I flicked ash into the tray, watching it settle among the remains of my previous cigarette.

  The patio was quieter out here - tucked into a corner where the noise of the ballroom became a distant hum. A small table, wrought iron and elegantly curved, held my tea cup and the ashtray. The tea had gone cold an hour ago. I hadn't touched it since the first sip.

  Noble tea sure does taste like flowers died in it.

  I took another drag, letting the smoke curl past my face before exhaling slowly. At least the tobacco was tolerable - expensive enough to not reek like burning flesh, cheap enough that I wouldn't feel guilty stubbing it out early.

  Footsteps approached from behind.

  "Pardon me, monsieur."

  I turned. A butler stood at a respectful distance, silver tray balanced in white-gloved hands. A newspaper sat folded atop it.

  "A package for a young man with black hair, wearing a flat cap." The butler's tone was neutral, professional. His eyes didn't quite meet mine.

  I touched the brim of my cap - a simple thing, common among lower nobility trying to look fashionable without drawing attention.

  "That would be me. Thank you."

  I took the newspaper, offering a polite nod. The butler bowed slightly and retreated without another word, footsteps fading back toward the ballroom.

  I set the paper on the table, stubbing out my cigarette before unfolding the front page.

  THE IMPERIAL CHRONICLE

  Truth, Prosperity, Order

  The headline dominated the page in bold print:

  EMPIRE CELEBRATES RECORD GRAIN HARVEST - GRANDCARDINAL FRANCIS CREDITS DIVINE PROVIDENCE

  I scanned the article with practiced disinterest. The same propaganda they always printed. Trade routes flourishing. Crime rates dropping. The nobility caring for the common people with benevolent grace.

  All lies dressed in fancy typography.

  My eyes drifted lower.

  A smaller headline, buried in the bottom corner:

  NIGHTLURKER PLAGUE: MINISTRY ASSURES PUBLIC OF CONTAINMENT

  I read slowly.

  The Imperial Health Ministry released a statement today addressing concerns regarding the so-called "Nightlurker Plague" afflicting certain districts of the capital. According to official reports, those infected experience a gradual deterioration of mental faculties over many days - beginning with mild paranoia and progressing to severe delusions. In advanced stages, victims are said to lose all sense of self, succumbing to violent outbursts before manifesting physical symptoms described as "shadow-like transformations."

  Archbishop Francis emphasized that cases remain isolated and are being handled with utmost care by authorities and Church officials. "The afflicted are not monsters," the Archbishop stated. "They are victims of a tragedy we do not yet fully understand. We owe them compassion, not fear."

  The Ministry advises citizens to report any suspicious behavior to local law enforcement immediately. Early intervention, officials stress, is key to preventing further deterioration and infection.

  Vivat Imperium!

  I snorted softly.

  Compassion. Right.

  I turned the page.

  Blank.

  Completely blank - not even the faint texture of newsprint. Just smooth, unmarked paper that didn't belong.

  I sighed, setting the newspaper flat on the table.

  Such secrecy is super annoying.

  I raised my hand to my mouth and bit down on my index finger - not hard enough to truly hurt, just enough to break skin. A bead of blood welled up, dark red against pale skin.

  I pressed it to the blank page.

  The blood spread instantly - not a stain, but a pattern. Thin red lines spiraled outward like a spider's web, intricate and precise, weaving across the paper until words began to form in the spaces between.

  Damian,

  Target confirmed to have entered the Celestine Lumineux. Noble girl, seventeen, family name Beaumont. An empty syringe was found in her residence, which confirms your theory. Those infected seemed to have done it to themselves - most likely coercion, but motive unclear. You're clear to proceed as you see fit.

  On a personal note, I still think you're being naive to continue taking these assignments solo. You're seventeen, and far from invincible. But the higher-ups want to see what you're capable of without supervision, and in all honesty, I'm also a bit curious myself. So consider this an evaluation.

  Also, the life of the nobility takes priority. If any more nobles are slain because of this virus, there will be consequences this time. Remember that this time, or it will be the last time.

  Don't disappoint us. We're watching.

  - X

  I scrunched my brow, jaw tightening.

  Life of the nobility takes priority, huh?

  I crumpled the page in my fist - the red lines fading as the paper creased - and shoved it into the ashtray. Pulling a fresh cigarette from my coat, I lit it with a match and pressed the flame to the crumpled letter.

  It caught instantly, curling into black ash within seconds.

  I watched it burn.

  Seventeen. Same age as me. And someone convinced her to inject poison into her veins.

  I took a drag, held it, then exhaled slowly.

  What kind of world does this to kids?

  I crushed the cigarette stub into the ashes and stood, adjusting my coat while clearing my head.

  Nows not the time to think of such things.

  Lets get to work.

  ---

  The doors to the ballroom opened with a whisper of oiled hinges. Light spilled out - golden, warm, impossibly bright after the dim patio. A string quartet played something classical I didn't recognize. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, each one holding what must've been a hundred candles. The floor gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the swirl of gowns and tailcoats as nobles danced in perfect formation.

  High society at its finest. Where the wealthy and nobility get to compare sizes by seeing who's richer and more powerful.

  If only they knew someone low-born was rifling among them.

  I slipped through the crowd, nodding politely when eyes turned my way. My suit was expensive enough to blend in - black with silver threading, tailored to fit but not to impress. My flat cap was considered more lower class in its appearance, but it did well to hide my face and eyes.

  The less attention and witnesses, the easier my job became.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  As I moved, I watched.

  Eyes.

  Green. Brown. Blue with flecks of gold. Hazel shifting in the candlelight.

  Most were normal - dull with wine and boredom, glazed with the particular emptiness that came from having nothing to do but look important.

  Then I wasn't watching anymore.

  I collided with someone - shoulder to shoulder, hard enough to make me stumble half a step.

  "Ah-! My apologies, I wasn't-"

  "Watch where you're going."

  The voice was cold. Clipped. The kind of tone that expected immediate deference.

  I looked up.

  A man stood before me - tall, imperious, clothing noticeably finer and more expensive than mine, colored in deep violet that matched his eyes. Those eyes - vivid purple, shimmering faintly in the candlelight - fixed on me with obvious disdain.

  "Honestly," he continued, not waiting for my response. "The standards for entry have fallen considerably if they're allowing such carelessness."

  His gaze swept over me, taking in my flat cap, my modest suit, and dismissing all of it in an instant.

  I forced a smile - polite, apologetic, everything a lower noble should be when faced with someone clearly above their station.

  "You're absolutely right, monsieur. The fault is entirely mine. Please, forgive my clumsiness."

  I bowed slightly - not too deep, but enough to satisfy propriety.

  The man sniffed, adjusting his cuffs. "See that it doesn't happen again."

  He turned away, already dismissing me from his thoughts as he rejoined his circle of equally pompous nobles.

  I straightened, smile still fixed in place.

  Pretentious asshole.

  To think such a weird eye color exists in this world, and it's wasted on someone like that.

  I continued forward, weaving through clusters of nobles with more care this time. My hand brushed my coat pocket reflexively, checking that nothing had been disturbed in the collision.

  Everything was still in place.

  In the corner of my eyes, I noticed a girl walking my way.

  Found you.

  Pretending not to look, I stumbled into the young lady who also wasn't looking.

  She stumbled backward with a sharp gasp. Instinct took over - my hand shot out, catching her back before she could fall.

  "Pardon, mademoiselle," I said quickly, steadying her with genuine concern. "Are you alright?"

  She looked up at me, dark hair framing a face gone pale beneath carefully applied cosmetics. Seventeen, maybe eighteen - God, she really is just a kid - pretty in that careful way noble girls were taught to be. Posture perfect, smile practiced, every movement measured.

  But her hands trembled faintly where they gripped my sleeve. And the sweat on her brow was only accented by her makeup.

  "Non, non - I'm the one who should apologize, monsieur." Her voice was breathless, each word stumbling over the last. "I wasn't watching where I-I didn't mean to-"

  "It's quite alright." I steadied her gently, keeping my voice soft. "Though you seem unwell. Perhaps you should visit the ship's physician? I would be happy to accompany you, if you'd li-."

  "N-no!" The word came too quickly, too sharp. She caught herself, forcing another smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Non, merci. You are very kind, but I am... I am fine. Truly. Just a moment of dizziness, nothing more."

  She curtsied - quick and shallow - then turned and walked away before I could respond.

  I watched her go, eyebrows furrowing.

  Seventeen years old. Poor girl.

  Sweat beaded her forehead despite the cool evening air flowing through the open balcony doors. Her breathing came too fast, too shallow. And her eyes...

  Black. Creeping slowly at the edges.

  Not the pupil. Not the iris. The white of her eyes, darkening at the edges like ink bleeding through paper.

  My gaze dropped to her shadow.

  It moved.

  Not with her steps - independently. Subtly. Stretching and contracting like something alive, writhing against the polished floor even as she walked in a straight line.

  The woman walked faster now, weaving between clusters of nobles with jerky, uneven steps. Her shadow twisted behind her like smoke in wind, and I could see the exact moment panic set in - the way her shoulders tensed, the way her head turned left and right as if looking for escape.

  She found the stairs and started climbing.

  My eyes narrowed.

  I better get my stuff.

  My fingers tapped against my wrist collar in a repeating rhythm, matching my quickening heartbeat.

  I'd rather not fight this thing with my bare hands.

  And I'd rather she didn't suffer any longer than necessary.

  I followed.

  Not obviously. Just a young noble wandering away from the ballroom, perhaps in search of a quieter place to smoke or a private corner to court some equally bored aristocrat. No one looked twice as I ascended the curved staircase, boots silent on thick carpet.

  The upper deck was quieter. Private cabins lined both sides of the corridor, their doors marked with brass plaques bearing family crests and names I vaguely recognized. Between them stood recessed alcoves holding ornate storage compartments - the kind of thing rich people used to keep spare clothes for when they inevitably spilled wine on themselves.

  I stopped at one, opened it with a subtle wave of my hand that made the lock click softly, and pulled out a leather satchel I'd hidden there mere hours prior.

  Ahead of me, the woman slipped into a cabin and closed the door.

  I ducked into the adjacent room.

  Empty. Dark. A guest cabin no one had rented, lucky for me.

  I worked quickly, pulling items from the satchel with practised efficiency.

  First, a cloak - heavy black fabric reinforced with steel threading, falling to mid-calf and fitted with a hood deep enough to hide my face. The sleeves were articulated, allowing a full range of motion while maintaining coverage.

  Next, the shirt. I stripped off my formal jacket and dress shirt, replacing them with a black woven tunic marked with symbols that pulsed faintly in the darkness.

  Then came the deep black pants, a belt cinched around my waist with an empty holster hanging at my side. I pulled a revolver from the satchel, checked the rounds, and slid it into place.

  Gloves came next - black leather, fitted tight. The right one had a mechanism built into the finger, a thin cord running up through my sleeve to a spring-loaded sheath.

  I flexed my hand once. The hilt of my blade dropped smoothly into my palm.

  I squeezed.

  The gray gemstone embedded in the guard bled black, darkness seeping through the metal like water through cracked stone. Shadows unfurled along the blade's length, coiling and writhing as if alive, until the entire weapon was wreathed in dark mist.

  Finally, the mask.

  I lifted it from the satchel - matte black metal edged in silver, with a vox modulator built into the jaw and tinted lenses over the eyes. As I raised it to my face, the world bled red at the edges as I felt my eyes drown in warmth.

  My reflection stared back at me from a mirror on the wall.

  Black hair, short and practical. Eyes glowing crimson, symbols spiralling through the irises like constellations being born and dying in real time. Just shy of six feet tall, lean in that wiry way that came from training rather than genetics.

  Seventeen years old with the gaze of a thirty-year-old soldier.

  I pressed the mask against my face. It sealed with a soft hiss, mechanisms clicking into place as the vox engaged.

  When I spoke, my voice came out distorted - lower, rougher, stripped of any identifying tone.

  "Let's get this over with."

  From the adjacent cabin, I heard crying.

  Soft at first, then building - ragged sobs that carried through the thin wall, punctuated by whispered words I couldn't quite make out.

  I stepped into the hallway.

  A young man stood frozen three meters away - servant's livery, wide eyes, mouth open in the beginning of a question that died the moment he saw me.

  "Leave." I said through the mask.

  "Y-yes!"

  He ran.

  I sighed.

  Lets hope this goes as smoothly as the last one.

  I turned to the cabin door and pushed it open.

  The room beyond was chaos.

  Furniture overturned. Curtains torn. The woman crouched in the far corner, hands clutching her head, whole body shaking as if seized by fever. The air around her moved - not wind, but something thicker, like reality itself was glazing over, distorting.

  Her shadow didn't lie flat anymore. It rose up the walls, spreading across the ceiling, writhing with dozens of tendrils that lashed out at nothing and everything.

  She looked up as I entered, terror flooding her face.

  Then she saw my blade - shadows coiling along its edge, drinking the light - and something like recognition sparked in her eyes.

  "Are you..." Her voice cracked. "Are you an Inquisitor?"

  I stepped forward slowly, shadows curling around my boots like eager pets.

  "You're already infected." I said quietly. "I'm sorry."

  "No!" She screamed, clawing at her temples. Blood slowly leaked from her eyes in the place of tears. "It was supposed to be her! My sister! If it wasn't me, they were going to take her! I had to- I had to-"

  "Who made you do this?" I asked, hoping this time it would be different.

  Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Just broken syllables, fractured words that meant nothing. Her jaw worked desperately, trying to form shapes her corrupted body no longer remembered.

  The blood leaking from her eyes darkened to pitch, and the whites of her eyes sank beneath that rising tide of blackness, dimming a little more with each heartbeat.

  My eyebrows furrowed.

  Same response as always.

  It didn't matter either way. A job was a job, no matter how messy it would get.

  By now, her eyes had been completely consumed by the dark tidal wave. Not a single inch of white remained.

  The last thing she said - the very last coherent word before the transformation completed - was spoken in a voice that didn't belong to her anymore.

  "Help me."

  I nodded.

  "I'll try."

  I cautiously started to inch forward, the black around my blade pulsating like a beating heart.

  I need to wait until she's progressed enough before striking.

  The black consuming her body started to move, as if sensing my thoughts.

  Almost there.

  Lets get this over and done quickly. I'd rather not cause a commotion. Plus leaving this place full of nobles woul-

  I saw the attack before it happened.

  A flash - precognition bleeding through my vision in shades of red. Myself, moments from now, impaled by a shadow tendril erupting from the floor. Directly piercing my chest. Dead before I hit the ground.

  Shit-!

  I moved.

  The blade came up just as the tendril burst from the floorboards, shadows meeting shadows in a shriek of divine energy. The impact threw me backward, boots skidding across carpet as I crashed through the doorway and into the hallway.

  My heart hammered. Sweat slicked my palms beneath the gloves.

  What the hell was that?

  The transformation came too quickly. And that attack - calculated, precise. Not the mindless flurry I was used to.

  This can't be the same strain.

  This was different.

  I looked back into the cabin.

  The woman stood in the center of the room - if you could still call her a woman. Black tears poured from her eyes like tar. Chains of shadow wrapped around her body, tightening with each breath, sinking into her skin until I couldn't tell where flesh ended and darkness began.

  More tendrils rose from the floor, from the walls, from her own shadow spreading like spilled ink. The air started to whisper unintelligible things, and my mind started to distort under an unknown pressure.

  I readied myself, black bleeding from my blade and my eyes swimming in red. A strained smile formed under my mask.

  For the first time in my line of work, I was questioning whether the choice of going solo was the right one.

  This won't be easy.

  As quickly as the thought came. The tendrils started to move.

  They launched toward me.