******Harper
The night felt wrong.
Not in the way most nights in this city felt wrong—with the muffled hum of street lamps, the occasional rush of a passing car, and the distant sounds of drunken laughter from alleys you didn't want to walk past—but in the way the air itself seemed to be holding its breath.
I leaned against the edge of a broken brick wall, the shadows swallowing most of my figure, Luna crouched beside me like a restless cat. We'd been waiting for Chris and Hay to report back, but the silence made the minutes feel like hours. The mayor's empty house was still fresh in my mind—like the image was burned into my brain and refusing to let go.
I had been so sure. So ready.
And then… nothing.
When Hay's figure finally emerged from the dark, she moved like a shadow made flesh, her long strides purposeful. Chris wasn't far behind, and the moment I caught the grim twist of his mouth, I knew they'd found something.
Hay didn't waste time. "We found him."
My pulse spiked. "Where?"
Chris stepped forward, his voice low. "He's walking alone. Same grounds where Maisie was killed."
The name slammed into me like a punch. Maisie. My chest tightened, a heat blooming behind my ribs—hot, raw, and dangerous. I didn't even realize my hands had curled into fists until my nails bit into my palms.
"That bastard," I breathed, my voice a low growl. "He's walking there? Like he's… what? Reminiscing?"
"Could be waiting for someone," Hay suggested, her tone neutral, but I could see the flicker in her eyes. She knew exactly what that place meant to me.
I shook my head, my blood simmering. "I still have a score to settle with the masked lady," I said, my voice steady but sharp enough to cut steel. "Once I'm done with the father, I'll take care of the daughter too."
Luna glanced at me from the corner of her eye but didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She'd been with me long enough to recognize when my rage wasn't just a passing storm—it was a hurricane aimed directly at its target.
"Let's go," I ordered.
We moved as one, slipping through the back streets until the city lights gave way to the eerie openness of the grounds. Even from a distance, I could make out his silhouette—a man standing still against the moonlit grass, his hands clasped behind his back as though he had all the time in the world.
He wasn't alone in spirit. The shadows of that place were thick, heavy with memories that weren't mine alone.
Chris and Hay melted into the darkness, keeping low and out of sight. Luna followed them, her form blending into the background until I was the only one approaching.
The mayor didn't notice me at first—or maybe he did and just didn't care. Either way, I didn't announce myself. I walked straight toward him, my boots crunching faintly against the dry grass, until I was close enough that my shadow fell across him.
"Looking for something?" I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness. "Or someone?"
He turned, and for the first time, I saw something flicker across his expression—a brief spark of surprise before it smoothed into something far more controlled.
"Harper," he said, as though my presence was an inconvenience. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the office?"
I arched an eyebrow. "Should I?"
"You're the one who asked for the promotion," he reminded me, his tone carrying that condescending edge I'd come to despise. "Yet here you are, not doing your job."
I almost laughed. "I didn't want to be your head of security," I said flatly.
He studied me for a moment, then shrugged as though it didn't matter. "Fine. You can be a detective instead. Help the cops with investigations, if that's what you want."
"That's not what I want," I said, taking another step forward, my hand unconsciously drifting toward the hilt of my blade. "What I want is to settle a score with you."
His brow furrowed. "A score?"
"You remember my father?" I asked, my voice quiet but laced with venom.
He didn't answer right away. So I gave him the name. The name that had been rotting in the back of my mind for years, a wound that never healed.
His eyes widened. Just a fraction—but it was enough.
"I see," he said slowly, almost like he was savoring the moment. "I see what this is."
"Do you?" I tilted my head, my fingers tightening on my blade.
"You want to kill me," he said, the words almost taunting.
"I could," I told him, my voice steady as I raised the blade, the tip hovering just over his heart. "Right here. Right now."
The shift in his expression was immediate. Confidence flickered into fear, and he held up a hand in a weak, almost pitiful gesture.
"Wait," he said quickly. "We can talk—"
I ignored him. Something was off. Not his words, not his tone—his face.
The longer I looked, the more wrong it felt. There was something unnatural about the lines of his skin, the way the light touched it. It was… too perfect. Too uniform.
My free hand reached up before I could think, my fingers brushing his cheek. The texture was wrong—smooth, like leather stretched thin. My gut twisted.
"You're wearing a mask," I said slowly.
He flinched.
I didn't give him the chance to react. My fingers hooked under the edge, and with one sharp yank, I pulled it free.
The sight that met me made the world tilt.
It wasn't the mayor.
It was him.
The man who had haunted my nightmares more than once—the drunkard who'd almost sold me when I was just eighteen ,the one whose stench of cheap liquor and stale sweat I could remember even now. My father.
My real father.
For a moment, everything in me went still. The wind, the night, even my own heartbeat seemed to pause.
"You," I whispered.
His eyes darted like a trapped animal's. "Harper… I—"
My grip on the blade tightened until my knuckles ached. All the years of wondering, all the anger I'd buried under layers of survival, came crashing back with such force I thought I'd drown in it.
This wasn't just a man standing in front of me. This was the person who had decided my life wasn't worth keeping. The man who had made me into what I was—not out of love, but out of abandonment.
And now… he was wearing the mayor's face.
The pieces didn't fit. The questions clawed at me, but the fury burned hotter.
I didn't move. Not yet. I just stared at him, the blade still poised, the weight of the moment pressing down like a storm about to break.
And in that breathless silence, I realized something.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.