Lin Yuhsia, a poised Caster operator and the Rat King's daughter, waved him over, her sharp eyes glinting with a mix of warmth and caution.
Her long, purple hair was tied back, her traditional Lungmen attire—a blend of elegance and practicality—hinting at her deep ties to the city's underworld and its protectors.
"Howard," she greeted, her voice smooth, carrying the weight of someone who'd navigated Lungmen's shadows for years.
"It's been a while."
Howard's mood, lighter earlier with Camelia, had shifted; his expression was guarded, less welcoming as he took a seat across from her.
Lin Yuhsia darted a quick glance toward the barista behind the counter, who caught the signal and moved away, giving them space for a private conversation.
Lin Yuhsia leaned forward, her tone softening with a slight apology.
"I heard what happened to your firm—I'm sorry, Howard."
Howard shook his head, his voice steady but distant.
"It's okay, Yuhsia. It wasn't your fault."
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup, her gaze flickering with regret.
"It was… partially my fault," she admitted, her voice low, tinged with a weight.
Howard frowned, confusion etching his features.
"I don't understand. The nobles who attacked me—they had nothing to do with you. They were tied to a rising industry trying to steal from Blacksteel. I stopped their operation, so I became their target."
Lin Yuhsia met his gaze, her expression serious as she explained.
"That time when you offered us a lead on the Utopia network, my father and I, with Penguin Logistics, went after every underworld gang affiliated with those who sold it."
"We cracked down hard—took down most of them, from the docks to the slums. To keep you out of the crossfire, I had one of my team seal your information and make sure your involvement stayed buried."
Howard sighed, the pieces starting to fall into place as he guessed what came next.
Lin Yuhsia's worried look confirmed his suspicions as she continued.
"We caught a traitor in our ranks, but it was too late. The nobles likely got most of your info from the leak—your name, your firm, everything."
Howard's brow furrowed, a nagging thought tugging at him.
Something about the situation didn't sit right.
"When you tasked your team with sealing my information," he asked, his tone measured, "did you—or anyone—add anything about me to the file?"
Lin Yuhsia shook her head, her expression earnest.
"As far as I remember, nothing. It was just a standard seal—your name, your firm, basic details to flag for protection. Nothing more."
Howard nodded, but the unease lingered, a puzzle piece still missing.
Lin Yuhsia shifted, her hand sliding a black card onto the table—a sleek, obsidian VIP card, its surface glinting with a subtle sheen.
"For recompense," she said, her voice firm, carrying the authority of the Rat King's daughter.
"It's worth 1 billion LMD. This should secure your life, at least for now."
She stood, her movements graceful but deliberate, preparing to leave.
"I might need your help in the future, Howard," she added, placing a small slip of paper on the table—her number scrawled in neat handwriting.
"And if you need mine, call me."
With that, she walked out, her figure disappearing into Lungmen's morning bustle, leaving Howard alone with the card, the paper, and a lingering sense of unease.
***
Ch'en sat at her desk in the Lungmen Guard Department's headquarters, the faint hum of the city filtering through the reinforced windows of her office.
The room was a stark contrast to Lungmen's chaotic streets—organised, utilitarian, with stacks of paperwork neatly arranged on her desk, a testament to her disciplined nature.
Her draconic tail rested still behind her, a rare moment of calm as she sifted through the usual reports: incident logs, patrol schedules, and updates on ongoing crimes
Her crimson blade, Chi Xiao, rested against the wall, a silent reminder of her readiness to act at a moment's notice.
The morning light cast long shadows across the floor, but Ch'en's focus was unwavering—until her phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the quiet.
She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing as she recognised the number—a contact from Lungmen General Hospital.
They were finalising a special commission she had requested.
"Ch'en speaking."
The caller, a hospital technician, spoke with a professional urgency.
"Officer Ch'en, we've finished analysing the DNA samples you provided from the crime scene."
"Howard Leyman's DNA doesn't matches any of the other DNA's from that crime scene including the unique tissues we uncovered at the site. Those samples… they're unlike anything we've seen, almost non-human in structure."
Ch'en's grip on the phone tightened, her expression darkening.
She sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation in her tone.
"Understood. Thank you for the update."
She ended the call, setting the phone down with a deliberate slowness, her mind racing as she leaned back in her chair.
Weeks had passed since the attack on Howard's firm, but the incident had left a lingering unease in Ch'en's heart—doubts about Howard that she couldn't shake, no matter how hard she tried.
She'd already run every background check she could on him, digging into his past as far as her authority as an L.G.D. officer allowed.
On paper, Howard Leyman was clean—a detective with a solid record, a few high-profile cases under his belt, and nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary.
But there was a limit to what she could uncover through official channels, and the memory of that day—the day he'd transformed in front of her—gnawed at her.
She remembered it vividly: Howard shifting into a bird to escape the attackers on the bridge, his form blurring in a way that defied natural law.
It wasn't Arts, not in the way she understood them, and it had planted a seed of doubt that had only grown with time.
Her thoughts drifted to Aak, the eccentric Lee detective agency's operator with a penchant for the bizarre and a vast knowledge of rare phenomena.
He was the one who warned him about a Changeling in Lungmen.
She'd contacted him shortly after the incident, seeking answers.
Aak's words echoed in her mind, his voice casual but laced with caution:
"Sounds like a Changeling, Ch'en. But you've got to confirm it—figure out what if he is truly one .
"If you don't know what you're dealing with, it's impossible to handle. Could be harmless… or it could be a real problem."
Ch'en had lived with Howard for weeks now, long enough to consider him someone close—a friend, a confidant, someone she'd come to rely on amidst Lungmen's chaos.
They'd shared meals, late-night conversations, even moments of laughter despite the weight of their respective burdens.
But those doubts, those whispers of suspicion, filled her heart with a quiet turmoil.
Was Howard a Changeling, a being capable of shifting forms and hiding his true nature? And if he was, what did that mean for her, for Lungmen, for everything they'd built together?
She rubbed her temples, her draconic tail flicking slightly in agitation. She couldn't keep ignoring this.
If Howard was hiding something, she needed to know.
The only way to settle this, she decided, was to confront him directly—to ask him about that day, about what he truly was.
Ch'en stood, her resolve hardening as she grabbed her coat, her crimson blade still resting against the wall.
She'd find Howard after her shift, sit him down, and get the truth—one way or another.
***
Howard had returned.
To where it all began.
The remnants of Utopia and the gang lay before him, a graveyard of memories buried beneath charred earth and scattered debris.
The once-thriving facility, where countless workers toiled under false promises, had been reduced to nothing but silence.
Yet, Howard did not need walls to hear the whispers of the past.
He exhaled slowly, his gloved fingers brushing against the scorched ground.
Then, with quiet finality, he straightened, his jacket billowing as he let the weight of his talent settle over him.
His voice cut through the desolation.
"Heed my words."
A ripple ran through the air.
The wind stilled—as if holding its breath—before shifting, twisting, obeying.
A whisper became a howl. A breeze became a storm. The unseen forces carried his command, spiraling outward, dragging with them the echoes of what had once been.
And then, the past began to replay.