"Not smart," Elias said, pushing himself up from the chair with a long stretch, cracking his knuckles. "Just Writing."
Alan turned his head slightly, brow furrowed in confusion.
"I still don't get it. There's writing? Like, I already have my Shape, Roamer, but I don't understand the Writing part."
Elias blinked, a flicker of something missing crossing his face. His gaze dropped to the floor as he folded his arms, lost in thought.
He hasn't experienced Writing? That's different. When I got my Shape, it just… wrote itself. Florence got her Writing as soon as she joined the Night Clerks.
He looked back up, eyebrows raised, shaking his head slowly as if dismissing the thought.
"Let's save that for another time. First, we need to get your Armed License. Ironmark Bureau, StoneBark Street 34."
Alan's eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line as he considered Elias' words.
StoneBark Street 34… It's been ages since I was there. I was just a kid then. We were looking for my adoptive father, he used to work at the Bureau. Still wondering what the numbers in these addresses actually mean… Maybe I should ask Elias.
He glanced up at Elias with genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.
"Hey, Elias, what do the numbers mean in street addresses anyway?"
Elias cocked his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Wait, you don't know? Didn't study that? The number shows the chronological order of the street's construction. Like StoneBark Street 34, it's the 34th street built. The oldest is Ashmere Street 01, in the capital."
Alan nodded thoughtfully, a small smile creeping onto his face.
"Got it. Makes sense now. Anyway, I'll grab my tuxedo and top hat so we can head to the Bureau."
Elias gave a slow nod, stepping away and pacing the room casually.
"Alright.
Alan moved through the creaking wooden hallway, the floorboards groaning softly beneath his hurried steps. He checked his pocket watch, flipping the silver lid open with a snap.
3:50 E.L... Almost 4. I need to get ready fast. No more wasting time. No more staying up late, especially with my first mission tomorrow.
His jaw tightened, and he picked up the pace. At his door, he snatched his top hat from the rusted wall hook, brushing off dust before placing it firmly on his head. He grabbed his scuffed tuxedo jacket, slipping it on with practiced urgency, then adjusted the black tie around his neck until it sat just right.
Before leaving the room, he closed the window with a low creak and pulled the curtains open, letting what little light there was spill in.
No shadows, No hiding. Let the dark stay out.
Heading back into the hallway, he spotted Elias pacing in a circle, arms behind his back like a restless child stuck indoors.
Alan raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Are you a kid or something? Stop doing that."
Elias glanced over, deadpan. "And you act like some elderly man, even though you're younger than me. Keep this up and you'll die of stress before I do."
Alan's eye twitched, his jaw clenching as he looked away.
This bastard… I swear, one day I'm going to knock that smug look off his face.
He pointed toward the front door. "Let's go. What should we take, train or carriage? I think the carriage's better."
Elias tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Why? Trains are faster."
Alan hesitated, his expression twitching for a split second before he forced a casual shrug. "Umm… Trains are too crowded. Time's precious. I don't want to lose more sleep tonight."
Elias gave a crooked grin. "Fine. We'll take a carriage."
Alan twisted the doorknob. It clicked, and the old door creaked open. He stepped out onto the cold stone road and glanced back.
Elias followed, taking his time. Once he was clear of the doorway, Alan pulled out a worn brass key and locked the door behind them with a firm click.
They made their way toward the four-road intersection. Elias trailed lazily behind, whistling some tuneless melody that echoed down the alleyway.
Alan didn't look back. "Are you that bored? Stop whistling."
Elias rolled his eyes. "And you complain too much. Let me enjoy myself, will you?"
A carriage rattled toward them, polished wood gleaming under the lanterns. Carved into the side were the words: StoneBark Street 34.
Alan blinked, momentarily taken aback.
That carriage... it has its own room? Most roaming carriages around here don't even have doors that close right. That kind of build… that's upper-class design. Should we even try?
He turned to his side, Elias was gone. Alan's eyes darted toward the carriage's open door.
Elias was already inside, lounging like it was his personal ride.
Alan stepped closer and called out, concern etched on his face. "Hey! We can't afford that. I only have a hundred silver shillings."
Elias didn't even glance back. He looked at the coachman. "How much for the ride?"
The coachman, eyes fixed ahead, answered in a smooth, composed voice. "Eight silver shillings will do."
Elias gave Alan a smirk. "See? Not expensive. And if it was, I'd be the one paying anyway."
Alan sighed, pressing his palm against his face before muttering, "Alright…"
He climbed aboard, foot landing softly on the polished step. Inside, he paused. The interior stunned him.
White leather seat cushions. Wide crystal windows. Intricate carvings along the door frame. The green-and-silver color scheme shimmered even under the dull lamplight. And carved right into the polished oak was the same label. StoneBark Street 34.
He sat down slowly, still trying to process it all.
This looks like it belongs to a noble… and it's only eight silver? No way. Something doesn't add up.
The crack of the whip snapped through the air.
The horses lunged forward like they'd been struck by lightning. The carriage jolted so hard the seats quaked beneath them.
Alan gripped the window frame with white knuckles, his eyes bulging as he lurched with the sudden force.
"Ahhhh! I knew it! This isn't normal, why are they so damn fast?!"
Elias was thrown back into his seat, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Ahhhh! I've been in fancy carriages before, but this is a madman's ride!"
Outside, the world blurred. People leapt out of the way as the carriage barreled through the crowd like a charging beast. Screams echoed behind them. Faces flashed past, wide-eyed, startled, cursing in all directions.
Alan squinted through the rattling window. A sign flew past.
"Dowling Street 53."
His breath hitched.
Already? We were miles away! At least it's fast… but my clothes are wrecked.
The carriage began to ease, the rumble fading to a rhythmic clatter. Alan straightened his jacket, brushing dirt off his lapels, and leaned forward to peek through the front window. His eyes narrowed.
The coachman wasn't pulling the reins, he was simply holding them, as if the horses were following his will directly. They moved in eerie sync with him, each hooffall unnaturally precise.
The gallop slowed to a trot. Then stopped.
"We're here," the coachman called in a soft, steady voice. "StoneBark Street 34."
Alan blinked, brows knitting.
"How are we already here? That was like a train… but without tracks. And those horses… jacked-up beasts."
He opened the side window and leaned slightly out, catching the coachman's eye.
"We're actually heading to the Ironmark Bureau. Do you know the way?"
"Yes," the man answered with calm precision. "Are you getting your license?"
Alan exhaled, tugging his collar straight.
"Yes… Do you know what the requirements are?"
"They change over time," the coachman said, tone thoughtful. "But I remember some of them. It's been a while."
Elias leaned forward, eyes sharper now.
"I'll handle it. This guy probably doesn't remember anything worth knowing."
He turned to the coachman. "Can you get us there now?"
The coachman nodded once. "Already close."
Elias shut the window with a click and looked at Alan, dropping his voice low.
"Rule one, Don't talk too much to strangers. Rule two, Never share info about yourself unless you want a tail. Better to lie than be tracked."
A heartbeat later, the carriage rolled to a gentle stop.
The coachman's voice returned.
"We're here. Eight silver shillings."
Alan stepped down onto the cobbled road. His boots clicked against the stone. Elias followed behind, closing the door with a soft thud.
Alan pulled out a worn leather pouch, the drawstrings frayed at the ends. He counted under his breath, fingers brushing each coin.
"Two… four… six… eight silver shillings."
He looked up and raised his hand, offering the payment.
"Here you go. Eight silver, as agreed."
The coachman bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Another crack of the whip, and the horses sprang forward again, vanishing around the corner like smoke on wind.
Alan turned to face the building before them.
The Ironmark Bureau loomed, three stories high. Its barred cathedral-slit windows gleamed dully beneath sulfur-tinted light.
Black steel braced its frame like armor. The bricks, ashen and sulfur-laced, clashed against the sharp iron beams running like veins through its body. A small clock tower ticked quietly above, cast in gunmetal gray.
Two wardens in long coats patrolled the stairs. The entrance, a guarded stone stairway, felt more like a military checkpoint than a civil building.
Alan smirked to himself.
Isn't that a little much? What are they defending, the whole damn world?