Page 117 of Song of the Heart Scale
DAMIEN
The Southern District was a mess of smoke, sweat, and sin, but if there was one place where a man like Garrick could disappear, it was here. And if there was one place I would find him, it was at a gambling den, according to Cat.
I moved through the narrow alleys behind the textile markets with my cloak drawn low, the edge of my boots muffled by the dirt-packed streets. Merchants called out in a cacophony of languages, the scent of spiced lamb and fried foods heavy in the humid air. Rats darted past baskets of rotting fruit, and the murmur of dice games, laughter, and cursing echoed from every side alley and broken-door tavern.
Finally, I found it: The Jackal’s Tooth.
Tucked between a collapsed spice warehouse and a brothel so dimly lit it was more shadow than structure, the den was barely marked by a swinging wooden sign carved with a toothy grin. Inside, it smelled of old sweat, coin, and desperation.
The room was filled with acrid smoke, the low ceiling making it feel like the walls were caving in. Men shouted over card games, dice clattered across wooden tables, and scantily clad women sat in the laps of winners—or losers with deep pockets.
After a quick scan of the room, I found him.
At the back, surrounded by a pile of tokens, wine, and fools, Garrick laughed uproariously as he slapped down a card. His hair was tied back and his one good eye gleamed with mischief.
I drifted to him like a shadow.
He didn’t notice until I dropped a coin onto the table.
“That your wager, stranger?” he asked without looking up, until my silence gave me away. Then he froze. “By the Immortals!”
“We need to talk.”
He attempted to brush me off. “Not now, my friend. I’m on a roll.”
“It’s about Cat,” I said calmly. “She’s in trouble.”
Garrick threw a wistful glance at the tokens he had stacked up, then at the cards in his hand. He sighed. “Of course you need menow,” he muttered. Standing and tossing his hand down on the table, he declared, “Keep the pot. Consider it my donation to your sad lives.”
The other gamblers jeered, but Garrick ignored them as he followed me out into the alley.
“What's so important that you had to interrupt my winning streak?” he groused.
I didn’t answer until we were clear of the building. “Thorne has Cat.”
He stopped walking. Just froze.
“What?”
“She was arrested during a riot in the Northern District this morning. She's in Dragon Valley now.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “Jacob confirmed it.”
Garrick's jaw tightened. “Then we need to go now.”
“We will. But not without backup.”
He raised a brow, inviting me to explain the delay.
“We’re storming Dragon Valley in four days. I need your help. And I need the fae.”
His eye narrowed. “The fae?”
“Yes. Cat told me what you learned – that the wards on Faelight Forest are weak and you claimed you could break them. I’m calling in that promise on her behalf.”
Garrick ran a hand through his hair. “That forest is cursed, Damien.”
