“Where are we headed first?” Lumian asked, walking alongside Silas. His hand instinctively ruffled through his own hair as he tried to recall what Charlotte had requested.

  “If I remember correctly, she had a specific tea blend she liked… so that’s first on my list.” Silas sighed, already anticipating the hassle. “Which probably means it’s going to be the hardest thing to find.”

  Lumian gave a simple nod. “So I just gotta keep my eyes open. Easy enough.”

  With that, they continued down the crowded streets of Cinderhaven. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, spiced vegetables, and the occasional sharp tang of something fermented. Vendors called out their deals, their voices overlapping into an overwhelming chorus, while street performers played lively tunes in an attempt to earn a few coins.

  For a city that had survived the Collapse, Cinderhaven had an impressive pulse. But it also had an impressive number of merchants eager to squeeze money from unsuspecting travelers.

  Silas and Lumian had been walking for about forty minutes, and they’d already been stopped eight times. Which, if Silas did the math, meant they were being interrupted roughly every five minutes.

  Annoying.

  Lumian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, six out of those eight interactions had ended with him somehow walking away with something useful. Silas wasn’t sure if it was luck, skill, or just some cosmic joke at his expense.

  “Pretty privilege… that’s what it’s called, right?” Silas muttered, side-eyeing Lumian.

  Lumian chuckled, rolling his shoulders back in amusement. “I’d call it ‘being a smooth talker’ more than pretty privilege.” Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “Also, not entirely sure how I feel about being considered ‘pretty’ by another guy.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Silas scoffed, shaking his head before coming to a halt. A realization hit him like a brick to the face.

  He turned to Lumian, eyes narrowing with a mix of irritation and betrayal.

  “Wait a damn minute.”

  Lumian blinked. “What?”

  “If you’re such a self-proclaimed smooth talker, why didn’t you just ask someone for directions?” Silas threw his hands up in exasperation. “We’ve been wandering around like headless chickens! If you’ve got such a useful social skill, use it! Damn it, I’m getting envious!”

  Lumian let out an amused breath, lifting his hands in mock surrender as if he were dealing with an overly agitated professor—an expression he’d probably mastered over years of pissing off authority figures.

  “Sorry, sorry, cut me some slack,” he laughed. Then, with a knowing grin, he added, “But if you’re that envious, why not try it yourself? You can’t just learn from never trying, y’know.”

  Silas exhaled sharply, gaze flicking back to the chaotic streets ahead.

  Silas had never been good at talking to others. The fact that he had made it this far—with people he could genuinely call friends—would probably shock a younger version of himself.

  And yet, here he was, about to attempt something completely outside his comfort zone.

  “First off,” Lumian began, his voice carrying the tone of a seasoned instructor, “you should probably change your appearance.”

  Silas arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well,” Lumian continued, completely unfazed, “your eyes are scary, your posture isn’t the best, and overall… you don’t exactly look approachable.”

  Each observation hit Silas like a stab to the heart. He visibly flinched. “Couldn’t you sugarcoat that even a little?”

  “Not at all,” Lumian replied flatly. “You can’t improve if I go easy on you.”

  Before Silas could even process that, Lumian suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder. The unexpected weight made Silas instinctively straighten his back, almost like a reflex.

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  “See? You’re getting better already.” Lumian grinned.

  Silas barely registered the words—his mind had latched onto something else entirely.

  He believes I can improve.

  It was such a simple thing, yet it struck him deeper than he wanted to admit. Silas had always felt prone to disappointing people, always falling short when expectations were placed on him. It was why he was hesitant to try in the first place. Why bother, if failure was the most likely outcome?

  And yet Lumian spoke as if Silas was capable. As if there was no doubt he could be better.

  Silas swallowed, shifting his gaze away as he muttered, “Alright… I’ll trust your judgment.”

  Taking a breath, he adjusted his posture and forced himself to meet Lumian’s eyes, offering a small—if not slightly awkward—smile.

  With their goal in mind, the two continued their search, their pace steady as they kept their eyes open for any sign of a tea merchant.

  It was harder than expected.

  Silas took the initiative, stopping various people as they passed and asking for directions. It was far from smooth—his words stumbled at times, and his usual hesitations crept in—but he did it.

  The responses they received were vague at best. Some pointed down different streets, others mumbled half-hearted suggestions, and a few just shrugged entirely.

  Whoever this tea merchant was, they seemed to be somewhat of an enigma. A ghost among the locals.

  .

  ..

  …

  After what felt like an eternity, the scattered hints and half-hearted directions finally led them to a narrow, dimly lit road in Cinderhaven. This was it—the place where the elusive tea merchant supposedly resided.

  The only problem was…

  “What an eerie-looking place,” Lumian muttered, wrinkling his nose. His usual carefree demeanor was laced with mild disgust as he surveyed the street. The buildings were worn down, their facades cracked and weathered by time. The stench of cigarettes, booze, and other unidentifiable foul odors clung to the air like a thick fog, making it almost unbearable to breathe.

  It was clear—this part of Cinderhaven was far removed from the bustling market streets they had been wandering earlier. A place like this would’ve probably been referred to as “the ghetto” before the Collapse.

  Silas exhaled through his nose, steeling himself. “No good will come from us just standing here. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

  Lumian huffed a laugh. “Right. I’d rather not marinate in whatever the hell this smell is any longer than necessary.”

  The two pressed forward, winding their way through the dim streets.

  Fifteen minutes passed when—

  “Mm?” Lumian’s gaze flicked toward a nearby building.

  Just outside its entrance stood three women, lounging against the doorframe. Their attire—if it could even be called that—left very little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to their forms. When they noticed the two men approaching, slow, sultry smiles spread across their lips. Their hips swayed with deliberate exaggeration as they sauntered forward, their gazes locked onto their prey.

  “Well, well~” One of the women practically purred, her voice dripping with honey. “Aren’t you two just the cutest things?”

  Before Silas could react, delicate fingers trailed up his forearm. His entire body tensed. “W-We, uh—”

  “For the low, low price,” another woman added, her nails teasing along Lumian’s wrist, “we can be all yours.”

  Heat instantly rushed to Silas’ face. He took a hurried step back, nearly tripping over himself in his panic. “I—I’m sorry! But no thanks! I mean—w-we didn’t come here for that! Wait, no, I mean—!”

  Lumian, on the other hand, smoothly extracted himself from their grasp, far less flustered than his companion. “Gotta agree with him,” he said with an easygoing grin. “Trust me, we’d love to take you up on the offer, but now really isn’t the right time.”

  The women pouted, their plump lips pushing forward in mock disappointment. One of them, in particular, pressed her arms together, emphasizing her ample chest as she turned her attention solely onto Lumian.

  “Well, in that case…” She batted her lashes, voice dripping with playful seduction. “The pale one can go.” She waved Silas off dismissively before her fingers curled around Lumian’s collar, tugging him slightly toward the building. “But you? We’d love to keep you all to ourselves.”

  Silas could only stare in mild disbelief as Lumian, with his ever-so-reliable moral compass, did absolutely nothing to resist. In fact, he had the biggest, dopiest smile on his face.

  “Oh well~” Lumian sang, waving lazily. “Silas, I’ll return—I swear! I’ll, uh… I’ll try to get information! Don’t look at me like that—it’s not like I want to be in this situation!”

  Every word was an obvious lie.

  Silas sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. As much as he was exasperated, he knew Lumian wouldn’t be too reckless. He’d probably actually try to fish for information… probably.

  With that in mind, Silas turned away, pressing forward down the road.

  At the very end of the street, a heavily decorated building stood in stark contrast to its surroundings. Unlike the rest of the decayed structures, this place felt different. From the doorframe hung strings of beads, swaying ever so slightly with the breeze. The scent of herbs and sage filled the air, rich and heady, beckoning him closer.

  Just as he stepped toward the entrance—

  “Do I know ya?”

  The voice was feminine, yet strong.

  From within the building, a woman emerged.

  Her deep brown skin was adorned with intricate accessories—golden waist beads, dangling earrings, and a collection of piercings. Long braids, decorated with gold beads, were tied into a high ponytail, and her face bore striking skeletal makeup, reminiscent of Día de los Muertos celebrations. She was nothing short of striking, a presence that demanded attention.

  And amidst the many overwhelming scents surrounding her, one stood out.

  Earl Grey.

  Silas’ breath hitched for half a second. His personal favorite.

  “You’re her,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if he was confirming it for himself.

  The woman raised a brow, arms crossed.

  Steeling himself, Silas met her gaze. “Excuse me… but do you know a woman by the name of Charlotte Greene?”