Elias felt a cold dread settle in his chest. "I want to go home. Where is this? Is this Chicago?"
"I was just doing my job," Elias stammered, his eyes darting to the window. Outside, there was no city skyline—only a swirling, orange-tinted fog that never moved.
"At Brimstone Inc., 'just doing your job' is our corporate motto," Gregory smiled, showing too many teeth. "But we don't hire just anyone. Our clients are... demanding. They don't want settlements. They want souls. They want the kind of misery that ripples through generations."
Elias looked at the pen—a silver quill that looked like a bird's talon. He looked at the screaming darkness of the hallway. He picked up the pen.