The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Well, well," Fenrick drawled as Liora approached, his grin widening into something sharp and knowing. The toothpick shifted between his teeth as he leaned back, exuding the confidence of a man who knew he held the upper hand. "If it isn't the great Rylan Duskwhisper, gracing us with his presence. To what do I owe the honor?"

The room seemed to pause, the low murmur of conversation dipping further as nearby patrons subtly leaned in to listen. Fenrick's voice carried just enough volume to ensure he'd be overheard, his words laced with a mix of mockery and genuine curiosity.

"I don't have time for theatrics, Fenrick," Liora said, sliding into the booth across from him with an air of practiced calm. His sharp gaze met Fenrick's, unblinking. "We need information."

Fenrick chuckled, a low, throaty sound that matched the sly amusement in his eyes. "Straight to the point, as always. But come now, Rylan, indulge me. It's not every day you crawl out of the shadows and into my fine establishment."

Derrin, standing a step behind Liora, cleared his throat. "We're looking for a boy," he said, his tone firm but measured. "A pickpocket working the market today. Word is he's part of Jorven Quickstep's crew."

Fenrick's expression didn't shift much, but the gleam in his eye sharpened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Ah, the market business. I know the one you're talking about. Rumor about a halfling—you—walking with a human boy, and the boy getting pickpocketed? It's the kind of story everyone here hears eventually. You know how The Hollow loves a good tale."

He let the toothpick roll lazily between his lips as he continued, his tone dripping with feigned sympathy. "And let me guess—you're here to clean up the mess. Always the hero, aren't you, Rylan?"

Liora's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Save the commentary, Fenrick. Just tell us what you know."

Fenrick sat back, a slow grin spreading across his face as if savoring the moment. "You've got that fire in your eyes again. Reminds me of the old days." He tilted his head, considering them for a moment. "The boy you're looking for is one of Jorven's newest recruits. Nimble little thing, and smart enough to keep out of sight when he needs to. But he's not the one you should be worried about."

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Liora's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Fenrick's grin widened, and he tapped his temple with a finger. "Ah, see, that's where the real game begins. The boy's just a pawn, like most of Jorven's crew. The real trouble lies with the man pulling their strings. And no, it's not just Jorven."

"You're being cryptic," Derrin interjected, his frustration evident. "If you know something, spit it out."

Fenrick chuckled again, shaking his head. "Patience, my friend. Information doesn't come cheap. And this particular bit? It's gonna cost you."

"What's the price?" Liora asked, his voice edged with irritation.

Fenrick's grin turned razor-sharp. "I've got a little problem of my own. A rival gang snatched something precious to me—a small, ornate box. Sentimental value, you understand. You get it back, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Liora's eyes narrowed further, and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Why should we trust you?"

Fenrick shrugged, his grin unshaken. "You've got no choice, Duskwhisper. You came to me, remember?"

Derrin opened his mouth to argue, but Liora raised a hand to stop him. He stared at Fenrick for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But if you're lying to us…"@@novelbin@@

"Lying?" Fenrick interrupted, feigning offense. "I wouldn't dream of it." He leaned forward again, his tone lowering conspiratorially. "The box is with a bunch of lowlifes holed up in the old tannery on Copper Street. Shouldn't be too much trouble for someone like you."

"We'll see," Liora muttered, rising from the booth. Derrin followed, his expression still skeptical.

As they moved toward the exit, Fenrick called after them, his tone almost cheerful. "Good luck, Rylan. And watch your back out there. The Hollow's changed since your day."

____

The tannery was a decrepit building on the outskirts of The Hollow, its crumbling walls and sagging roof a testament to years of neglect. Once a bustling workshop filled with halfling craftspeople, it now stood as a ghost of its former self, reclaimed by shadows and disrepair. The faint smell of old leather and chemicals lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of damp wood and mildew. Piles of discarded debris were strewn across the muddy courtyard, evidence of both time and the careless nature of its new occupants.

Derrin paused at the edge of the courtyard, casting a skeptical glance at Liora. The faint light flickering in one of the upper windows hinted at life within, but the quiet unease of the tannery pressed down on them like a weight.

"Are we seriously going to do this?" Derrin asked, his voice a harsh whisper. He glanced at the broken-down building, his tone edged with both doubt and frustration. "Breaking into Jorven's territory for a box? This feels like a fool's errand, Rylan."

"We don't have a choice," Liora replied, his voice calm but firm. His sharp eyes scanned the building, noting the weak points in the structure and the potential entryways. "Fenrick has the information we need, and this is the price. Besides…" He allowed himself a grim smirk. "I've handled worse."

Derrin crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "I'm just saying, this is exactly the kind of thing that could get us killed. We're walking into a gang's den for what? To help some slimy informant?"

Liora turned to him, his expression steely. "We're not doing this for Fenrick. We're doing it for the boy. If we don't act now, we lose our chance to find him, and we lose our edge against Jorven. I'm not leaving empty-handed."

Derrin let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Liora said with a faint smirk before motioning for Derrin to follow.

The two moved toward the tannery, their steps muffled against the damp ground. The closer they got, the more apparent the building's decay became. The walls were riddled with cracks, patches of moss creeping up like scars, and the windows were either shattered or boarded up with mismatched planks. Despite its dilapidation, there was an odd sense of defiance to the structure, as though it refused to fully succumb to its ruin.

They slipped through a side entrance, the rusted hinges groaning softly as Liora eased the door open. Inside, the tannery was cloaked in darkness, save for faint streaks of moonlight spilling through the broken roof. The scent of chemicals was stronger here, sharp and biting, mingling with the acrid smell of rot. Wooden beams sagged under the weight of neglect, and the floor was littered with scraps of leather, discarded tools, and the remnants of what must have once been a thriving workshop.

Liora moved like a shadow, his steps silent as he navigated the cluttered space. Derrin followed close behind, his movements heavier but careful. They could hear voices now, faint and distorted, echoing from the upper floor. The sounds of laughter and muffled conversation drifted through the tannery, a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the lower level.

At the base of a rickety staircase, they paused. Liora held up a hand, signaling for Derrin to stop. The wooden stairs creaked ominously with even the faintest weight, and the two exchanged a look. Liora motioned for Derrin to stay put and began his ascent, his dagger drawn and his steps as light as a whisper.

At the top of the stairs, the voices grew clearer.

"…Fenrick's trinket? Worthless junk," a gruff voice said, followed by a snort of laughter. "But he'll pay through the nose to get it back."

"Damn fool," another voice chimed in, higher-pitched and mocking. "He's lucky Jorven didn't gut him the last time he stuck his nose where it didn't belong."