In the Heart of Sin

The Burning Heart

The investigation into William Morgan's mysterious near-drowning took a turn as Scarlet met with two unexpected allies at the Burning Heart Club. She had arrived with Joseph, but the shopkeeper mysteriously vanished after they'd entered, leaving her to spot Arturo and Miles already in the crowded club – their presence as surprising to her as hers was to them.

Arturo's journey here had begun earlier that day with a vision: a burning heart sitting atop a pile of glittering coins, with rats scurrying over the money, their eyes unnaturally focused. When he described this to Miles – a fellow writer he'd gotten to know from their regular conversations at the café – the young man had reached into his pocket and produced a business card for the Burning Heart Club, something he'd randomly picked up earlier that day. Coincidence, or the invisible hand of narrative causality that seemed to follow Miles everywhere? Either way, they knew where they needed to be.

Their target remained the Burning Heart Club and its owner, Francis Martin. To better understand what they were walking into, Arturo struck up a conversation with Damien, who served at the Neutral Grounds by day and worked the occasional shift at the Burning Heart by night. Drawing on his experience from some serious Collingwood reporting, Arturo asked directly why people seemed to be "going out of control" at the club.

"Look, I'm only working here to pay the bills," Damien said, wiping down a glass with practiced circular motions, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone. "But this place... it's not just a club – it's a temple to excess. The kind of place where people forget themselves, give in to whatever dark little desires they've been suppressing." He paused, glancing over his shoulder before continuing. "Francis doesn't just encourage it – he watches, like he's feeding off it somehow. And the cops? They don't come around here. Ever. That tells you something about the kind of protection this place has. Plus, you see the clientele – half of them look like they crawled out of the city's worst corners."

Their approach to infiltration was boldly divided – Scarlet would create a distraction in the main club while Arturo and Miles slipped into the back offices. What Scarlet delivered, however, was less a distraction and more an event that would be whispered about in the City's underground for months to come.

Her voice carried through the club like honey poured over ice, starting as a simple melody that grew increasingly complex, weaving harmonies that bypassed rational thought and plucked directly at primal desires. What began as rhythmic dancing devolved into something far more carnal, as patrons found themselves entangled with strangers in a mass of writhing bodies, inhibitions dissolved by Scarlet's enchanting performance.

Among the crowd, Scarlet spotted a familiar face – Sterling Prince, her ex, caught in the thrall of her music like everyone else. She watched with disgust as he tore his shirt off with abandon, surrendering completely to the moment. Their eyes met briefly across the churning crowd, recognition flashing in his before being subsumed by the enchantment once more.

With security thoroughly occupied, Arturo and Miles followed a peculiar rat with unusually intent eyes through the back corridors. The rodent led them directly to Francis Martin's office before disappearing into a wall vent, but not before casting them a look that seemed unnervingly knowing.

As they rummaged through Francis' desk, voices approached from the hallway. After seeing a glimpse of what was to happen, Arturo ducked beneath the desk while Miles scrambled toward a large wardrobe in the corner. As Miles pulled what felt like a warm coat around himself for concealment, reality hiccupped – the way it often did around him.

The wardrobe interior stretched impossibly into a vast, ice-encrusted cavern. What Miles had grabbed was not a coat but the massive, fur-covered arm of Kytharak'thandul, the Rimefrost Sovereign, King of the Howling Peaks, and Lord of the Final Snow – or simply "Kyle," as he preferred in casual company – an eight-foot-tall yeti-like creature with frost-rimmed fur. The creature turned to Miles with a smile that could only be described as unnervingly creepy, rows of icicle-like teeth gleaming in the dim blue light.

Miles quickly raised a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and remarkably, the massive creature seemed to understand, falling silent. Instead of speaking, Kyle reached out with one enormous, clawed hand and gently stroked Miles' hair with surprising tenderness, the gesture somehow both protective and deeply unsettling.

Meanwhile, the office door opened to admit Francis Martin and 'Mr Falzoni' as Francis called him, a man with skin like weathered granite and all the bearings of an Italian mob enforcer. Without preamble, the mobster grabbed Francis by his expensive collar and slammed his head against the desk – directly above where Arturo hid. The impact was brutal, leaving Francis crumpled on the floor, his face twisted in pain and confusion. In that moment, as Francis hit the ground, his dazed eyes met Arturo's through the gap beneath the desk – a split second of mutual recognition and terror that passed between them before Francis' consciousness wavered.

What struck Arturo most was Falzoni's demeanour – the enforcer showed no rage, no emotional investment in the violence. He simply stood over Francis' prone body, methodically lighting an imported cigar and inhaling deeply, as if he were merely waiting for a bus rather than standing over the man he'd just concussed.

"Where's our money, Francis?" He finally said, his voice as calm and measured as a banker discussing interest rates. "The family doesn't appreciate you losing it. You have one week." He took another long drag from his cigar, savouring it as he studied Francis' broken form with clinical detachment, before finally departing without any apparent urgency.

With Francis effectively neutralised, Arturo managed to extract a business card from the man's fallen wallet – "Hartwell Pest Control Services," it read. The same reference that they found in William's apartment.

Scarlet slipped into the office minutes later, her performance concluded with the club's main floor now a tableau of confusion and disarrayed clothing. She paused at the threshold, noting the small puddle of water that had formed in front of the wardrobe. Together with Arturo, they cautiously opened the wardrobe to retrieve Miles – only to find him frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the massive yeti-like creature that loomed over him in protective silence.

"Miles?" Scarlet called, peering into the impossible space.

Only then did Kyle acknowledge the newcomers, his demeanour shifting instantly from silent guardian to cordial host. "Ah, more visitors!" the creature boomed, suddenly animated with a voice that carried the refined cadence of a Cambridge professor. "Friends of our hero, I presume?"

After a surreal negotiation that felt more like a diplomatic summit than an escape plan, Kyle agreed to release Miles on the condition that they return with stories of their adventures and a substance he called "the elixir known as coffee." With formal gravity, he bestowed upon Miles the Mark of Rimefrost – a faintly glowing sigil that materialised on the upper right of his chest.

"The Demon King's influence grows," Kyle warned as they prepared to leave. "And while the Forces of Light do not consider me an ally, I stand against him, though my methods may seem... harsh to your kind." The casual mention of his dietary preference for humanoids was delivered with the same polite tone one might use to mention a fondness for spicy food.

Abruptly, a horn sounded from deep within the icy cavern. Kyle straightened, his attention shifting. "Alas, I must attend to my armies," he declared, adjusting himself slightly. "The northern territories grow restless. I look forward to your return, hero!" With that, he strode deeper into the cavern, leaving them to step back through the wardrobe door.

Their return to Francis' office was cut short by thunderous pounding on the door – Abigail's unmistakable fist demanding entry. The rat that had led them there was nowhere to be seen.

They made for the window, but Abigail burst in before they could all escape. Arturo was caught in her massive grip, narrowly twisting free at the cost of his left shoe, which remained in her clutches like a trophy as he tumbled to the alley below.

"Split up!" Scarlet suggested as they hit the pavement. "Meet at the cafe in the morning!"

They scattered into the night, each taking different paths through the City's labyrinthine streets, pursued by the sounds of Abigail's enraged shouts that quickly disappeared into the distance. Behind them, the Burning Heart Club continued its business, the evening's strange interlude already being smoothed over with free drinks and the promise of more conventional entertainment.

The mystery of William Morgan's near-drowning had gained new layers – a pest control company, the Italian mob's missing money, and strangest of all, the watchful rats that seemed to move with purpose rather than instinct through the City's shadows.

Morning would bring new questions and, perhaps, the beginning of answers.