Getting up to the rooftops wasn’t going to be an easy task by any means, and it was proving to be a more irritating detour. Oleander didn’t know any of these streets, and had to trail behind the stranger as he looked for a way up for the both of them. It just added to every problem she had with this night, and this city.

She could see the urgency that carried him with each step as well, and the growing annoyance as they passed by many blocked off doors. Barricaded, boarded or otherwise. He seemed worn down by each one, muttering to himself about the slums under his breath.

“...So how long were you tailing me?” Oleander broke the silence between them, trying to push some conversation.

“I was technically tailing Collins until he got to The Thirsty Fish.” He slowed down, glancing back at her, “I’ve learned he only goes there when he’s planning to get rid of what he calls trouble. Seeing his goons in there pretty much confirmed my suspicions that he had something planned.”

“So then, you were after what he had on him?” It wasn’t an unreasonable jump in logic, in her opinion at the least.

“If you’re implying that dossier you short changed him on, no. Not entirely, anyway. I won’t turn up my nose at a chance for coin from elven relics but I’m also no fool. I can’t read the runes in those places myself, and that’s a death wish.” He stopped by one door, kneeling down to huddle over the lock as he pulled out a set of lockpicks.

He wasn’t an entire idiot then, and that gave Oleander some relief. Few ever admitted the deadly nature of those ruins. Even fewer accepted the fact that most of the ruins didn’t have any “loot” worth the effort to brave them. Many of them were just modest tombs filled with bones and dust.

As he continued to fiddle with the lock with his picks she looked to either side of the alley, pressing one hand to her chest to try and calm her heart. There were too many thoughts whirring in her mind making it race, and she was struggling to keep her focus on the present. The only things keeping her there were the distant sounds of the fight back at the tavern, and the clicks of the strangers' picks pushing the tumblers of the lock.

“...So what were you after from Darcy, anyway?” She kept looking back down the way they came through the alley.

He remained silent for a while, not answering her until the final tumbler clicked and he was able to slowly push the door open on its shrieking hinges, “I was after his signet ring. Thing is a key to the lock on the vault he has under his estate. One of a kind too.”

“But then him coming to meet me complicated your plans?” 

“I wouldn’t place any blame entirely on you. Picking it off him if he got a few too many drinks would have been easy out this way…If he didn’t have his hidden entourage there to watch you.” He ushered her to follow him through the door as he posed the burning question to her, “So I really want to know: What in the hell did you do to get him that pissed off?”

Oleander hesitated to follow him into the dark building, examining the outside of it with a little more scrutiny now that she was faced with staring into the black void beyond the door. The place already looked to be an abandoned storehouse, and that was enough for her to not want to walk into it blindly. Only if for the fact it could be a death trap of garbage inside.

“How about we worry about getting away from him before I answer that…” She poked her head inside the door, spotting a nearly empty oil lamp sitting on a narrow windowsill inside.

The stranger seemed attentive to where she was looking, pulling out a match book from his pocket and lighting the wick of the dusty lamp. It gave her a clear glimpse at his emerald green eyes, as he looked down to her before passing her the lamp with a sigh, “Fair point. Here.”

She took the lamp, shielding the flame as she followed him inside, “So, why did you choose this place?”

He carefully closed the door when they were both inside, working against those loud hinges best he could, “Some places have a mark for thieves with the guild. This used to be a black market fence operation too. Secret exits for smuggling and escape through the ratways and sewers. Also I chose it because you seemed against any climbing, and I don’t want to fight any stubbornness.”

The pure sass in his voice was clear as he briefly glared over at her before locking the door, before pulling up the muffler over nose and mouth. He was quick to walk past her and deeper into the storehouse, avoiding the few crates scattered around on the floor. 

“That aside, is there anything we should expect in those ratways? I doubt they’ve just sat empty after this place closed down.” Oleander didn’t have any temptation to argue with him, toying with the outside pocket of her bag to pull out a handkerchief.

“Rats, for one. Crazed humans from the slums too. Some small magical creatures like wild water slimes too, but they’re usually polluted from the sewers.” He only shrugged as he listed everything off, sliding his hand along a partition wall slowly until there was a soft click.

Metal gears started to strain inside the wall behind him, and soon a set of the vertical wood panels rattled free to reveal a hidden doorway. It was a slow, and loud, process that kicked up a lot of dust. So much dust that it forced Oleander to put down the lamp as she started coughing, hastily tying the handkerchief over her nose and mouth before she choked any more.