Here's the chapter! Plus a couple short added past-ish bits because I realized it might be a little dismal with just Xavier getting...assassinated. It was a little difficult, as Venta isn't really developed yet and I am not entirely familiar with Xavier, but hopefully it turned out okay hahaha ;-; Still having the worst block even though I'm trying to get rid of it. Will also have another chapter maybe in the nearby future but alas, also too soon to post now.

"You shouldn't have dropped by," Luca says touchily, though he still offers her a freshly poured cup of tea. "The Shadowhunters aren't pleased with me."

The warlock woman merely shrugs, her reptilian glamour fading into her usual form. Though her hood had been pulled over her head, her hair remains unruffled as she lets the hood fall to her shoulders, dark hair framing her face. Her hands close around the teacup, watching him keenly. He's never known her well, for though she'd mentored him, she'd always kept to herself. He supposes she is there now just out of convenience. Such is the nature of warlocks and he's not one to complain about someone like her.

"Well, I'm not causing trouble the Shadowhunters are concerned about, apparently," she says, and sips idly at her tea. "None of them have pursued and I haven't done anything particularly terrible."

"And your fun with demons?" Narrowing his eyes, Luca looks a little displeased. It was what had alerted him in the first place and even though he'd realized the source, he still is not particularly keen on having lower demons in the area.

She doesn't seem particularly perturbed by his question, only shrugging a little. "I genuinely did not mean to cause trouble. You know my line of work is sometimes risky business. It can be unpredictable at times. I'm not perfect."

He can't argue with her sincerity, knowing that she has never tried to deceive him before. Still, it's in his nature to be sure. Neither of them have ever been particularly good at following law or the wants of Shadowhunters, but he also likes to think they are not keen on breaking rules to be malicious.

"I do not think you were involved, but what about the warlock and the Shadowhunter?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

She returns his expression. "I had no affiliation with that."

"Good. I've been defending you. Well, perhaps not you in particular, but our kind in general. The Shadowhunters are too quick to blame us, even the rise in suspicion is partially my fault."

"They're hypocrites, seeing as I've had Shadowhunter clients." Her eyes watch him keenly over her cup and she drinks more. "Anyway, I didn't come on just the business of the Shadowhunter-warlock situation. A teacher can visit her student, can she not? I hope you haven't gotten rusty."

Luca's expression shifts into one of slight pleasure, his eyes narrowing as he pulls the gloves from his hands. There is little to resist when it comes to showing off and picking up a few more tricks. After all, what is a warlock without their powers? The answer to that is easy, and he would rather be dead than be nothing.

"Of course not," he says, reaching for his mask to pull it on. "What should we work on first?"

Before, having Nyx's arm around his waist would have seemed like something frightening and oppressive, but now it only felt like a routine. Aspen didn't mind, preoccupied with his thoughts anyway. He'd wanted to check in with him after his check up with the warlock, even if it was only for Nyx to walk him back to the Faerie gate, but that was enough to satisfy him. Nyx had been strangely careful with him, as if he too was unsure of how to make Aspen happy and obedient, and the fragility of their relationship was palpable.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Nyx," Aspen sighed finally, leaning into him just slightly and trying to sap as much of the strange comfort he could from the closeness. "I guess, mostly, I don't know what I'm feeling."

His arm tightened at his waist slightly. "You already know my offer still stands, sweetheart."

"I can't leave. That'd make Cas angry and I'd be hunted or whatever. Besides, I just don't know what's...what's wrong with me." There was a deep-set frustration that he couldn't quite cover, watching as the forest line approached them. For whatever reason, he didn't want to go back just yet. "I feel like I've burnt myself out on life already. I know I should be glad I'm okay physically and...and I have the position in the Hunt I want and Cas-...Do you know what I mean?"

He waited for a long few moments, but the forest just kept getting closer and Nyx didn't say a thing.

"Lukewarm." Frozen leaves crunched under their shoes. "I guess that's how I feel. I don't really feel like being loved or loving, right now, and I don't really feel like being nice. I've been nice for you too much."

"And I've enjoyed your niceness," Nyx remarked, slowing as they started to get to grass. "Don't act like I haven't rewarded you for it."

When they stopped finally, Aspen pulled away, but just slightly and with the intent on facing him as if trying to glean something from his expression. "...Did I fuck up? Should...should I have stayed?"

Raising a hand to Aspen's face, Nyx ran a thumb against his cheek before tucking hair behind his ear. "It doesn't matter now. Your place will always be with me. You know it is."

No affirmation escaped Aspen's lips, but he leaned into him, his cheek pressed against his shoulder as arms closed around him. Intense hatred made his breath short, though he could not tell if it was directed at Nyx or himself, shame rising to his face anyway. Still, despite everything, he couldn't help but sink comfortably against him, shutting his eyes for a long moment and wishing for a time that was simpler. His hands grasped his coat before he finally allowed himself to draw back, avoiding his gaze.

"I'll see you soon. You know I will." Aspen mustered up a hint of a smile, mostly unsuccessfully. "Don't forget who's your favourite."

Leaning in to kiss his forehead, Nyx brushed his hair back before being the first to start walking away. "Oh, I never do."

Perhaps it was ironic, but Xavier seemed like the type of Shadowhunter Venta would have disliked. He looked kind, and his mannerisms seemed charming as he chatted with what seemed like a well-dressed werewolf, a warlock, and a handful of half-faeries, but even that could not win over his own affection. Maybe because the Shadowhunter seemed like the type to assume Downworlders couldn't fight their own battles. Whether that was true or not, Venta wouldn't know. He only observed from the rooftop, the vampire companion he'd brought along perched silently beside him. Mason would have probably not liked the involvement of another, but the vampire's silence was easily bought with enough money and his indifference.

It was annoying that Mason had requested he make it look like a suicide. If carried through, people would certainly raise more questions if they presumed it wasn't in Xavier's character to do such a thing. Venta hoped Mason would not be too angry that his plan took some creative liberties. In any case, it would certainly make his death more believable. One with that much motivation to bring about change would not simply give everything up - at least that was Venta's assumption, not that he'd ever known anything about some great motivation in life.

Pulling out a vial of a satchel, he looked over the milky liquid as it sloshed around in its container. It felt cool, even through the fabric of his gloves. The shopkeeper he'd gotten it from had simply given him a few glances before selling it easily. People's budgets and need for money to carry them over to the next month left little space for ethics. He tugged a half-mask down with his free hand before ensuring it was pressed down on all sides. Any slip-ups would certainly damper his night. Uncorking the vial made a gentle hissing, the liquid turning to steam as it was greeted by the cold night air, and extending his arm over the alley, the liquid spilled out. It never hit the ground, dispersing into a thin white fog before it faded into invisibility.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you to not inhale," Venta remarked, urging the vampire on and pocketing the vial.

"My respiratory system has been bullshit and vestigial for the last century." The vampire just crouched next to the roof edge before hopping down, silenced by some supernatural ability. The number of people around Xavier, thankfully, had decreased to a manageable amount, making it easy for the vampire to slip into his presence unnoticed. While he knew the Shadowhunters were no fools, Venta had been betting on Xavier's seemingly charitable nature to not be entirely suspicious.

"Xavier, right? I think the clan could use assistance." Giving an apologetic smile, the vampire reached out to shake Xavier's hand. The sincerity of the Shadowhunter's expression was enough for Venta to start feeling some shred of guilt, but not much, for it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He'd worked enough cases of having to get rid of good people that he'd started to grow used to it, as sick as it sounded. Now, he could sleep soundly at night. That had taken some work.

"Yes, that's me. Sorry the meeting went longer than expected - I expect you heard of me from that? We try to stay on the down low, especially since the Clave tries to weed us out," Xavier replied, looking attentive and composed. Venta scanned him. He seemed dressed more like a business leader than a Shadowhunter, with a blue button up pushed up to just below his elbows and uncreased slacks. He had a seraph blade at his side, but his hand never hovered by it. It was different than what he saw of most Nephilim that visited the Towns, who were trigger happy and secretive, choosing to cover up than walk around in the open.

"Well, your vision is something we need and-..." The vampire glanced around, as if just taking in the others for the first time. "Here, can we speak somewhere more private? Just around the corner, maybe. It's not something I want all ears to be present for."

There was a smart hesitance in Xavier's eyes, but an intensity to the vampire's face that seemed to convince him. The persuasive nature of vampires was the reason Venta had chosen his assistant. That, and they didn't have the need to breathe.

"Just for a moment, then," the Shadowhunter agreed, following the vampire to the alley as they chatted. "Of course, you know my group doesn't employ violent methods. I just want to ensure that's clear."

"I know. I don't expect force." Pausing in the middle of the narrow alley, the vampire kept on his filler conversation, almost looking genuinely concerned. "We have seen the shrinking of our rights, though, and while we know it's important to keep everyone safe, it's starting to suffocate. Figuratively, of course."

Discreetly, Xavier cleared his throat. "The Clave has been very set on containing vampires in the past. We've seen that with the various laws they've passed, and while we know the vampires have certain...dietary restrictions that may seem unethical and so forth, they shouldn't be punished. That much we agree on, yes?"

"We're being stuck in these ghettos. It's a conversation of the economic gap between us and Shadowhunters. If we're unable to live so-called 'normal lives', we think the Nephilim should have some responsibility in ensuring that we can all coexist in a peaceful manner," the vampire continued and Venta observed as Xavier cleared his throat again with a subtle cough. "They don't often think about how our lives have been impacted by our situation."

"I admit it doesn't seem like the Clave cares. That's why we want to make it easier for all species to get the resources they need," Xavier said before pausing, resting a hand against the nearby wall. There was a collectedness about him that had started to waver. "Forgive me-"

"The Nephilim think they have power. Well, the current governing body does," the vampire continued, ignoring him. "If they're going to have the majority of the control, we should be treated better."

"These are good ideas, but-..." Xavier seemed to lift a hand to his forehead, his words not as confident or strong. Watered down, almost, and confused. "Look, let's continue this another time. I've-...I've got to get back."

"Few more minutes. C'mon."

Once, Venta had bought an aerosol paralyzer, a glass case, and some rats. It had been an expensive experiment, but a necessary one nevertheless if he was to fully understand its properties and how it could be used. The rats hadn't even noticed their declining states, taking to laying down in the corners to wheeze and pant. If one was given too much, he found, it would seize up entirely and cut off circulation. Foam at the mouth and suffocate on spit. There wasn't much to do except go in circles, scratch at the glass case, and breathe deeply. One of the rats had just frozen in the middle, black eyes emotionless, whiskers quivering, claws failing to find any grooves in the ground as the swing of Sonny Rollin's St. Thomas carried in the background, stifling noise and poisoned air, and Venta had watched it choke.

Dark skies and dark streets. That was the biome of the Towns. It was nothing like the Faerie, where the nighttime held stars that weren't asphyxiated on smog, and violence was easy and territorial, governed by simplicity. That had been the one realm where he hadn't needed to answer to Shadowhunters, but alas, the Faerie didn't want his unworthy blood and had kicked him back to the mundane lands. And who was he now? A rogue for hire and a cloak maker - far from the prestige many other warlocks hoped for. Even if his reputation was one to marvel at, his magic was well-honed and no one would have noticed him clawing in that little glass box anyway. Sometimes he felt a little bit like that rat.

He glanced down quickly enough to see the vampire catch the Shadowhunter's crumpling form, head slumped and hair mussed. That was enough to bring him back to the present and he hopped down from the roof and onto the alley ground, the only sound the slight swishing of his cloak. "Don't let him drag. He doesn't need suspicious marks on him," he said, reaching into his pocket for a packet of silver powder. "He's breathing?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Taking out a cloth, Venta tipped part of the contents of the packet into it before walking over to Xavier, closing it over his face, careful to not suffocate him. He didn't seem coherent enough to protest. The cloth grew warm from his breaths where they grew more ragged against the obstruction, some of the powder slipping from it and onto the floor. It seemed like such a dirty and dishonorable death. Powerless, perhaps. That was one thing Venta assumed they shared.

He withdrew the cloth, folding it up and pocketing it before taking his chin and forcing his mouth open. Pouring the rest of the packet in his mouth, he tucked the plastic wrap into Xavier's shirt pocket. The vampire shifted, trying to keep the Shadowhunter upright and supported.

"Set him down carefully by the wall," Venta ordered, flicking a hand and moving back. "Make sure he swallows that."

It was a common mistake for less experienced mercenaries and rogues. They didn't let the scapegoat cause of death get into the victim's system and it was obvious that it was staged. Of course, his own methods weren't perfect, but the Clave hadn't persecuted him yet, neither had anyone tracked him down and gone after him with accusations. Sometimes others, even after a clean kill, gave themselves up because of their guilt. Such a thought was ridiculous. No amount of repentance could bring someone back nor would it ever offer enough solace to the family to reverse their grief. Xavier seemed like the person that would be grieved by his family, if he had one.

His hand fumbled around in a small satchel for a vial and a clean syringe.

The vampire cocked an eyebrow. "Won't that leave a trace?"

"No. It's a potassium chloride variant. Cardiac arrest symptoms, which faerie drugs are...not so unfamiliar in causing. Elevated potassium is normal at death, anyway."

"Morbid."

"You're basically dead anyway," Venta remarked, pulling the thin plastic cap off the syringe. He stuck the needle through the cap of the glass vial, withdrawing enough to be sure of the intended results. Usually, he didn't have to be that careful. A silenced crossbow and good aim was usually enough. All he had to worry about was getting away without being seen. He passed the syringe to the vampire, gesturing loosely at Xavier. "Back of the neck. A few centimeters above the hairline. It'll disguise the injection point."

Taking it, the vampire made a face before working on what Venta had ordered him to do. "It would be a lot easier to just kill him outright."

"Overdose seems more believable. People here do it all the time. To be doing something like this with the Clave on his back all the time, I imagine one needs to destress." That was only his guess. He'd been slightly opposed to the usage of such drugs, but they were more than popular in the Towns to the point where their use had lost some of their taboo. A few times he'd seen even Shadowhunters coming to buy, although Downworlders remained the primary customers. If the economic instability was less stratified, he presumed things would be less squalid in some settings. Some areas progressively cleaned up and gentrified, often at the expense of their less economically privileged neighbors. How could people enjoy life if not for the powders and pills of the far lands? It was only luck that his...products and services had such a profit and demand.

"Xavier?" A voice rang clear in the night, wandering the street. "Where're you at?"

"Keep back." Worried words hissed from Venta, waving for the vampire to move to the side and hide, hand clutched around the empty poison vial. There was nothing to obscure them from view except the oppressive darkness of the alleyway, but this was their specialty.

"Xavier?" A figure appeared in the mouth of the alleyway, the shape of what seemed to be the well-dressed werewolf standing impatiently, prying the nighttime.

Venta kept pressed against the cold wall, muttering a spell as he melted into the shadows, quick breaths creating white puffs. His heartbeat could give them away and he was only glad that the strained palpitations of the paralysis aerosol and the faerie drugs had since been silenced. The werewolf's gaze swept left, right, and skipped over, taking it in and not seeing anything. A nearby rat scampered out of a large crack in the wall and into a far gutter. One, two, three moments passed and the figure retreated, expressing a few loud sentiments of confusion and excuses to others. If he had been seen, death would probably have been more preferable to facing Clave persecution. Though some of his orders came from them, he didn't doubt they would pretend his claims were lies.

Once it was safe to breathe – and this brought him some measure of grim amusement, seeing as he seemed to be the only one there in need of air – he stopped his obsessive casting. His frame had a tiredness in it, starting to feel the cold through his clothes and the ache in his head. He shouldn't have, but his gaze wandered to the Shadowhunter, slumped and quiet, only disturbed from his thoughts when the vampire cleared his throat.

"Pay?"

Venta nodded and fished it out. "Here."

"You should get out of this deal with the Shadowhunters, man," the vampire sighed, catching the money that Venta tossed over. "It isn't good for you and someday you'll lose more than an eye."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Venta sighed, grimacing at the powder stained the tips of his gloves. The vampire said something else, but he didn't listen, making sure he had all of his supplies and that nothing would be unintentionally left behind. "I'll leave first. Follow five minutes after. It'll draw less attention."

"I'll be seeing you at your funeral next, yeah?"

"You don't like me enough for that." A quiet, bitter laugh was elicited from him and Venta departed, ready to retire for the night after a job well done.