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As Riker moved deeper into the maze of passageways, he began to see the harsh reality of life in the Undercity. Makeshift homes made from discarded materials lined the walls, and small groups of magical beings huddled together, their faces gaunt and hollow. It wasn’t just poverty—it was neglect, discrimination, and fear that had driven these people underground.
He spotted a group of fae huddled around a fire, their wings tattered and dull from years of disuse. A vampire with sunken eyes and ragged clothes leaned against a wall, watching him with suspicion. Everywhere he looked, there was suffering.
Riker’s stomach churned. This was the reality of magical beings who didn’t fit into the neat categories that humans—or even other magical beings—had created. The divide was stark, and the more he saw, the more he realized how much he didn’t understand about the world he was living in.
He was about to turn down another tunnel when he heard it—a soft, high-pitched cry. He stopped, listening closely. It was coming from just around the corner.
Riker approached cautiously, his instincts kicking in. As he rounded the corner, he saw it—a small group of kids surrounding a young boy. The boy had pointed ears and delicate wings that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Half-faerie. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, but the terror on his face was all too real.
“Freak!” one of the kids spat, shoving the boy to the ground. “You don’t belong here!”
The boy whimpered, his wings fluttering weakly as he tried to get up. Another kid kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling.
Riker felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. Before he even realized what he was doing, he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “Hey! Leave him alone.”
The kids froze, their eyes wide as they turned to face him. Riker’s size alone was enough to intimidate most people, but his tone carried a weight that left no room for argument.
“We were just—” one of the kids started, but Riker cut him off.
“Get out of here,” he said, his voice cold.
The kids didn’t wait to be told twice. They scattered, disappearing into the tunnels like rats. Riker knelt down beside the boy, who was trembling, his eyes wide with fear.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Riker said, trying to soften his tone. “They’re gone now.”
The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears. “They hate me because I’m different.”
Riker’s chest tightened. He didn’t know what to say. He had spent so much of his life distrusting magic, distrusting anyone who wasn’t either fully human or some kind of shifter, and now here he was, faced with a child who had been rejected for the very things Riker had always feared.
“You’re not alone,” Riker said after a moment. “There are people out there who understand.”
The boy sniffled, wiping his eyes. “Are you like me?”
Riker hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
For the first time, the boy smiled, just a little. It was a small thing, but it hit Riker harder than he expected. This kid, like so many others down here, had been abandoned, left to fend for himself because the world above couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept him.
Riker stood, offering the boy his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
Riker returned to the surface hours later, his mind heavy with the things he’d seen. The cruelty, the neglect, the pain—it had opened his eyes in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His entire worldview was shifting, and it was unsettling.
He’d found the boy a safe place to stay. A fae elder who’d been stripped of his magic had founded a small place where he took in those children who had no one to fend for them. Riker left him with all the cash he had on him and his burner cell phone. He promised the elder he would send money and supplies, and if they needed him, they were to use the phone to call him.
As he walked through the precinct, lost in thought, Captain Evelyn Moreau stepped into his path. He had to stop short, or he would have run over her. She looked at him, her sharp eyes assessing.
“Riker,” she said, her tone serious. “We need to talk.”
Meeting her gaze, he said, “What’s this about?”
Moreau crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been watching you. I’ve noticed things, especially over the last few days.”
Riker frowned. “What things?”
She sighed, glancing around before lowering her voice. “Your objectivity, for one. This case is getting personal for you, and that’s dangerous.”
Riker stiffened. “I’m doing my job.”
“I’m not questioning your dedication,” Moreau said. “But I know when a case hits too close to home. This isn’t just about a murdered politician anymore, is it?”
