Johansson and I met in his office, in the central building of the Hall of Order, on the same floor where I had once spoken with Mei… Mei-What's-Her-Name. The swordswoman — deputy head of the Hall and master of Liang Shi.

Unlike hers, Johansson's office was much smaller and far less ostentatious. Just a single desk with two chairs, one for him, one for a guest, a cabinet, and a tea table surrounded by four low seats.

No grand display of swords, no window with a view. In fact, there were no windows at all. In one corner, without any kind of stand, his old mace was gathering dust. His new hammer was nowhere in sight.

He greeted me at the tea table. The tea was already steeped, though not yet poured into cups. The smell was unfamiliar to me, dominated by notes of vanilla and nuts, though there were many other things mixed in. The effects of the last round of Pure Thoughts were still clinging to me, so I thought it best to check.

"What's this?" I asked, and explained so as not to sound rude. "This'll be my fourth cup today, not counting the standard sludge from the canteen. I had Marigolds in the morning, then two cups of Pure Thoughts."

"Why two?" Johansson asked.

"One at Rene's, and one at Novak's, when he informed me I'd been leased out."

"Then best you don't drink this," Johansson said, reaching into the cabinet.

He pulled out a thermos and poured out half the pot. Screwed it shut and put it back in.

"Sit down, I'll brew you something else."

I sat while he fetched another cup, this one with a lid, filled it with different leaves, and switched on the electric kettle to heat the water. While he moved about, I noticed something I must've missed earlier.

Johansson's jumpsuit had changed colour from grey to black.

"Am I meant to congratulate you?" I asked.

"On what?" he replied, confused.

I nodded at his jumpsuit and said, "Black. It's official now?"

"That's not quite how it works," he said. "It's been official for eight years. Don't trouble yourself over it."

Johansson set the lidded cup in front of me, a fine thread of steam escaping from beneath the lid. For himself, he poured the remaining tea from the pot — the same one he'd used for the thermos.

"So, how's your mood?"

"Don't drag it out," I asked him. "I'm already tired today. What do you need me for?"

"Trouble. You're good at causing it. We need a few people injured."

You're taking the piss! I do not believe it.

Less than an hour ago, I'd turned down this exact job! Well, maybe not this exact one, but one just like it.

Johansson didn't catch my reaction.

"You were literally doing the same thing," he said. "Only you go after demons, and I'm after drug dealers. It's technically a step down in terms of danger."

You've no idea.

And I couldn't say a word!

All I could do was stare at Johansson. My mind was a total mess — not even Pure Thoughts could sort it out.

"Right!" I said, slicing the air with my hand. "Explain to me why the Order needs this. Why can't you just order a cadet to give a blood sample and test it?"

"We can, but then the dealers would know we're onto them. You've seen what happens when we go in officially. It's a different story if it's an unfortunate accident."

I'd heard this logic somewhere before. Didn't like it then, don't like it now. It's like they all get the same brainwashing in here. Hence the copy-paste thinking.

"And if I just start punching people at random, they won't suspect a thing!" I said. I kept my tone borderline polite, but the sarcasm was pouring out.

"Well, it's you…" Johansson shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've got a bit of a reputation already. How many times has that bully had to grow his teeth back? Three, four?"

"That's not exactly—"

Johansson wagged a finger to cut me off.

"You drove another one to attempted suicide — the one you then saved, ironically enough. And poor Harn? She clearly wasn't trying to kill you. And just recently, Lao. The kid didn't even do anything to you — just happened to be training in the same gym. I don't know what actually happened, or whether he's involved with demons, but I'm talking about what people say.

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"You're walking trouble, Jake. So if a few more incidents happen around you, no one's going to bat an eye."

Fuck!

I've been swearing a lot lately.

And how could I not?

Johansson had no idea that the drug dealers, or at least their top brass, are demons. He genuinely thought he was doing me a favour by offering a less dangerous job.

These guys seriously need to communicate more. I mean the Hall of Diplomacy and the Hall of Order. Otherwise, they're going to end up like that joke — the one where it turns out every single member of the gang was actually an undercover agent from a different law enforcement agency. They spent ten years robbing people and running organised crime just to gather enough evidence on each other for life sentences.

"So I'm supposed to break a few faces?" I asked, buying myself a few extra minutes to think. "How many, exactly?"

"Two or three. Maybe just one. Depends how soon we get the right one."

This was surreal.

"And how exactly do you decide whose face needs punching?"

I doubted they knew about the stashes hidden in the gathering formations. And if they did, they certainly wouldn't be telling me.

Johansson shrugged, took a sip, and explained.

"Same way Rene decided Lao was an addict. Just standard analysis. We look for those who've had a sudden, sharp improvement in one area or another. As you can see, it's not a very reliable method. Instead of an addict, we might end up with another 'Lao'. Not that we'd mind a catch like that, but we haven't figured out how to tell the difference yet, and your master isn't exactly rushing to share his method."

So Johansson did think Lao was a demon. And clearly didn't think he was just a drug user. Looks like Novak did a good job hiding any lab results. Not that it helped me right now...

Then again...

Novak did say Johansson would like his 'gift.'

"What if..." I trailed off.

Back when I was doing this kind of job for Liang Shi, he'd share merit points with me.

Not with me actually, I never got a single one. It all went to Kim.

"What are you thinking?" Johansson asked. "Speak up. I'm open to ideas."

Greed would be the end of me. I did owe Johansson — for all the times he'd covered for me.

"Can I choose whose face I break?" I asked.

"Of course," Johansson smiled, not getting it at all. "I'll give you a list."

"No," I told him. "I will give you the list."

He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised in surprise, while I went on, irritation rising in my voice.

"Novak will give it to me. It's great that you two respect each other so much, but you could really do with a bit more communication. Just ask him for the damned list."

Johansson stared at me for a long moment before replying.

"If he wanted to share, he already would have. I'm not about to start bartering for scraps. And I'm perfectly capable of finding a few junkies on my own."

I nearly howled.

Their little games were driving me absolutely mental. I could feel I was one step away from saying something I'd regret.

Yes, Johansson could find addicts on his own. Hell, even I found one — just by leaning on Kim a bit. But the problem wasn't finding a drug user. The problem was finding the wrong one. He could stir up the wrong nest and wreck Novak's whole operation.

And at the same time, Novak wasn't exactly bending over backwards to consider Johansson's plans, or those of whoever was backing him. He could easily mess up a lot of things too.

But no! They respected each other!

May you be respected like that for the rest of your lives, you bloody high-staged bastards!

How was I supposed to wade through this shitshow without exposing Novak's real plans?

"You need addicts?" I asked Johansson directly. "You'll get your addicts."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Exactly what I said. Word for word. The guy, or girl, I beat up tomorrow or the day after will be an addict."

"And why the attitude?" Johansson was getting even more suspicious.

"Because it'd be better if you and Novak just talked to each other instead of dumping secrets on me and leaving me to juggle everything!" I finally snapped. "You trust each other so much — good for you!"

Even Pure Thoughts didn't help.

Though, if I'm honest, it wasn't hitting as hard anymore. Could be that it was my second cup of the day. Or maybe I just needed some Evening Sun right now, something to unwind...

I lifted the lid from the cup Johansson had set in front of me and took a big gulp.

Boiling water scorched my tongue. I choked, and most of it came spluttering back out, spraying across the table.

My hand jerked, and the rest of the tea poured onto it, scalding my skin.

"For fuck's sake!" I barked.

Johansson had been watching the whole time. His suspicious squint transformed into wide-eyed shock.

Then something in him clicked. It all slotted into place. His eyes returned to normal.

"This benefits Novak," he said slowly, then repeated, more carefully, looking away. "For some reason, this works out well for him... Are demons connected to the dealers?"

I shot him a look that could cut steel.

"What happened to mutual respect and the rule about not asking too many questions?"

"Get up," Johansson said. "We're going to talk to your master."

"He's not my master," I snapped automatically.

Novak wasn't thrilled that Johansson had seen through me so easily. He ended up having to lay out, if not the entire plan, then a sizable chunk of it. And once it was all on the table, Johansson wasn't feeling particularly grateful. For him, it was firmly filed under massive favour, one Novak would have to repay, sooner or later.

Sure, Johansson would've been happy if Vaclav had simply handed over the names of some addicts, but now that he realised Novak had something to gain from this, he started digging deeper.

In the end, Novak had to admit that all these addicts were buying from the same dealer. He was trying to frame that dealer as the leak, the rotten branch that needed cutting off.

Despite identifying nearly the whole dealer network over the last few days, Novak's people hadn't managed to track down a single person even one link higher in the organisation.

Well, whoever gets sent to clean up the rot definitely won't be some ordinary cadet. In fact, Novak was convinced it would be a demon.

That was the target. Novak wanted that demon.

When Johansson left, Novak kept me back.

"Now do you understand why I didn't tell you the details?" he asked.

I was too tired and too angry to hold back. Only self-preservation kept me from snapping back with a string of curses.

"So I wouldn't blurt something out. But now, now that I know everything, assuming there aren't two or three more layers of secrets under this mess, what if I had gone around randomly punching people? People buying from different dealers?"

"And what if it hadn't been Johansson?" Novak replied. "How long would you have held out if someone had shoved your hand into acid?"

Hand in acid?

That was a disturbingly specific example. Was that how he interrogated the demon?

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