Some time passed.

Zeke spent the week studying, and in the slivers of freedom between classes he discussed every imaginable topic with Violet—alchemy, philosophy, half-remembered rumors and myths. After the academy, he would head over to Artificial Love and work on handling his new position as the leader of the Dons. Ledgers, whispered bargains, and late-night strategy sessions filled the club's smoke-laced back room as he tried to change the criminal world of Lower Babel from the inside out. Every moment he spent away from the academy pulsed in service of that secret goal, a steady drumbeat beneath his ribs, promising a storm yet to break.

Fredric spent his academy time slacking off, barely paying attention to any of his classes. Sometimes his idle snooze was interrupted by professors berating him for his leisure attitude; these confrontations, however, resolved themselves quickly thanks to his quick wit and razor-sharp comebacks. After classes, Fredric would vanish from his house. No one knew where he went, yet when he returned he was often bone-deep tired—jacket smelling faintly of exhaust and brick dust, ash smeared like war-paint across his cuffs. Whatever shadows he chased at dusk left soot beneath his nails and secrets smoldering behind his grin.

And so Thursday came. Fredric and Zeke shared lunch, traded a few easy jokes, and split up. As usual, Zeke headed toward the library and into the reading room, that cathedral of hushed pages and dust-speckled light.

There she was, seated by the window in her wheelchair—Violet, pale and composed, haloed by late-afternoon sun. Standing beside her was a tall, well-built red-haired man with a thick, bushy beard veiling a sunken-in face and a slightly receding hairline hidden beneath a baseball cap. He wore a black suit, crisp but ill-fitting around the legs, as though stitched for a different anatomy. Sure enough, as Zeke's gaze fell, he saw the trousers rolled to the knees, exposing robotic limbs of brushed steel. Mechanical muscles swirled and hummed, pearlescent fluid shivering through transparent tubing—a quiet thunderstorm trapped beneath polished chrome. The room seemed to tighten around the hum, as if the shelves themselves held their breath.

"Hello, Violet!" Zeke called, approaching from the distance.

In a flash, her bodyguard swooped in, planting himself between them.

"This guy… he's the real deal," Zeke thought, studying the movement. The way the bodyguard shifted his weight was efficient—almost inhumanly so. His gaze held a crazed determination, and even though he stood before a contractor there was no fear, only pride.

"Care for an introduction?" he asked, Irish accent rolling off his tongue like rough velvet.

"Calvin! That's Zeke—remember the one I told you about," Violet intervened.

"Ahhh, Zeke. Nice to meet you," Calvin greeted with a warm smile, extending a broad hand.

Zeke grasped it—and a surge of pain shot up his arm as the massive palm clenched into a granite vise, his fingers flailing helplessly in the crevices.

"I've heard a lot about you from Amanda. She said you gave Violet's bullies quite the rough-up," he remarked, nonchalantly releasing Zeke's bruised hand.

"What the fuck was that?" Zeke hissed inwardly, watching his fingers slowly realign, bones knitting with a muted crunch. "Just what kind of contractor are you?"

"A contractor?" Calvin laughed, the sound booming off the shelves. "I'm no contractor, just a simple man."

"A simple man, you say…" Zeke echoed, voice thin.

He slid a chair beside Violet, knuckles still tingling. "So, what are you reading now?"

"Microbiology of Demonic Origin," Violet replied.

Stolen novel; please report.

"That's a good one!"

"You read it?" she asked.

"My parents gave me a copy as a birthday present," Zeke said. "I read it over and over, staying up night after night. Maybe I hoped it hid some miraculous secret—dumb, isn't it?"

"No, I don't think so," Violet answered softly. "Nothing you do is dumb. You can be reckless, sure, but never thoughtless."

Something in Zeke's heart screamed, hammering against his ribs. The cold shell around him felt ready to crack.

"Hey," he said, barely above a breath. "I wanna show you something—but your bodyguard can't come with us."

Violet turned her head. "Calvin, me and Zeke are going to be gone for a little while. We'll be fine, so wait for me here."

"Sure," Calvin replied, sliding his hands into his pockets and settling onto a chair—relaxed yet coiled, like a rifle balanced across his knees.

Zeke grabbed Violet's wheelchair and rolled her from the reading room, guiding her along the hushed corridor that linked the library to the cafeteria. The polished floor clicked beneath the chair's wheels, fluorescent panels flickering overhead like tired stage lights at the end of a midnight show—each pulse of brightness marking their steady escape.

At the far wall waited a scuffed service‐area door. Zeke laid his palm against the lock, exhaled, and channeled a thread of magic. A small black key blossomed between his fingers, oily and iridescent, and slipped home with a muted click. Metal groaned open, leaking a draft that smelled of dust and machine oil—an invitation into the building's hidden veins.

Inside, the passageway narrowed to damp concrete. Shelves sagged with mops, buckets, and bundled cables; overhead pipes dripped in staccato, each drop echoing like a ticking bomb. They threaded deeper until a vertical ladder rose into the gloom, its iron rungs slick with condensation.

"You'll have to get out of your wheelchair for this," Zeke remarked. "How's your upper body strength?" he asked.

"I'm as tough as they come," Violet laughed, flexing her biceps.

"Hold on tight," Zeke said, lifting her and lacing her arms round his shoulders.

A burst of metallic tapping rattled the ladder; wind whipped Violet's hair back as the dark shaft blurred past.

"Zeke!" What's going on?" she asked.

"I jumped," he replied.

Boots struck ceramic tile above. A sharper wind licked their faces. Zeke set Violet down, and in that breath she realized they were standing on the rooftop of the clock tower—high above the academy spires, alone with the sky.

"Ahh it's chilly out here," Violet remarked, buttoning her jacket against the biting air.

"I wanted to show you this place," Zeke explained. "Being up here calms me."

"We best not tell Calvin about this, or he'd get super mad," Violet sighed.

"So your new bodyguard, did your mom hire him?" Zeke wondered, rubbing the ache that lingered in his hand.

"No, it was my grandpa. He was really angry when he learned about what happened. Nia was immediately fired and Calvin came to look after me starting today. That's why I was without one, before that," she explained.

"Well he is tougher than Nia, that's for sure," Zeke said, flexing his hand as though testing for hidden fractures.

"Enough about that," Violet remarked. "Did you really bring me up here to talk about my bodyguard?"

"Yes!" Zeke enthusiastically replied.

"Zeke!" Violet called out.

"Relax, I'm joking," Zeke smirked, wind teasing his hair.

"Alright," Violet sighed. "What's the view like from up here? Describe it to me."

"What? Do I really have to?" Zeke sighed.

"Please, won't you do it for me?" Violet pleaded.

"Fine," Zeke cleared his throat. "A vista of the city opens up before you," he whispered. "As you look into the distance you feel small, insignificant. People surge in the distance, appearing like ants, hundreds of thousands of them, each main characters of their own stories."

"Well, that's grim," Violet remarked.

"Hey just trying to relay that it's like, up here," Zeke retorted.

"You know there was a time when I would have felt the same way, but not anymore," Violet smiled. "So many things changed since I came to this academy. These last 6 months were crazy," she sighed.

"So, what'd you do before then?" Zeke asked, sitting down next to her while dark clouds churned on the horizon.

"I… I went to compound 67 in Turkey," Violet stumbled.

"What was it like?" Zeke asked. "Outside the city, I mean?"

"I'm not sure," Violet replied. "I'm blind, you know."

"Sorry for asking. It's just that sometimes I feel like this city is just a massive steel birdcage. Sure it protects us from demons. But it's also stopping us from being free. It's a strangle hold, and the worst part is it's absolutely necessary," Zeke said, staring at the ashen clouds. "And the thought that this is all that's left of humanity makes me sick to my stomach," he spurted out.

"Zeke," Violet grabbed his shoulder. "I can't tell you much, but things are not how they seem. There is much more to the world than me, you or anyone knows. I believe that out there, there in the distance, there is surely someplace that you will love, even if it's outside the walls of this city."

High above the avenues, thunder mumbled within the brewing storm, as if the sky itself were conspiring to prove her right.

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