The elevator doors parted with a soft swish of well-tuned machinery.

The following evening, after my shift at Klau's front desk had officially come to an end, I marched into Amoroth's office to find the Sin of Lust stationed behind her desk and a veritable curtain wall of stuffed boxes. Each box brimmed with contracts and documents. It seemed no matter where I went, be it work or home, I simply couldn't escape the ravages of paperwork.

"I'm busy, Gaspard," Amoroth quipped as the brass edge of her fountain pen continued to scratch its ordered lines. One of her guards stood behind her chair with his arms crossed and his chin up, sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. Beyond him, the ubiquitous windows were cloaked in the raven-colored hues of night. The city's lights were not as prevalent this high above the valley, but Verweald's intrusive luminosity still lingered in the peripheries. "Make it quick."

I rounded my shoulders and balanced my fists upon my hips. If the woman wanted brief, I would be brief. "Give me a gun."

The pen stopped scratching. Amoroth's guard choked and quietly coughed into his cupped hand. Amoroth blinked several times and didn't stir from her writing posture. "I'm not going to ask," she said to the desktop before addressing me directly. "But, you do realize you can't just shoot Darius, right? It doesn't work like that."

"I've shot him before. I know." I held out my hand, fingers waggling in silent demand. "I don't have much time."

"She's shot him before, she says," the Sin breathed in disbelief as she set her pen aside and straightened. Amoroth aligned her fingers and tilted her eyes heavenward, gazing at that horrific mural. "Didn't you make me drive for three hours to reach San Barkett so you could specifically not ask me for a gun?"

"Hey." I jabbed my bandaged finger at the Sin. "I never asked you to take me. You volunteered, and as I said—I'm pressed for time." The woman scoffed as she affected her writing posture once more. I sensed that our conversation was drawing to a close. Resigned, I inhaled, then allowed the breath to course through my lips. "If you do this, I'll owe you a favor."

"Is that supposed to sway me? A favor from a half-dead waif of a mortal? Please." Amoroth was mocking me—but she had settled in her seat again, eyes bright with interest, her expression smug. The woman bartered for favors like a modern-day Mephistopheles.

"You do like favors, don't you?"

She hummed as her head bobbed in silent assent. A single curl fell from its tie to cascade along her cheek. "That I do, that I do....Does Darius know you're here?"

"Specifically in your office asking for a firearm? No."

Amoroth's gaze sharpened, her nails clicking against one another. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I thought you weren't going to ask?"

"Me too. And yet here I am, asking you anyway. Asking twice. Oh, how I loathe asking anything twice. Why do you want the gun?"

Her usage of the Tongue of the Realm drew a taut cord between us, then plucked the line like one would a guitar's string. I felt the vibration rattle my ribcage and shiver through my skull. Velvet strings within my mind were reeled into tense, unwavering bonds. I coughed, "To protect Darius."

Amoroth sputtered, then started laughing. "What absolute bull is that?"

Color crept into my cheeks. I was embarrassed but also quite angry. I did not enjoy being coerced to speak against my will. "It's not bull," I said. "But it's not the whole truth."

"Then what is the whole truth, Gaspard? Or should I force that from you as well—?"

"Darius makes a lot of mistakes." I cut the Sin's question short before she could decide to test my will again. "A lot of mistakes. He kills more leads than we can find. I don't hold that against him. I've made my fair share of mistakes, too." I drew a shaky breath and stepped closer to Amoroth's desk, lowering my voice. "But the man keeps trying. He hasn't given up on this nightmare of a contract—or on me. Darius perseveres despite his blunders, despite his hunger or his anger or his fear. Every day, I learn a little more about the starvation that plagues him, Amoroth. About the fear that hunger inflicts upon him, the fear of losing himself and his mind to the capricious debasement of famine and time.

"He told me to stay behind today. It would be safer if I did—and undoubtedly smarter, but I can't let him do this on his own. Not when he could make another mistake that might cost him his sanity or his life. Not when I can help."

The Sin's humor faded more and more with every word. Amoroth had become very still, not unlike a predator before it leaps upon its blithering prey.

Chills racked my spine, but I continued to speak. "Aside from that, I'm not his dog. He cannot tell me to sit and stay and expect my obedience. But nor is Darius my servant. I do not own him and he will not bear the burden of this contract alone."

My words only aggravated the Sin of Lust further. In the drab lighting, her eyes had become so vivid they were magenta in color and my breath was escaping me in silver clouds. The guard was unperturbed by our conversation or Amoroth's behavior, but he had taken several small, definite steps away from his employer.

Amoroth snapped her fingers, snarling. "Give me your gun."

The guard didn't hesitate. He reached inside his black suit and handed the Sin a hefty, matte pistol. She held it by the barrel and extended the grip toward me. I took the final steps separating us with exaggerated caution. My fingertips skirted the gun's handle—and Amoroth tore it away to snatch hold of my wrist. She slammed my arm onto the desk with enough force to bruise.

"He's going to kill you," she said. The Sin's voice was cold, as devoid of emotion as her face. I didn't understand the pure loathing I saw lurking within her wide, unblinking eyes. "Don't humanize him—don't humanize us. He'll kill you when your contract is complete. He'll break your neck without a thought. Don't forget that, Gaspard."

She released me. The gun clattered on the desk between us, and I took it before my cowardice could shred my resolve. I had never been so afraid of Amoroth, not even when she had dropped me from Klau's roof. I did not know this woman. I had thought I had some understanding of the Sin—but I understood nothing of the creature before me, the one sitting at that desk. I had never seen a woman so icy with unguarded revulsion and abhorrence. What in the world did I say?

I gulped as I tucked the gun into the hem of my uniform's skirt. "Thank you."

Amoroth's reply was terse. She returned to her work. "Get out."

I left Klau Tower without another word to the Sin of Lust or anyone else for that matter. I avoided the metal detectors and the mob at the front entrance in favor of the loading dock through the technician's floor. I retrieved my car from its illegal parking space and drove eastward to the hills that laid like drowsy hounds curled about the pricier homes of Verweald's coast.

The Greenwood District wasn't nearly as posh as the adjoining Pinegrove or Winfield neighborhoods, but it attracted its own eclectic mix of residents and visitors. The Tourism district glittered along Greenwood's southeast border, the blood-red Ferris wheel rising in an illuminated circle above the noise and confusion below it. Verweald's obnoxious visitors often grew bored with the colorful buffoonery prevalent at the pier's amusement park and ventured into Greenwood. Greenwood was host to a wide array of festivals during the weekends, which left its parks and lots empty for the majority of the week. A fair share of Verweald's bloody crimes happened in those unlit, quiet areas.

The residential streets varied in style and composition; from block to block, the houses morphed from clean-cut craftsmen to stucco apartments, to steel duplexes, and back again. The area was plagued with roundabouts and bizarre, symmetrical rock formations crafted by alternative artists. There were a high number of signs, most of which directed traffic toward the Tourism district or toward Verweald's heart, away from the moneyed neighborhoods in the north or the Agricultural district in the south. There were few signs for actual street names or addresses. The effect was baffling, especially at night. It was easy to lose oneself in Greenwood.

Today, however, I was able to properly navigate the murky Greenwood lanes to arrive at the strip mall containing Techie-Goods. It was a rundown spot in the midst of a lower-middle-class area. There was a water reclamation plant somewhere nearby, if memory served, which would explain the smell of brine and sewage saturating the entire neighborhood. I closed the window as the car rolled to a stop in one of the many empty spots populating the parking lot's outskirts. The headlights flickered and died along with the engine. The silence pressing upon my ears was heavy.

This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done, I told myself as I exhaled in a single rush. I banged my forehead on the steering wheel's top and hoped sense would return to me. Help Darius. Right. What can I possibly do? What am I, a weak human, capable of doing?

Thoughts of vengeance and fear spiraled in my mind until I felt sick from the motion. I squeezed my eyes shut as my hands shook upon the wheel.

You were brave.

My eyes snapped open.

But also very stupid. Courage and stupidity are often indistinguishable from one another

I got out of the car. My palms were slick with sweat and I was almost too terrified to breathe—but Darius had been right.

Courage and stupidity often wore the same guise, and perhaps each version needed a healthy dash of the other to be valid. I bristled when he called me stupid—but then I always did, I always feared to be stupid, or foolish, or wrong. I let that fear hold me back in everything I did, in every aspect of my life, and yes, sometimes it proved for the better. Sometimes, I could tell myself, I told you so, but more often than not, a lack of courage for fear of being stupid meant I missed opportunities. I missed life.

I could stay in the car. I could stay quivering in the driver's seat, and blame the cultists or the demon for my fear and inaction. I doubt anyone would condemn me for that. Perhaps they'd even say it was the smart thing to do. Weakness was expected of weak people, and I could return home, letting myself think I had tried. I could cautious—smart, even.

Or I could face the danger awaiting me. I could face Darius' anger, the Exordium's cruelty, and the probability of certain doom or injury. I could really try—I could shed that ever-present film of uncertainty and push against the fear. I could courageous. I could be bold.

My breath left me a shuddering gust.

I so desperately wanted to be bold.