THE BLASTED CONTRACT COIN BOOK 1

CHAPTER 5 MR HOBBES

POV Mercy

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't soften it. I kept it as flat as the iron plate beneath my boots.

"Where is your father?" I asked the girl.

Experience had taught me that a total lack of inflection was far more terrifying. A scream was a variable people understood; silence was an unknown. The girl looked as if she were trying to fold herself into the iron of the desk.

"He...he had to go," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant, rhythmic thrum of the coal-crushers.

"He said... he said you'd understand. These are the dues. And the interest. Every bit of it."

Vane stepped forward, his nostrils flaring. He tilted his head, tasting the air like a predator catching a scent on a jagged wind. His lip curled into a snarl that exposed the edge of his teeth.

"He's in the back room, hiding behind a stack of crates while his daughter stands in the line of fire. The air in here reeks. It tastes like rusting copper," Vane spat.

The girl flinched, her eyes filling with tears that tracked white lines through the soot on her cheeks. "Please. He just... he didn't want to get hurt."

I ignored her plea and focused on the desk. I counted the money with a speed that blurred my fingers. It was the correct amount, down to the last copper. Beneath the roaring mechanics of the docks, the negligible hum of the quarantined coin lingered at the absolute edge of my awareness, a faint, rhythmic vibration that seemed to pulse in perfect tandem with the girl's erratic heartbeat.

I cataloged the bruises on her forearms, some yellowing, some fresh. Clearly, violence was a constant in her life, a recurring expense she kept paying for having the clothes on her body, and clearly not being starved.

"Your father is a liability. He left you here because he calculated that we wouldn't kill a child. It would be bad optics for the Syndicate to leave a corpse like yours on the floor; it would disrupt worker morale and decrease the output of the pier by at least fifteen percent due to fear-based inefficiency," I said, my gaze sweeping over her.

Vane looked at me, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.

"Mercy, for Sun's sake. He's a coward. We should drag him out and teach him a lesson. Let's just leave the poor girl alone."

"He is logical, cruel, but logical. He used your perceived value to save his own skin," I countered.

"Cut ties with him as soon as you can. He is an anchor. He will pull you into the depths just to keep his own head above water," I leaned closer to the girl, whose breath was coming in short, jagged hitches.

I swept the money into a reinforced leather pouch. Hobbes wasn't worth the energy of a confrontation. The primary objective of this excursion was satisfied; the ledger was balanced.

"The money is here. Let's go, Vane."

Out in the cooling air of the Docks, Vane remained silent. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his duster and kicked a loose cobblestone into the dark. It skittered across the wet ground, a lonely sound in the industrial roar.

"That pisses me off. The look on that girl's face. She actually wanted to protect that bastard. And he'd trade her for a week's worth of coal," he muttered.

We reached our transport, a rugged, brass-heavy steam vehicle parked in the shadows of a warehouse. It was painted a matte charcoal gray and embossed with the Syndicate's silver sigil: gears entwined with thorns. Vane climbed into the driver's seat, and the boiler hissed to life with a pressurized groan as I hopped in.

As we rumbled toward the city limits, the smoke stacks began to fall away, replaced by the "Forest Fields," the buffer zone where the city's filth slowly died out, choked by the sheer persistence of the grass.

"Vane," I said over the roar of the engine.

"Yeah?"

"Explain the sensation you had in that office. The one that is now making you silent."

Vane sighed, the sound lost in the steam.

"Sadness, Mercy. It was sadness for her. And a bit of righteous fury for the unfairness of it all."

"Sadness," I repeated, testing the word.

"Why? The outcome was successful. The Syndicate received its dues, the girl was not physically harmed by us, and the father remains an active foreman to provide for his family. She is fed and clothed. Why does the girl's affection for a bad father produce a negative sensation in you?"

Vane slowed as we reached the edge of the smog. The air was turning crisp, the sulfur replaced by the smell of damp earth and evening grass. It was a sensory shift so abrupt that it usually made my skin feel tight.

"Because it's a waste. Family is supposed to be almost like a fair trade; both sides should always win. Like ours. We protect, we provide, we stay loyal. When someone gives something that precious to someone who doesn't deserve it or doesn't even try to earn it... it feels heavy. Like a debt that will never be paid back. That makes me sad for her," Vane said, his voice softer now.

I stared at the horizon. The sun was painting the sky in violet and orange, colors I recognized by their frequency, but did not feel in my gut.

"A debt that will never be paid back. That is a bad business model. That is not fair, " I murmured.

As the words left my lips, the distant hum in my chest suddenly thrummed in sharp, resonant agreement. It vibrated with a cold, absolute alignment, as if the ancient Weave inside the coin recognized a fundamental law of its own architecture within my logic. The anomaly wasn't just lurking in the filth of the Middle Circle; it was listening. And it approved.

He looked at me, a wide, sudden smile breaking through his gloom as if he'd just remembered why we did what we did.

"Being human isn't fair, Mercy. Most people use words like blankets to hide the rot. But you... you're perfect. More people should be like you. No lies, no noise. What a world that would be."

"I don't see the benefit of lies, and I appreciate that your data aligns with my efficiency," I stated.

"I know you don't always understand people. It's why I'm happy to translate the broken humans for you. Don't ever change," Vane said, his voice holding a trace of that 'sadness' again.