THE WATCHERS

'Have I gone insane? Or is my mind actively deceiving my eyes?'

Valor stared at the feline on the windowsill, his thoughts racing. 'Yes, I have definitely gone mad!'

The cat turned its back to him once more, its emerald green eyes flashing with a brilliance that seemed to outshine the most precious of gems. "Would you rather stay here and wait for the Queen’s Guards to bust down your door?"

Those words were instantly accompanied by the heavy thud of boots echoing on the creaking floorboards downstairs.

Valor’s internal panic vanished, replaced by cold understanding.

"Do you have everything needed with you?" the cat pressed.

Valor nodded quickly. "Yes!"

"Then let’s go," it said, leaping fearlessly out of the window.

The footsteps downstairs multiplied, growing louder by the second. Hearing the sound getting closer, Valor knew his only option was the drop below.

He glanced back at the desk one last time; seeing nothing else worth taking, he rushed to the sill and took a blind leap into the open air—just as the guards burst into the room behind him.

There was a common saying that cats always land on their feet, Valor hadn't known that the same rule applied to certain humans.

Given the height of the jump, he had braced himself for a severe sprain, if not a shattered bone.

Yet, the fall entirely defied gravity. He hit the ground squarely, his feet absorbing the impact perfectly without a single scratch.

Before he could even process the landing, he was violently yanked out of the line of sight of the window above.

"Don't you know when to hide from the observing eyes of the guards?" a boy's voice asked.

Valor peeked from the edge of the alley, looking up just in time to see a guard in a uniform cap peer out of his window. The man scanned the alleyways, shook his head in frustration, and pulled himself back inside.

"You are being incredibly careless," the boy remarked, shoving his hands casually into his pockets.

From the sharp tone of that voice and the familiar emerald-green color of his eyes, there was absolutely no doubt. This boy was the cat.

A shapeshifter.

Valor studied the boy's dark hair, noting the practical overalls that perfectly matched the color of his sturdy boots.

"Why are you staring at me?" the boy asked.

By digging into his host's memories, Valor finally pulled up a name: Sinclair.

"No, nothing actually," Valor replied, clearing his throat. "I’m just wondering whether those men will find anything useful there..."

Sinclair offered a dismissive shrug. "The moment they step across your threshold, they won't find anything but piles of empty boxes."

Valor nodded, masking his relief.

Although the host's body instinctively recognized the people he was interacting with, the deep, foundational details of this world remained incredibly blurry.

Accordingly, Sinclair was a prominent member of the Bureau of Watchers.

He was a shapeshifter bound primarily to a single alternate form—a black cat.

Because of this signature ability, he held a distinct title within the ranks: 'The Shifter.'

Valor forced a small, diplomatic smile. "Sinclair, thank you for saving me from—"

Sinclair reached up, coolly adjusting his monocle. "Keep your gratitude for later. First, tell me what you were doing there in the first place."

"You mean at my own house?"

"Yes! Every available Watcher was supposed to assemble at the Headquarters today after the Night. What were you trying to achieve? Actively disobeying direct orders?" Sinclair pointed an accusing finger at him. "You know the Queen is furious about our recent operations. She would love nothing more than to capture a lone Watcher and force him to spill everything we're up to."

Valor adjusted the lapels of his coat. "That was my bad there—"

"I had to go looking for you during the assembly," Sinclair interrupted, cutting him off as he pulled out a peculiar key from his pocket. "You know how those meetings can be, and exactly how vital they are to our survival."

Valor nodded blindly. "Definitely."

There was no visible door in sight, but a key was apparently all that was required.

Sinclair stepped toward the blank alley wall and turned the key into an invisible keyhole.

To a genius—or anyone paying attention—it was obvious that a hidden threshold had just been unlocked.

The moment Sinclair pushed the unseen barrier open and they stepped through, Valor felt a bizarre sensation, as if his essence were traveling through multiple dimensional realms simultaneously.

His physical form felt entirely weightless, and he realized he was crossing over into an entirely new, abstract plane of existence.

When they finally materialized on the other side, the very first detail were the massive bookshelves packed with ancient texts lined every single wall of the expansive room.

Another object that arrested Valor's attention was a monstrous, towering clock dominating the front of the hall.

"12:30 PM?" He muttered, reading the clock face.

"Someone finally decided to show up, even if they are remarkably late," a voice called out.

Valor turned to see another man approaching, dressed in clothes identical to his own.

The man offered a mocking, theatrical bow. "I presume you were busy dining with the Queen?"

This newcomer was significantly older than Sinclair. His thick beard and messy hair seemed to be in more greys than blacks.

George, another member of the Watchers. His official title was 'The Arrow,' a name tied to a unique ability that granted him a flawless, bullseye shot.

He never missed his mark, though his power was limited —he delivered fewer shots than necessary, dealing minimal, calculated damage.

"It’s a fine day, isn't it, George?" Valor offered, choosing a polite greeting to test the waters.

"Oh, please leave the pleasantries behind!" George shot back with an annoyed click of his tongue.

'Okay, he doesn't like greetings' Valor thought as the man continued,

"You arrived late and missed the entire briefing."

Sinclair turned away, his expression tight. "I tried to talk some sense into him the moment I found him lingering at his hideout of a bakery."

Noticing the heavy shake of George's head, Valor realized he needed to dig for actual information rather than just weathering their disappointment, so he asked,

"Where is everyone else?"

George pulled a small silver stopwatch from his vest, checking the dials. "The meeting concluded a while ago, so they've already dispersed. However, we have a hunt to conduct, and several teams are already out there assisting with the tracking."

Valor remained quiet, absorbing the words. If George was speaking this directly, it meant there was a deep level of professional trust and understanding between them.

Sinclair spoke up. "One of the high-ranking members of the Azmerald Family..."

Valor’s internal focus instantly sharpened. 'The Azmerald Family! Another crucial name from the notebook.'

"...was recently spotted near the Graveyard sector," Sinclair finished. He added, "And I highly doubt there's a more effective way to commune with restless souls than harvesting them from an old burial ground."

George clicked his stopwatch shut and slipped it back into his pocket. "We have less than enough minutes before 1pm..."

Sinclair brought out his mysterious key once more, stepping toward the door that led out of the unexplored headquarters. "Then we need to hurry and support the vanguard. If the minutes we've got passes and we lose his trail, we might never get our hands—or our eyes—on him again."

Valor quietly followed them toward the exit, his thoughts were subsequently working towards what to be done:

'They are heading out for a hunt, and they explicitly mentioned a member of the Azmerald Family. If I play my cards right, I might be able to extract some real answers from this target. I just need to make sure I can get him to talk.'

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