Ciel felt the slap to the back of her head and shot up so fast she nearly knocked over her empty glass.

  She stretched her arms over her head, cracking her back, and mumbled, “Alright, alright, but if I take my clothes off, you gotta do it too.” she grumbled, still half-asleep, blinking blearily as the world blurred and swam around her. Her brain was lagging behind, trying to process where she was, who hit her, and why the hell her face felt like it had been pressed against the bar counter for way too long.

  Silence.

  Then, Miri blinked at her. Then blinked again. Then slowly grinned, eyes alight with amusement.

  “Oh, darling,” Miri sighed dramatically, pressing a delicate, cold palm to her chest, the silver chains wrapped around her wrists jingling softly. “I’ve never been into girls, but,” she gestured vaguely, “since we’re probably going to die soon, I suppose I can give it a try.”

  Ciel blinked hard.

  Miri’s silver-and-black eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curling into that sweet, unsettling smirk of hers.

  For a second, Ciel’s tired brain tried to process that response.

  Then she shook herself awake, groaning, rubbing at her face with both hands before pushing herself off the stool, pointedly ignoring the witch.

  “Nope,” she muttered, grabbing her revolvers from the counter and strapping them to her belt. “Not dealing with that.” She had slept with them in her hands, as a warning to anyone getting too close.

  Miri just giggled, swinging her feet idly beneath her chair.

  Morning had come.

  And now, it was time to… what?

  How the hell were they even supposed to start this?

  Ciel yawned, scratching at the back of her messy chestnut hair, the sun-bleached strands sticking out in places from where she had slept against the bar.

  The thought sat heavy in her mind as she turned toward the entrance.

  This wasn’t like their usual jobs. They weren’t breaking into a vault, tracking a bounty, or doing something that had clear steps.

  This was… completely uncharted territory.

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  Did they need maps? Contacts? Someone who knew anything about the Sunken Quarter? Because all they had so far was Grimm’s word that it existed and that something ancient was waiting for them.

  And that didn’t exactly make for a good starting point.

  Before she could overthink it too much, the bar doors swung open.

  Raze and Gorrug stepped inside, looking like they’d already been up for hours.

  Raze had a fresh cigar between his teeth, his grizzled face set in its usual mix of irritation and exhaustion. His military coat hung loosely off his broad frame, the plating catching the dim morning light filtering in from outside.

  Gorrug looked… pleased. Too pleased. Like he had spent the last few hours doing something violent, or at least imagining it vividly.

  “Alright,” Raze said gruffly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as his storm-gray eyes flicked around the room. “Where’s Sylva and Veyra?”

  Ciel shrugged, rolling her shoulders.

  “Dunno,” she muttered. But that was probably about to become a problem.

  Ciel barely had time to process Raze’s question about Sylva before Gorrug barreled toward her, his massive frame shaking the floorboards of the bar with every step.

  “Ciel!” His deep, booming voice echoed with excitement, something that was rarely a good thing. “Come! I must show you something!”

  Ciel blinked, still half-asleep, her brain lagging behind reality. “Uh… can it wait? Maybe until I’ve had—”

  “No!” Gorrug cut her off, grinning wide, his massive tusks gleaming in the morning light. “It is important!”

  That was Red Flag Number One.

  Then he grumbled under his breath, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. “And this stupid place does not allow animals inside.”

  That was Red Flag Number Two.

  Ciel should have caught it.

  She really, really should have.

  But she was tired, and Gorrug was already marching toward the door, clearly expecting her to follow without question.

  So, against all better judgment, she followed.

  The moment they stepped outside, she paused.

  Because tied to a rickety wooden pole, secured with a thick rope knotted in a way that suggested the thing had already tried to escape once, was…

  Something.

  Ciel stared.

  It was about the size of a large cat, but wrong in every possible way.

  It had the round, stocky body of a pig, but its short fur was patchy, transitioning into thicker tufts of wiry fluff along its back, resembling a malformed mane.

  Its face was vaguely feline, but the snout was too flat, too broad, like someone had tried to smash a cat and a boar together into one unholy abomination. Its ears were huge and tufted, twitching at every sound, too sensitive for its own good.

  And then—the wings.

  Or at least, what could be generously called wings.

  Small, feathered appendages jutted from its back, utterly useless for flying but twitching every time it made a choking, warbling cooing sound, somewhere between a bird’s trill and a piglet’s snort.

  Its eyes were unsettlingly large, too glossy, too reflective, blinking slowly and out of sync, as if it were only halfway awake.

  The thing wheezed.

  Then it let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeal and a screech, flapping it’s sad, useless wings, its stubby legs kicking up dust as it struggled against the rope.

  Gorrug beamed. “His name is Skrimp!”

  Ciel slowly, painfully slowly, turned her head to look at him.

  The orc was grinning proudly, his massive arms crossed, clearly waiting for praise.

  Ciel, still staring, voice flat as the cracked pavement beneath them, finally spoke.

  “And the team thinks I make bad choices.”