WHISPERING HUNTERS - Ch.6 - Search (3)

WHISPERING HUNTERS - Ch.6 - Search (3)

Gregor rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped out of yet another pub, the stale stench of beer clinging to his clothes.

Same routine as always bar to bar, pub to pub, face to face with drunk men whose mouths ran faster than their heads. The only thing different tonight was the number he'd hit more pubs than usual, stretching his feet and patience thin.

And what did he get for his trouble?

"Who's cheating on who, who stole whose tools, who punched their foreman, and, oh who got stabbed in a card game this week." Gregor muttered to himself, as he trudged down the foggy street. 

"Real important stuff. Absolutely worth my time."

Gregor sighed. "You'd think someone would mention a suspicious gang or a mysterious gentleman feeding girls to the wolves. But it's just riveting tales about who's sleeping with the boss's wife."

Gregor stretched his usual route farther than he normally bothered to. The air outside was wet and heavy with smoke, every streetlamp haloed in fog. The night swallowed sound, except for the occasional squeal of cart and the low murmur of late night workers heading home.

Well past midnight, he let out a wide yawn that turned into a cough halfway through. He waved a hand in front of his face, grimacing.

"Damn this city," he muttered, voice cracking in annoyance.

"Feels like breathing through a coal sack. Can't believe people call this progress."

The streets were quieter now, though not completely empty. Somewhere down the block, someone laughed the kind of drunken laugh that usually ended in a fight. Gregor kept his pace steady, ignoring it. He'd had his share of brawls for the week.

After a few turns, he finally reached the narrow, leaning building he called home. The apartment wasn't much, two bedrooms, each barely five by five meters, a cramped hallway ending in a bathroom that always smelled faintly of mold. Downstairs was a tavern, crowded during breakfast hours, famous for its greasy plates. Gregor had eaten there enough times to swear the cook watered down the eggs to save on butter.

He unlocked the door quietly, slipping inside. The first thing he noticed was the soft glow of a candle, its wax pooled and dripping over the edge of the desk where Amelia sat, fast asleep.

Her head rested on folded arms, soft strands of black blue hair falling across her face. The candlelight flickered against her, giving the scene an almost peaceful glow, something rare in this city.

Gregor's eyes drifted toward the wall beside his own room. There, carved into the plaster, were two names his and Amelia's with rough lines marking their heights year by year. He stared at them for a moment, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

"Finally taller than you," he murmured, voice low, almost amused.

With a quiet sigh, he crossed the room and bent over her, sliding an arm under her knees and another around her back. She shifted slightly as he lifted her, but didn't wake. He carried her carefully, like she might break if he wasn't careful.

Her room was as simple as his. A small closet, a worn desk, a cracked small mirror propped in the corner of the desk. A single family picture sat beside the mirror, their parents frozen forever in a happier time.

Gregor laid her down on the bed, pulling a thin blanket over her. Her breathing was steady, her face relaxed. He watched her for a brief moment before speaking quietly, almost to himself.

"Lucky you. Sleeping through this filth like nothing's wrong." He glanced at the window.

"And this d*mn weather… colder every night."

The candle flickered behind him as he pushed off the door and stepped into his own room. His hand lingered briefly on the doorframe before he shut it, the soft creak swallowed by the quiet of the sleeping bedroom.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the worn floorboards.

Thirty pounds to start with, just enough to make r*tards jump in without thinking. That old b*stard knows what he's doing. A hundred for the full job, but only if I take the bait fast. Figures… he's probably got a dozen other idiots already running around like a flock of rats.

Gregor rubbed his chin, frowning. Thirty pounds… enough to start shaking the right trees. Not just buying drinks for loudmouths that's too slow. I'll need vagrants who linger near the alleys, kids who dart through streets no grown man even bothers with, even other informants like me who'd sell a name for a few notes if it doesn't risk their skin.

Maybe I should push the Boss Man for old cases involving this new big gang, anything buried, any trails that still left cold. If I can revisit those, I might catch what others missed.

Dock workers, carriage drivers, errand boys… they all see different pieces of the city. Put it together right, and it'll give me a map of where these b*stards are moving.

And if that doesn't work, I'll trail the runners myself. If I can find them. People get careless when they think no one's watching, especially in this city.

His jaw tightened as Amelia's face crept into his mind. But first, Amelia. If she's tangled in this mess already, every step she takes is another gamble. Damn it… I can't work this case blind if she's wandering right into their net.

Gregor leaned back slightly, staring at the cracked ceiling. 

So… tomorrow at daytime, I would follow her keeping my distance, no mistakes to make sure if she is safe. At nighttime, I will resume the commission. After two days, if she still safe like a hound I would do a carpet sweep to this d*mn city like no tomorrow.

He let out a low sigh, pulling off his boots and lying back on the bed. The springs creaked under him as he stared at the faint moonlight creeping in through the curtains.

Right now, I need to sleep if I don't want to drop dead before breakfast.

For a moment, the thought of the old man's smirk flashed in his mind. Gregor clenched his jaw once more, then finally shut his eyes. The city outside was silent, breathing slow in the fog like some great beast, but he could feel its gaze on him even as sleep crept in.

———

Morning crept in gray and sluggish, the kind of light that barely pushed through the fog outside. A few minutes after Amelia slipped out the door, Gregor followed, hands shoved in his pockets, his cap pulled low.

He stepped into the tavern downstairs, ignoring the smell of fresh bread and frying meat. Breakfast could wait. He slipped past the tables, nodding absently to a few familiar faces, and stepped back onto the street.

Amelia was already a good distance ahead, her figure moving steadily through the morning haze. Gregor kept his pace casual, weaving between early workers and carriage carts, never letting the gap close too much.

Like a damn overprotective brother, he thought with a quiet snort. But better that than letting her walk blind into this mess.