A car sat under the flickering streetlight, its presence looming in the silence of the night. A woman stood by it, her hand gripping the door handle, eyes flashing.
"We're finally free!" she smiled, spreading her arms wide, "It's just you and me, isn't this amazing? Ahhh, I'm so glad it's over!"
A man stood behind her, motionless. His eyes were dark, his posture rigid, and he didn't answer right away. But when he did, his voice was low "No, it isn't."
She snapped, turning quickly, "Now's not the time, ■■" she barked, stepping aside.
But he didn't move. His eyes flickered to hers, then away, like he couldn't bear to look at her. "This isn't over..." he growled, his jaw clenched.
She froze, confusion and anger crashing through her. "What?" she demanded....
His breath was ragged as he spoke, his voice rising with the fury building inside him. "Even though the kid's dead, I still see it, can't you? I'm nothing now, everything good inside me is gone.. Why... Was it worth it?" His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with the force of his anger.
The woman took a step back, rolling her eyes. "He lived a good life, and he gave it to you," she said, the words dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, really? Is that right?" he spat. "You know that's not true. Can you look at him? Look! Covered in blood and flowers! Now look at me! Look at me!" He was shouting now, "She still won! After everything he went through, everything we fought for, his death is written down for the world to see! They all think he killed himself, ■■! But, I know it was you..."
She took a step back, her face pale as she tried to hold her ground. "I saved him," she said, "I held him until the last moment.."
He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty street. "You choked him out of his own goddamn mind!" he roared. "You promised him the world! Why would you say that? Why would you lie!?."
The woman's hand shot out, shaking, "What do you want from me?!" she screamed, her chest heaving with frustration.
He stepped closer, his presence looming over her. "Oh my god! For once, ■■, for once, turn your gaze towards others! Can't you see?" he shouted, his eyes burning with fury.
"I won't help you find her-" she snapped back, her voice louder, her body trembling.
"Fine," he snarled, stepping back. "I'll do it by myself."
"You don't need to-" she said, trying to hold her ground.
"Oh, I know that I do!" he yelled, stepping forward again, his fists clenched tightly.
"She's been gone for years, it's her fault. We can just forget about it!" she yelled, voice cracking slightly.
His face twisted with rage. "No!" he bellowed. "Look at us, damn it! We know we are both afraid to face her! We're the same.. terrified! We name her in our ruin..!" His voice dropped, "But you let me kill him. You're worse than ■■!"
Her face remained cold, though her hands were shaking. "I told you to end it. It was for the best," she said, her words sharp.
He shook his head violently, his face contorting with rage. "So I have you to blame" His voice broke on the last word, the agony seeping through every syllable.
"That's not what-!" she shouted, taking a step back, but he followed her, not stopping.
His voice shook with intensity. "I don't care if you don't come, but I'm going." he screamed, taking another step forward. "To avenge the soul I killed!"
"You're filling your heart with anger... guilt... hate, and for what?!" she screamed back, her own fury rising.
As she spoke, he shook his head violently, his face twisted with frustration. "No, no, no, no NO! You want me to stop and just forget about it? What are you, ■■?" His voice was breaking now, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. "Don't even try" He shouted the last word, his voice breaking.
He took another step back, his fists clenched, his chest heaving. "It's high time I made my own decision!" he screamed. "A pity the city ruined us. We could've fooled the whole damn world, just the two of us! But you and ■■ ruined it, all of it!"
"You're lost..." she whispered.
The man started to laugh, holding his stomach "Is this what love really is.... I thought we could really do it." he roared, "Is this what I get for being with you? A kid, dead in front of me, drenched in blood and gore?! All these years wasted... for you, ■■. But, I won't forgive you, neither will I with ■■. You'll see. They'll all know ■■'s fate--!"
-------------------------
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The soft rustle of leaves outside the window stirred Freya from her dream. Her eyes blinked open, adjusted to the light of early morning. The bed beneath her creaked as she sat up slowly....
She turned her head to see Sid still asleep on the couch across the room, arm slung over his eyes, his chest rose and fell. She stayed still for a moment....
It had only been two days since Nyx handed them that dull brown folder, edges bent, the paper inside already marked by faint coffee stains. Freya slid it out from beneath her coat, tucked under the foot of the bed. The folder gave a soft click as it opened. Inside were printed photos and a thin, and tight handwriting.
"Detective Marcus Hale," she murmured.
The very first lead to their little favor for Nyx.
The picture showed a man in his early forties. Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. Wrinkles by the eyes, his uniform looked neat... British police. According to the document, he was supposed to stop by the Wren & Willow Café at exactly 9:30 a.m every Tuesday. That was today.
Freya glanced at the time. 8:42 a.m.
She stood and stretched, the old boards creaked under her steps as she made her way to Sid. She crouched by him and tapped his shoulder gently.
"Hey. Rise and shine."
Sid groaned and mumbled something before sliding his arm off his face.
"It's not even ten," he said, voice hoarse with sleep.
"I let you sleep in. You're welcome." She stood, crossing her arms. "We've got somewhere to be."
He sat up slowly, ruffling his hair. "Another visit from our dear friend Nyx?"
Freya tossed the folder onto his lap. "Detective Hale. Café. We're not talking to him, just listening."
Sid flipped through the pages, eyes sharpening with each line. "British cops always feel like they're hiding something. I mean, look at that face. It screams 'I burned the evidence.'"
"Let's see if he screams anything at all today."
--------------------------------------------------------------
The wind was biting as they stepped outside. The street was still waking up, shops blinking open, lights flickering on behind dusty windows. They walked in silence, Sid had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, scarf trailing slightly behind him.
Freya kept checking her phone. 9:12. They had to be close.
As they turned a corner onto Elmhurst Lane, Freya's eyes locked on a man up ahead, crossing the street.
"There," she whispered, grabbing Sid's sleeve.
Marcus Hale walked with the practiced stride of someone always in a hurry, even when he wasn't. He didn't seem notice them.
The Wren & Willow Café was a tiny place, tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. Its green sign creaked faintly in the wind, letters faded. Freya and Sid slipped in just after the detective.
The warm smell of cinnamon and roasted beans filled the air. A few couples whispered over their bright and colorful mugs. A barista hummed as she worked the machine, steam curling around her fingers.
Hale took a seat near the window. A man in a brown coat joined him moments later.
Freya and Sid took the table behind them, angled just around the right. Sid grabbed a menu, pretending to browse.
Freya leaned forward just slightly, tilting her ear in their direction.
The man in the coat was already mid-sentence.
"…and I told him! I said the reports didn't match up at all. Three witnesses, and none of them saw the same thing."
Hale snorted. "That's because they don't know what they saw. You put three drunks in a room and ask them about a streetlamp, they'll argue over whether it was even on."
The man chuckled. "Still.... Makes the paperwork harder."
Silence, the scrape of a cup, a long sip...
Freya shifted. Her legs were already growing stiff under the table.
Sid whispered, "Not exactly groundbreaking."
She hushed him with a glance.
Hale spoke again, quieter this time.
"You hear about that mess down near East Warehouse?"
His friend raised an eyebrow. "The one with the break-in?"
"No. Not that one. The murder. Woman named Amy something. Found two nights ago. Throat slit clean through."
Freya's eyes narrowed. Sid slowly lowered the menu.
The man in the coat frowned. "Didn't hear a word about that."
"You weren't supposed to," Hale muttered. "It's off the books for now. No forced entry. No signs of struggle. Just blood. Everywhere."
The friend looked disturbed. "Jesus. Anyone know who she was?"
No answer from Hale, making Freya take a quick glance to check the issue.
Hale reached for his phone, pulled it out to check something. Then he froze, his fingers tensed.
A very long pause.
His expression shifted, eyebrows drawn, jaw tight. He looked quite nervous.
Then, in a heartbeat, he stood up.
"I am really sorry, mate. I have to go."
The chair scraped back sharply as Hale ran out in a hurry, looking terrified. He was gone before his friend could answer.
Freya shot up, tossing a few bills on the table. "Come on."
They slipped out the door, scanning the street. Hale was already halfway down the block, moving fast.
They followed him in silence, ducking behind cars and alleys, eyes on his dark coat. He kept looking over his shoulder nervously.
Then, suddenly, he turned a corner and vanished.
They sprinted, Freya's lungs burned. Sid cursed under his breath. Having to run around in the streets of London first thing in the morning wasn't something one would wish for...
They reached the next street. Nothing.
"No way he got that far," Sid said, turning in place.
They searched, up and down the blocks, through side alleys, behind parked trucks. People walked by and time dragged like a heavy snow.
Freya's feet ached. Her breath came in sharp bursts.
But then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted some movement. Down an alley between two trash bins, something slumped.
She stepped toward it slowly, heart thudding.
A man, face hidden beneath a hood. Looked like just your average drunk collapsed after a long night.
But something was off. He didn't look quite right.
She crouched down slowly, the man was slumped against the wall, one leg bent awkwardly under him like it had given out mid-step. His head drooped to one side beneath the hood of a plain jacket.
Freya reached out, hesitant.
The second her fingers touched his chin, she knew.
His skin was warm. She pushed the hood back, behind her, Sid gave out a sharp gasp.
It was Marcus Hale.
His uniform was gone, replaced by a torn undershirt, the sleeves soaked in something dark. Blood had pooled beneath him, thick and nearly black in the shadows. A single stab wound marred his stomach.
Freya's breath caught.
Sid took a shaky step back. "Freya…"
Freya swallowed hard and forced her gaze away. Whoever had killed Marcus Hale… they did not want him to speak.
And they might still be very near....