Morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through my room's single window with offensive cheerfulness. I groaned, turning away from the brightness. My body ached from yesterday's mad dash through the Crimson Labyrinth, muscles protesting every movement.
But physical discomfort was the least of my concerns.
Today I had to face Investigator Reyne. Explain how I'd survived yet another deadly dungeon incident. Convince her I wasn't somehow responsible for the pattern of deaths that seemed to follow me.
The small pouch of payment from Thorne sat on my rickety bedside table, along with Morrigan's folded document detailing his suspicious expedition history. I hadn't slept well, my dreams filled with dissolving bodies, cocoon-trapped humans transforming into insectoid monstrosities, and glowing receipts that vanished when I tried to grasp them.
Forcing myself upright, I began preparing for what promised to be an uncomfortable meeting. I washed with cold water from the basin, dressed in my cleanest clothes (which weren't saying much), and checked my hidden dagger, the Kobold Fang still securely sheathed at my hip beneath my tunic.
The blade was both reassurance and evidence. If Investigator Reyne somehow discovered it, explaining its sudden appearance would be... challenging.
Downstairs, the bakery had already been operating for hours. The aroma of fresh bread filled the stairwell as I descended, my stomach growling in response. I stopped to purchase a small loaf, earning a disapproving look from the baker's wife who believed, not without reason, that I was perpetually behind on rent.
"Package came for you," she said, sliding a small parcel across the counter along with my bread. "Delivered at dawn. Messenger didn't wait."
I examined the package warily. Small, wrapped in plain brown paper, sealed with unmarked wax. No indication of sender.
"Thanks," I said, tucking it into my pocket. Whatever it was, opening mysterious packages in public seemed unwise given recent events.
East Tower, Level 12. Those were Reyne's instructions. I'd never been so high in the Guild Headquarters, D-rank adventurers like me typically dealt with lower-level officials in the ground floor registry offices or the basement supply depots.
The morning streets of Ravengate pulsed with activity. Merchants hawked wares from colorful stalls. Laborers transported goods on carts and backs. Adventuring parties gathered outside equipment shops, discussing upcoming expeditions with the forced bravado of people who knew their statistical likelihood of return.
I took a roundabout path to Guild Headquarters, partly from ingrained caution and partly to delay the inevitable. The massive white complex dominated the center of Ravengate, its five towers — one main and four elemental — visible from nearly anywhere in the city. The East Tower, associated with the Azure Depths province of Arkavia, featured blue-tinted windows and flowing water motifs along its façade.
Guards at the main entrance checked my Guild identification, directing me to a specific elevator reserved for visitors to the upper levels. The elevator itself was a marvel of Arkavian engineering, a platform enchanted with levitation crystals harvested from high-level dungeons, guided by tracks embedded in the tower walls.
As I stepped onto the platform, a uniformed operator nodded politely. "Floor?"
"Level 12," I replied, trying to sound like someone who belonged there.
Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she activated the control crystal without comment. The platform rose smoothly, providing glimpses of different departments through openings in the shaft wall: Level 3, Expedition Registry with its rows of clerks processing paperwork; Level 6, Equipment Certification where enchanters examined dungeon-recovered items; Level 9, Medical Services where healers treated the endless stream of injured adventurers.
Level 12 looked different. The elevator opened directly into a reception area with polished stone floors, tasteful sculptures of famous Arkavian adventurers, and a massive map of Morvale covering one wall, dotted with colored pins representing known dungeon locations.
Behind a curved desk of dark wood sat a severe-looking woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a tight bun. She looked up as I approached.
"Name and business," she demanded without preamble.
"Jin Harker. Here to see Investigator Reyne. She's expecting me."
The receptionist consulted a ledger, then nodded curtly. "Down the hall, third door on the left. She's waiting."
The hallway was lined with identical doors bearing small plaques with names and titles. I found Reyne's easily enough: "Seraphina Reyne, Senior Investigator, Anomalous Incidents Division."
Anomalous Incidents. That didn't sound promising.
I knocked, fighting the urge to turn and run.
"Enter," came Reyne's crisp voice from within.
Her office was smaller than I'd expected but impeccably organized. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound tomes and carefully labeled scrolls. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface clear except for a single folder and a strange crystalline device that emitted a soft blue glow.
Investigator Reyne herself sat behind the desk, looking much as she had when we'd met outside the kobold warren—regal posture, expensive robes with silver embroidery, those unsettling pale gray eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
"Mr. Harker," she greeted me. "Precisely on time. Please, sit."
I took the offered chair, acutely aware of the knotted tension in my shoulders.
"Thank you for coming," she continued, opening the folder before her. "I appreciate your promptness, especially given your... eventful day yesterday."
My stomach dropped. "Eventful?"
"The Crimson Labyrinth expedition," she said, watching my reaction closely. "One casualty, as I understand it. A tinkerer named Dain Corvish."
How did she already know? The expedition had been off-books, no Guild registration or official documentation.
"News travels fast," I said carefully.
"Information is the Guild's business as much as dungeon management." She steepled her fingers. "Particularly information regarding statistical anomalies."
"Like me," I said, deciding to confront this directly. There was no point pretending we didn't both know why I was here.
"Like you," she agreed. "Three dungeon incidents with high casualty rates. Three instances where you walked away while others did not."
"Two," I corrected automatically. "I survived two incidents before yesterday."
A thin smile curved her lips. "So you admit to three in total."
Damn. I'd walked right into that.
"Being unlucky with party selection isn't a crime," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Neither is surviving."
"No, it certainly isn't." Reyne opened her folder, revealing what appeared to be my Guild file. "Jin Harker. D-rank generalist. Five years as a registered adventurer with no advancement in rank or specialization. Unremarkable assessment scores. No criminal record." She looked up. "On paper, you're the definition of average."
The way she emphasized "on paper" made it clear she believed otherwise.
"Yet somehow, you've survived situations that have claimed the lives of adventurers ranked significantly higher than yourself. That's... interesting."
"I'm good at hiding," I admitted. No point denying the obvious. "Not something that earns rank advancement, but effective for staying alive."
"Indeed." She turned a page in my file.
Her silver eyes narrowed slightly, and I felt a sudden chill. She wasn't just reading my file - she was reading me. And something told me Investigator Reyne saw far more than I wanted her to know.