookshop. At one point, he messaged Serena. She called him a few minutes later to tell him to be patient. "I'm ninety percent sure the role is yours. They've stopped auditioning. Just be patient."

  Morthisal told her he was, then immediately went back to lifting his phone and studying the screen every few minutes.

  Throughout the week, his phone buzzed with messages from Yvette. They spoke on the phone several times; their conversations grew warmer, more intimate. She shared details about her meetings in Singapore the previous week, her frustration with Philip Brennan's legal maneuvering, and her excitement about returning to Los Angeles to be with him. Each message made Friday feel impossibly distant.

  Thursday brought another session with Rex Hollinday. This time, Morthisal tried to find a genuine connection to the characters, but without his special power, he was unable to capture the feelings. Rex pushed him through scenes of loss, regret, and vulnerability until sweat beaded on his forehead. "You're slowly making progress," Rex said, pocketing his hundred dollars. "Stop thinking so damn much and just feel it. Get out of your head."

  That night, he joined the others at the pool and briefly recapped his past few days. He left nothing out since news regarding the movie role would soon be online. The others all watched the Dark Realms trailer. Some were happy for him, while others were obviously jealous. Marcus shook his head and retired to his room for the night. Big Eddie slapped him on the shoulder several times and mentioned that maybe they'd end up on a set together.

  Morthisal's endurance continued to improve on runs despite his impatience with Kenadee. The man had dragged him on a few more runs, each one consisting of equal parts exercise and questions about the Hollywood party, Serena Winters, Rex, the weather, his hopes and dreams, and how much he liked Vince. "Please don't forget us, dude. Remember, we were here to help you out from the start."

  Morthisal was surprised to find himself agreeing. Why not? After all, these were people he had made a connection with, and they seemed trustworthy. He observed that this city was filled with double speak and backstabbers.

  Friday morning, a courier arrived at the Hollywood Hacienda with Jordan Park's full representation contract. Morthisal called Regina immediately, who spent two hours dissecting every clause over the phone. "This is good, love," she assured him in her crisp British accent. "Sign it. Jordan's commission structure is reasonable, and the termination clauses protect you adequately."

  He signed and returned the contract that afternoon.

  Moments later, his phone buzzed twice. He nearly dropped his phone as he read the pair of texts.