The dimly lit room was quiet except for the faint ticking.
A girl with dark cloak and short brown hair put up into a styled bob sat at a small table.
Her brown eyes moved to the clock, it was barely even 3 am.
The girl, Roselyn, wore a neutral expression as she looked across the table.
On the other side was a hooded figure, leaning back.
Their silhouette was obscured by the flickering lantern between them.
"Are you sure this is all you want to know? I can keep digging, for the right price."
The figure asked, their voice low and steady.
Roselyn reached under the dark cloak, pulling out a pouch.
The inside of the pouch made a clinking sound of coins bumping into each other.
Her voice was even, making sure to hide her emotions.
"This much will be sufficient."
Roselyn clasped her hands together.
Watching as the figure snatched the pouch of coins with ease.
They weighed it briefly before tucking it away.
The figure leaned forward, resting their elbows on the table.
Their voice was low, lower than their previous question.
"It's not just theft. The merchant has turned exploitation into an art form. He doesn't only take their designs, he destroys their reputations. Whispers in the right ears, a few false accusations to the guild, and their livelihoods are gone."
Roselyn kept silent.
Her expression stayed as calm as before, though her grip tightened.
The figure shifted slightly, observing Roselyn closely.
"But it doesn't end there. The ones who resist, who try to expose him or reclaim what's theirs, they disappear. I tracked some of them to a facility at the edge of the district. It's no ordinary holding cell. It's a prison."
They paused.
As if letting the weight of their words sink.
Seeing that Roselyn didn't intervene, they continued.
"No sunlight. Cramped, filthy conditions. He keeps them there, working them like slaves. Designs, prototypes, ideas, all dragged out of them under threat of starvation or worse. And when they're no longer useful?"
Roselyn felt her chest grow heavy.
She lightly closed her eyes before composing her voice.
"What happens to them?"
The figure hesitated for the first time since their arrival.
They moved their hooded head down, staring at the table for just a second.
"They don't come out. Whether they're killed, sold off, or abandoned to rot, I couldn't confirm. But no one's seen or heard from them again. Not their families, not their friends. They're ghosts."
Roselyn's breath hitched.
Her grip around her own wrist grew stronger.
She could feel her own heartbeat.
It was fast.
"And the guild? Are they blind to this, or are they involved?"
The figure leaned back, snorting.
YOU ARE READING
Thrown Into Madness - Lord of the Mysteries
Historical Fiction"... I just wanted to read a book, What's with the bloody scene?! And what? I'm a child? And whose memories are these? Where am I? Who am I? I don't want this! Who would want this?! Get me back! I wanna go back! Please!" ... Who would think that bu...
