Street 3

The morning came like usual.

Everyone woke up a bit late. Ashley and Sira trained for a while—mostly sparring.

Myth interrupted them occasionally, though he had a new mission of his own: cooking breakfast.

After their little morning routines, they all sat around the table.

"Please, take your fill, ladies," Myth said in a cheerful tone.

"Okay…" Sira muttered, eyeing the scrambled eggs like they might come alive.

"Are you trying to kill us with this stuff?" Ashley asked, deadpan.

"Hey—I didn't complain when I ate your noodles. Seriously… who screws up noodles?" Myth shot back.

"Oh, my bad. I shouldn't be honest with you," Ashley said with a smirk.

"Just like how I shouldn't tell you how much I hate your face."

"Ohh…" Myth replied dramatically.

Ashley's expression twisted as the realization hit.

"So… you're not honest?

Which means… you love my face."

"I hate you. And I'm being very honest," Ashley paused and continued. "Now, go ahead twist it all you want." Ashley huffed, turning her head away.

"Can you two stop flirting already?" Sira groaned.

"It's literally morning and you've already started."

"Well, of course," Myth said. "We can only flirt in the morning. My nights are already taken... by thoughts of you."

Ashley tried not to laugh but failed miserably.

She'd heard them last night. They were loud.

Sira turned beet red. She didn't respond—just focused on her food.

After the surprisingly peaceful breakfast, it was time to talk strategy.

Myth looked at Sira and Ashley, his tone turning serious.

"Today, let's look into Rollo's attack on Zarin in Street 3.

And while we're at it—we'll scout the area."

He paused, locking eyes with Sira.

"Me and Ashley will go."

Sira nodded. "Just be careful. Elliot's sending more people to Street 3."

"Don't worry—I'm with him," Ashley said, flashing a confident smile.

Sira nodded again.

Myth chose not to respond to that. He simply continued:

"There's still one missing piece in the puzzle.

Without it, entering the fray would be like walking blind."

"Zarin's employer, right?" Ashley guessed.

"Exactly," Myth confirmed.

"I doubt we'll find that easily," Ashley said. "We don't even know how he earns his money."

"Zarin protects factories," Sira chimed in.

"Most of the ones in Streets 1 to 3 pay him tribute—like a protection fee."

"Then let's do this," Myth said.

"Buy information on what kind of factories operate from Street 1 to Street 9.

Even if it's a long shot—it might give us insight into what Zarin's employer really does."

---

Myth and Ashley left the house and took a tram toward Street 3.

After walking for about ten minutes, they arrived at the north side—the location where the attack had taken place.

The area looked worse than any other part of outer Lowden.

Buildings stood in ruins, with only a handful still upright—though even those were riddled with cracks.

The air was thick with dust, so dense that it was hard to see more than thirty meters ahead.

It was always dark in the Undercity, but even so—it was around 1 PM. The bars were closed.

In a nearby alley, Myth pulled out his military uniform and changed into it.

He wore a cap low, hiding his eyes beneath its shadow.

Ashley, meanwhile, wore a plain white shirt and black skirt.

A book in her hand and her gunmetal glasses gave her the look of a sharp, intellectual beauty.

They walked down the dust-filled lane, picking people at random to question.

Most of the locals only knew one thing:

Zarin had taken down three of Rollo's men.

And from the way they described it—it sounded like Zarin hadn't even used his Seeker abilities.

Public sentiment leaned heavily in Zarin's favor.

People respected him—perhaps even loved him.

But they were still terrified of the military.

And that said everything.

Finally, they found someone useful.

"Hey. Stop," Myth said, his voice firm and authoritative, halting a passerby.

The man froze, wide-eyed with fear.

"Tell me everything you know about the fight that happened here—between Zarin and Rollo's men," Myth demanded.

The man hesitated, glancing left and right. Then slowly began:

"Rollo's men used to stir trouble here… especially around the edge of Street 3.

At first, people tolerated it. But their audacity kept growing." He said as his voice stammered in between.

He paused, eyes narrowing as he recalled.

"One day, they caused a mess at a small local hotel. Broke things. Hurt people.

The owner—he was desperate—went to Zarin for help."

The man's tone shifted. A note of admiration crept in.

"And Zarin responded.

He didn't hesitate.

He helped all of us."

"What's the hotel's name? And tell me if there are any other locals who've suffered because of Rollo's gang," Myth asked.

"Yes, sir… the place is called Diner at 9. It's close—go three corners ahead, then take a left and a right," the man replied quickly.

Myth and Ashley asked a few more follow-up questions. Once satisfied, they let the man go.

Myth removed his military uniform and folded it away neatly.

Then the two of them made their way toward Diner at 9.

The restaurant was open—still lunch hours.

It stood surrounded by crumbling, uninhabitable buildings.

A red neon banner above the entrance flickered faintly, its glow cutting through the dust-heavy air like a wound in the smog.

Large see-through glass panels gave them a glimpse of the interior—warm lights, faded brown booths, and a quiet, eerie calm.

A small bell hung above the entrance.

They pushed the door open. The bell gave a sharp ding.

Inside, it felt strangely peaceful.

Neither of them had eaten anything proper in days. So, without saying a word, they silently decided—they'd treat themselves.

They sat across from each other at a table near the window.

Ashley rested her elbow on the edge, chin gently tilted toward the dusty street.

Outside, the red and yellow neon reflections danced against the windowpane—and caught her glasses just right.

The lights shimmered across the lenses, glowing faintly as they complimented the sharp blue of her eyes.

Her blonde hair was messily tied up in a loose bun, but a few strands had slipped free—falling gently across her face.

Myth watched her in silence.

For a moment, he wasn't thinking about military raids, dusty alleys, or violent power plays.

He just… looked.

She wasn't dressed up, wasn't trying. But there was something about her in that exact moment—

Something effortlessly beautiful.

And it caught him off guard.

Myth continued staring, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Ashley caught him from the corner of her eye and frowned.

"What are you looking at? It's creeping me out," she said, her tone casual but teasing.

"Of course I'm looking at my beautiful date," Myth replied, leaning back in his chair, still smiling.

"It's not a date," Ashley said, calmly—like she'd rehearsed that line a hundred times. She didn't even bother looking at him this time.

Myth rested his chin on his palm.

"Am I really that undesirable to you?" he asked in a polite, almost thoughtful tone.

Ashley finally looked at him—expression blank, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Do I look that easy to you?" she said with a faint smile. "If you really want to date me, Myth, you'll have to step up your game. These shitty little manipulative tricks won't work on me."

Myth let out a light chuckle.

"Ohh... that's a start, Ash," he said casually, smiling.

Ashley's eyes widened. Her smile vanished.

"No—no, don't call me that. Please." Her voice lowered into something almost vulnerable. "I mean it."

Ashley sighed, rubbing her forehead. She tried convincing him to stop, but Myth held his ground, amused.

Eventually, they ordered and finished their meal.

"Is the hotel owner here?" Ashley asked the waiter as he cleared their plates.

"No, ma'am. If you have a message, I can pass it along when he returns."

"No, it's urgent." Ashley slid a 1000-sol note across the table. "Can you ask him to meet us tonight? Here, at the same place."

The waiter glanced around, then quietly pocketed the bill.

"He usually comes by around 7 PM… I'll let him know."

"And his address?" Ashley added.

The waiter hesitated. "That wasn't part of our deal."

"It was," she said, voice firm. "Either you give me the address for another 200—or I report this little exchange."

The waiter cursed under his breath. "Fine… Block 5. Two blocks from here. House 11."

Ashley gave a satisfied nod.

"Thanks."

They soon left the hotel behind. As they walked toward the tram station, Ashley broke the silence.

"What do we do next?" she asked.

"For the next week, we gather intel on the factories," Myth replied casually. "And make sure we have at least one informant stationed on each street."

Ashley frowned slightly. "Wouldn't it make more sense to grab the hotel owner now? After all that talk about 'urgent business' and us not showing up—don't you think the waiter might get suspicious and remember us?"

"Ahh… don't worry about that," Myth said, waving it off. "The street won't stay this stable after a week. Things are going to shift."

He paused, then looked at her more seriously.

"Sixth day from today—we take the hotel owner. Quietly. Then we get everything he knows about Zarin."