The last sliver of sun disappeared behind the dome of the Imperial Auction House, and blue streetlights flicked on, their clockwork duty unbothered by the tension in the air. The woman across from me, a young blonde with cotton-candy blue lipstick and the eyes of a wolf, slipped something from her purse: a glint in the newfound light. My shoulders clenched, sweat pricking at the back of my neck.

It was only a compact.

I was sitting in the center of the safest city on Earth, a mere stone's throw from house of the ‘esteemed’ Emperor himself, scared senseless at the sight of a powder puff.

Vaughn set aside his pen, then read over his words. Not too shabby, but there was something missing. Did he need to say outright that this was the night of the License Auction? Perhaps not--any reader worth writing for could surmise that much. Maybe a bit more flourish for the wolf-eyed dame across the way?

The woman, unaware that she was being written about, tossed her compact back into her purse.

A plump man in a yellow raincoat huffed through the courtyard, plopping himself on the bench beside Vaughn. When his breath had caught up with him, he glanced around at the few hundred or so people waiting beneath the streetlights and smiled.

"So," he said, nudging Vaughn with an elbow. "What're you here for?"

This guy had to be joking. That or it was his first time. The License Auction may well be the largest gathering of the criminal underworld outside a gene-mod fighting ring. A seasoned bidder knew to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm looking to get a 'sale of illegal foodstuffs' license," the plump man continued, unaware. "I gotta nice bakery, and I wanna sell egg custard."

The wolf-eyed woman snorted, and Vaughn jotted down a note about a bakery.

"Egg custard?" he said. "You can bid on a license for any crime in the world and you want to sell egg custard?"

The plump man put his hands on his hips. "Well if they'd just make eggs legal again I wouldn't hafta."

Now a few of the shady guys crowded nearby began chuckling too, their breath curling like smoke in the cool, blue light.

"Well what about you then, eh?" the plump man asked. "You're not all here for the murder license, are ya?"

The question hung like a crook from a noose. The doors of the auction house opened, and people began filing in.

"Nope," the wolf-eyed woman said, standing up. "I'm after a license to own any exotic pet I want." She glanced at Vaughn. "And you, notebook guy?"

For the first time this evening, the tension fell from Vaughn's shoulders, and he laughed.

"I'm bidding on a libel license."

The plump man stood and offered a handshake to each of them. "Guess we're all innocents then, eh?"

Vaughn wrote the phrase "all innocents" in his notebook, then closed it. "Guess we are."