Chapter 10

"Shit! Shit!" yelled the wolf demi-human, his fists hammering into the stone pillar at the center of the room with enough force to send cracks running through it. His voice echoed with rage, each shout punctuated by a savage strike. "Those damn Guards, saving that brat!" He clawed at the pillar with his almost talon-like nails, raking deep scratches into the stone. "I had that little piece of shit right where I wanted him, and they ruined it!" With a final roar, he tore away a chunk of the pillar, sending shards scattering across the dusty floor. He leaned against the battered column, panting heavily, his breath ragged.

The hideout, an abandoned one-story shack buried in the heart of the slums, mirrored his rage in its decay. The wooden walls were warped and peeling, beams sagging from years of neglect, and patches of sunlight slipped through holes in the roof, casting faint rays on the rotting, termite-bitten floorboards. A chill hung in the air, giving the place a foreboding, crumbling charm of rot and decay.

"Boss, what're we doin' now?" came a gruff voice from across the room. A short, stocky dwarf with a thick red beard and no hair on top looked on nervously. His round face flushed under Philip's glare as he shifted, taking a half-step back when the wolf-man turned his sharp green eyes his way. "I mean… Darp and Wilick, they've been hauled off! It's just the two o' us now! How're we supposed to survive here?"

Philip's gaze narrowed, his attention focused on the dwarf, Nunin, as he approached him slowly. "And that's what you're supposed to be thinking about, is it, Nunin?" he growled. His looming figure cast a shadow over the dwarf, who swallowed hard, his face going pale as he took another involuntary step back, stammering, "I—I jus' meant—"

"What you're supposed to do is shut up and follow orders." Philip's hands landed heavily on Nunin's shoulders, his fingers digging into him just enough to make him flinch. "You're not getting any ideas, are you?" he asked, his voice a menacing rasp as he leaned in close, his gaze locked onto Nunin's nervous blue eyes. "You're not thinking you're better than me…are you?"

"N-no, I'm not!" Nunin sputtered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good."

Philip clapped a heavy hand on Nunin's shoulder, making the dwarf flinch, his entire body tensing in fear. The demi-human let him go and turned back to the stone pillar. "And besides, we're not done yet," Philip muttered, voice dripping with irritation. "We still got the support of that human freak."

Nunin, eyes darting with worry, scratched his beard nervously. "Aye, but we still 'aven't got the chronoscope," he muttered.

Before Philip could respond, the rotten door to the hideout swung open with a creak, startling them both. A smooth, almost amused voice filled the air. "Not only did you just call me a freak, Philip," it drawled, "but you've also failed to get the chronoscope? I think it's safe to say I'm disappointed."

Both Philip and Nunin turned sharply to see a tall, well-dressed man standing in the doorway. His brown hair fell smoothly to one side, framing sharp orange eyes set in an annoyingly handsome face. He wore a perfectly tailored red dress shirt, a charcoal waistcoat, and dress pants that fit with an almost annoyingly polished elegance.

"Ambrose," Philip growled, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"Yes, yes, that's my last name," Joshua Ambrose replied, stepping into the room with a casual, confident stride. As he passed Nunin, he gave the dwarf a friendly wave, which only made Nunin tense up more. Turning back to Philip, he continued, "But I believe I've told you before, Philip, you can call me Joshua."

Philip scoffed, crossing his arms. "I'll call you whatever the hell I want."

Joshua's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Oh, like freak, then?"

"Yeah," Philip shot back crossing his arms. "'Cause that's what you are. You paying me won't change that fact."

Nunin shifted nervously between the two, feeling caught in a storm. He didn't know who was more terrifying—Philip, whose violent temper was well known, or Joshua, whose charm masked a darker nature. One wrong word to Philip Crude could mean a brutal death, while angering Joshua Ambrose was a mystery he dared not explore.

"Okay, paying you won't change that, huh?" Joshua replied, a deadly smile creeping across his face. "Alright, understandable. I can't change your opinion of me, even with coin—that's fine. But you know what I thought would change?"

Philip's brows drew together as Joshua's amber eyes bored into his. "That I'd have the chronoscope by now."

Philip, unfazed, pushed him back with a casual shove. "You'll have it when I fucking get it. Stop getting in my face about it if you don't want it rearranged. Besides, it's not like you want the damn thing for any reason other than to have it, right? So back off and be patient."

Joshua looked down at the spot on his shirt where Philip's hand had pushed him and brushed it off with an exasperated sigh. "Oh, I'll be patient, all right. But then maybe you could tell me why you failed to get it back?"

Philip shrugged, exhaling sharply. "Fine."

He explained in curt, clipped sentences, detailing how the two Ironguard officers had interfered, how his two thugs had been arrested, and, most annoyingly, how some blue-haired kid had filched the chronoscope from him in the first place. Joshua nodded along, a contemplative smile reappearing on his face. When Philip finally finished, Joshua clapped his hands together softly, rubbing his chin.

"So that's what happened," he murmured, a glint of amusement returning to his eyes. "Well, in that case, let's get out of here, lay low for a bit, and then—" he chuckled darkly, "we'll play a little prank."