After returning home via the back alleys and cleaning up, Jack sat in the kitchen, sharing a meal with his mom and Zia. Afterwards, he lounged in the kitchen as his mom prepared a batch of food for a Lundun restaurant. Zia, taking a break from baking biscuits, was drawing.

  “Who’s that?” Jack asked the little girl as he peered at the picture she was focused on. It captured a huge one-armed monster beside a small girl with blue streaks in her white hair. They were surrounded by green-coloured children, some with blue eyes. At least, that’s what he thought he was looking at.

  Zia’s eyes widened. “Cain… h-he’s a hero. A real one.”

  Jack searched his memory for heroes named Cain, but only came up with a story about a man who wasn’t heroic. “Is it Cain from the Cain and Abel story?”

  Zia looked confused and shook her head. “It’s Cain… from the caravan… and…” She stopped and looked at Anna.

  Their mom smiled. “It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” She gave Zia a hug.

  “Cain was in the caravan,” Zia said. “H-he was scary, but he saved me from the un… monsters.”

  Jack sat in silence, unsure of what to say. He still didn’t know what had happened to the orphan girl he’d brought home. His mom had told him goblins attacked a caravan, and Zia was alone in Lundun until he found her. Anna had decided to wait until Zia was ready to talk rather than risk upsetting her further.

  Zia continued, “The monsters chased us, and Cain lost his hand and… and got ill with… with new-mony-rrr.” She was crying. “I fed him apples, but he went to sleep on-on the floor and wouldn’t wake up.”

  “It’s all right. I know,” Anna said, hugging her again. “I know. You’re safe now.”

  Pneumonia, Jack realised. Cain must have passed out. “What happened to Cain? Did he see a healer?”

  Zia sniffled and wiped her tears. “Y-yes. They locked him in the Guild place.” She looked annoyed. “A smelly man tried to steal my sword and chased me away, and… and someone stealed my bag and sword. I-I was looking after Cain’s cloak for him. Someone stoled it! Then a dog chased me, and a nice old man gave me some hard bread. Then I met you.”

  Jack felt more confused than ever and didn’t know where to start. He looked at his mother, who appeared equally bewildered. “You had a sword?” he asked.

  Zia nodded. “Cain gave it me, ‘cos I was brave when I hit a bad blue-eyed goblin with a b-branch.”

  Jack nodded, still trying to piece it all together. “What happened to Cain?”

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  “He’s in the big red scary Guild place,” Zia said with a frown. “I don’t know where it is. I got lost.”

  Anna rubbed her back. “There’s no rush. Are you okay, sweetie?”

  Zia nodded.

  “The big scary red Guild place,” Jack repeated. “Do you mean the Adventurers Guild? The big red building?”

  Zia nodded and sat up straighter. “Yeah, the Guild place. It’s smelly and noisy. They locked him in there. The smelly man wanted my sword, so-so I ran away.”

  Jack chuckled. “Yep, sounds like the Guild. They locked Cain up? What did he do wrong?”

  Zia looked confused. “Cain didn’t do nothing wrong. He was sleeping. I ran away. Cain’s a hero, like the wolf with funny eyes.”

  Jack sat bolt upright. “You saw a wolf with funny eyes? Were they different colours?”

  Zia nodded. “The wolf was a good wolf. It stopped the goblins from eating Cain all night. It watched us with its funny eyes.”

  “What colour were its eyes?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  “One orange. One green,” Zia said. “They were shiny. It was a good wolf, the kind that looks after lost children… like me.” She pointed at her chest.

  “I’ve seen that wolf. It followed me home from the woods…” Jack hesitated. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “It seemed friendly.”

  Zia nodded. “It’s a good wolf.”

  “So, Cain was left at the Adventurers Guild?” Jack scratched the back of his neck. “When was this?”

  Zia counted on her fingers. “Three days, I think.”

  “The day before we met,” Jack muttered. “He might still be there.” He recalled the one-armed bartender serving another one-armed man. It had stuck in his memory. “Was it his right hand he lost?” He pointed to the location where the huge man had his arm severed. “Cut about here?”

  “Yes.” Zia’s eyes lit up. “That’s Cain. You know him? Is he all right? Did they feed him? He likes mint ice cream.”

  “If it’s the same man… he’s huge, about this tall.” Jack raised his hand to match Cain’s height. Zia nodded. “I saw him two days ago at the Guild, ordering a drink. He looked well.”

  Zia bounced in place. “Can we go see him?” She looked from Jack to Anna.

  Anna looked conflicted.

  “He might not be there now,” Jack explained, checking the time. “It’s still early. I’ll go see if I can find him, and if he wants to meet you. If he’s not there, I’ll ask around. Someone’ll know him. He’s huge… hard to miss an adventurer that’s close to seven feet tall.”

  ***

  Jack entered the Adventurers Guild for the second time that day, looking for a huge one-armed adventurer called Cain.

  The main hall was quieter than it had been earlier, with fewer bodies crowding the noticeboards and communal tables. Afternoon light slanted in through the stained-glass panels above, casting colourful shafts across the polished floor. The scent of sweat, leather, oil, and spent aether-steam lingered thick in the air. A few adventurers gathered around the central hearth, tankards already in hand.

  Jack kept his hood low and mask snug over his face as he scanned the room. No sign of Cain or the adventurers who wanted him dead. Although Linda and Sam had said they planned to hide out in the slaver market, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t visit the Guild. Best not to risk showing his face.

  He approached the bar but stayed standing. The barkeeper was the same one-armed man with the mechanical arm who served Cain a drink a couple of days earlier. A grizzled fellow with a shaggy beard and a scarred left eye, he gave Jack a wary glance.

  “What’ll it be?” asked the barkeep, his clockwork arm clicking as he polished a glass.

  Jack hesitated, his gaze lingering on the rows of bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. Old habits stirred within, conjuring phantom memories of his past life. One drink wouldn’t hurt, would it? He could already envision the burn sliding down his throat, the warmth spreading through his chest, and the comforting silence that would follow.

  Adam is no one special.

  He’s just an accountant standing in line at a bakery one early Saturday morning,

  because his craving for Jameson’s croissants finally broke him.

  Unfortunately, fate has other plans for him,

  as the black cubes show up before he can get his pastries.