Old Favors

The Clockwork Spider pub felt just like its name. It was hidden deep in the dirty lower part of the Mid-Spires market. Its blinking sign glowed sickly green over the always-wet alley. Inside, the air was thick with smoke, cheap drinks, and the quiet sound of hushed talks. Old gears and clock parts, long stopped, covered every surface, collecting years of dirt. This was Jaxon's unofficial office, a place where information flowed as easily as the watered-down drinks.

Anya pushed through the heavy, old door. The noise and smells hit her at once. She saw Jaxon easily. He was bent over a damaged computer tablet in a hidden booth at the back. His hair, usually neat, was even messier than she remembered. He still wore his old, worn CID police jacket, with the badges ripped off. He had a grumpy look on his face.

She slid into the booth across from him. The old seat groaned. Jaxon looked up, his sharp, tired eyes widening in surprise in the dim light, then narrowing with a look Anya couldn't quite read.

"Anya," he grumbled, his voice rough, like grinding gears. "Long time no see. Last I heard, you were living alone, hating all police."

"Some things don't change, Jaxon," Anya replied, looking straight at him. "But I need your help. And Lena's."

When Anya said Lena's name, Jaxon's jaw tightened. "Lena does what she wants. And my help? You think Grimstone owes you anything after you left?"

"No," Anya said, leaning forward. "But you do. Remember that police raid on the gambling place, eight years ago? The one where a certain police officer almost got hurt badly trying to save a kid who ended up owing him a favor for life?"

Jaxon scoffed, but a tiny, almost unseen twitch at the corner of his mouth showed he remembered. "Blackmail, Anya? Very nice."

"It's serious times, Jaxon," she said, getting to the point. "Elara, the old clockmaker, was taken last night. By the CID Special Enforcement. They're not just cleaning up streets; they're looking for something. Something about Grimstone's beginnings, a 'blueprint' from a forgotten builder. Caspian, the street artist, thinks a old record keeper called The Scribe in the Upper Spires might know what it is and where it is."

Jaxon's grumpy face changed slightly. Elara was a known, harmless person in the Lower Spires. The police being interested in her, along with "The Scribe" and "blueprints," clearly made him worried. "Upper Spires? Anya, that's not just a dangerous trip, that's a one-way trip to a secret police prison."

Just then, someone slid into the booth next to Jaxon so quietly Anya hadn't even heard her come. It was Lena. Her dark, smart eyes looked over Anya, judging, thinking. Lena's face usually showed no feelings, a skill she learned during her years gathering information for the CID in Grimstone's hidden world, and now, for herself. She wore practical, dark clothes, and a tiny, almost invisible earpiece in her ear.

"The Scribe," Lena's voice was a soft whisper, but it cut through the pub's noise. "That's a very deep dive, Anya. Too deep for an ex-Guard and a street artist."

"A 'street artist' who's willing to risk everything to find the truth," Anya corrected, a hint of strength in her voice. "And a former Guard who isn't afraid to go back into the dangerous life she promised to leave. You two know the Upper Spires better than anyone not working for the police. You know the hidden spots, the old rules, the changes in the security system they don't even write down officially."

Lena and Jaxon looked at each other for a long time without blinking. They understood each other without words, which showed how many years they had worked together, dealing with Grimstone's tough situations. The unfairness of being fired from the CID, the raw anger at the corruption they'd seen, was a bond stronger than any official loyalty.

"What's in it for us?" Jaxon finally grumbled, though his question didn't sound as tough as usual.

Anya looked him straight in the eye. "What's in it for us is Grimstone. A chance to find out what's really happening, and maybe, just maybe, stop it before it destroys everything. Including us." She held his gaze, letting the weight of their past and the dark future settle between them. "And Elara. She deserves to be found."

Jaxon sighed, a defeated sound, running a hand through his messy hair. Lena, however, leaned forward, her eyes bright with a cold, dangerous intelligence.

"The forgotten records in the Upper Spires are like a maze," Lena said, ignoring Jaxon's protests. "They don't just guard the information; they guard the very idea of it. It's a nightmare of old technology, full of old devices they don't even use anymore, but are still active. And the fingerprint and eye scans are especially annoying." She looked at Anya. "But… there's a secret back door. An old air vent, supposedly sealed, that bypasses most of the upper security. It's a tight squeeze, and might not be safe, but it might get us in."

Anya felt a surge of grim hope. A plan, even if uncertain, was forming. "Good. Then tonight, we move."