She gave Abris a bewildered look before following the outlined path with her eyes. Singear seemed uncomfortable with Abris’s question, but the other...woman seemed like she could be trusted with an answer or two. ‘You ever hear of a place called Graymoor?’ It was almost a rhetorical question. Everybody knew about Graymoor. It was known for being an absolute shithole, dominated by a few obscenely rich and corrupt merchants. While all of those merchants were human, they had effectively enslaved. They looked on John with a sort of pitiable awe. A grown man had just eaten a dog biscuit without shame, and still, he persisted: ‘Job,’ he repeated. ‘Food.’ The factory doors burst open. It was a white-shirted bald man, late forties, and bespectacled, he carried himself like someone in authority. He cried some things out Niyanese, to which the workers sputtered out something in response. They started gesturing towards John. ‘What do you want? Don’t you know this is a restricted area?’ said the. More

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