Chapter 37

     The city had a way of closing in on you, swallowing you whole until the only thing left was the sound of your own footsteps echoing back at you from a thousand directions. I was running—maybe to, maybe from—through the crowded streets, my mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts and unanswered questions. The rain had stopped, but the heat lingered, turning the air thick and sticky, like a fog that wouldn’t lift.

     I kept moving, dodging the faceless masses, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Achilles was still in my head, his words echoing through the chaos. *You’re the key.* I didn’t know what he meant, didn’t know why I mattered to him, but I knew one thing for sure—I had to keep moving.

     But then I saw them.

     Tony and Madeleine.

     They passed by me in the crowd, their faces blank, their eyes staring straight ahead like I wasn’t even there. Tony’s broad shoulders hunched against the press of people, Madeleine’s dark hair catching the light as she turned her head—but neither of them saw me. It was like I didn’t exist. Like I was a ghost, watching them move through the city without a second thought.

     I stopped dead in my tracks, the crowd surging around me, swallowing me whole. I called out, my voice lost in the noise, but they didn’t turn. They didn’t hear me. Or maybe they didn’t care. Either way, they kept walking, disappearing into the blur of the city, leaving me standing there, alone.

     I wanted to chase after them, to grab Tony by the arm, to call Madeleine’s name. But something held me back. Maybe it was the look on their faces—blank, indifferent, like they were moving through the world on autopilot. Or maybe it was something deeper, something that told me they were part of this too. Part of whatever Achilles was planning.

     I stood there for what felt like hours, the crowd pushing and pulling around me, until something caught my eye.

     A piece of paper, crumpled and discarded on the sidewalk.

     I bent down, picking it up, smoothing out the wrinkles with my hands. It was a flier, cheap and faded from the rain, but the words were still clear enough to read:

 

GASPARD LIMBO

Mysteries Discovered—Fates Unraveled

Fortunes Told—Answers Found for the Troubled and Lost

 

    I stared at the words, my mind reeling. Gaspard Limbo. It had to be a coincidence. A joke. Some street charlatan preying on the desperate, promising answers for a price. But the name—it stuck with me. Limbo. The same name I’d heard whispered in the back of my mind, the same name that had haunted the edges of the story ever since I’d set foot back in the city.

     Could it really be him? Could Mr. Limbo, the one I’d sensed watching me, pulling strings from the shadows, actually be a fraud? Or was it something else? Something bigger?

 

    Pull my foggy tent unto a noble hereafter.

     The words flickered in my mind, half-formed, like smoke curling in the air. Limbo, pulling his tent closer, inviting me in. A fortune-teller, a mountebank, a fraud. But then again, weren’t we all just playing a part? Weren’t we all just pretending, waiting for someone to pull back the curtain and reveal the truth?

     I folded the flier, tucking it into my pocket. I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. The city had a way of twisting things, of making the impossible seem real and the real seem impossible. And Limbo? He was part of it, whether I liked it or not.

     I started walking again, my steps slower now, more deliberate. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I had to keep moving. Achilles had his plans, his schemes, but now Limbo—Gaspard Limbo—was part of the equation. And I wasn’t sure which one was worse.

     Could a fraud be a god? The question gnawed at me, turning over and over in my mind like a puzzle I couldn’t quite solve. Maybe Limbo was just another hustler, another con artist looking to make a quick buck off the desperate and the lost. But then again, maybe he was something more. Maybe he was the key. The real key. The one Achilles hadn’t accounted for.

     I stopped in front of a small alley, the darkness swallowing the light from the street. The flier burned in my pocket, a reminder of the choices I still had to make. I could find Limbo, see what he knew, if he knew anything at all. Or I could keep running, keep chasing the shadows that danced just out of reach.

     But I was tired of running. Tired of chasing ghosts.

     I pulled the flier from my pocket, unfolding it once more. The ink was smudged, the paper wet, but the words were still there, clear and bold.

 

GASPARD LIMBO.

 

Mysteries discovered. Fates unraveled.

 

    I wasn’t sure what I’d find, but I knew one thing for sure—I had to find him. Fraud or god, it didn’t matter. I needed answers. And if Limbo had them, I was going to get them.

     I turned down the alley, the shadows closing in around me, and walked into the unknown.