POV: First Person (Silas)
The city didn't sleep. Not really.
It just... held its breath. Waiting.
I was up on a rooftop again—same as always. Wind cutting across my suit, clouds rolling slow over the skyline. The glow of Detroit's lights looked softer from up here, like the city was pretending it wasn't as ugly as it really was.
My body still ached. Bruised ribs. A tight burn in my shoulder from where one of Grimm's cultists had slashed me three nights ago. I wasn't healing as fast as I wanted, and the nightmares were catching up.
But the worst part? That undercover cop. The one they tortured.
He told me everything.
They were setting a trap. Something massive. Grimm's people were on edge, moving fast, too fast. They were loading up trucks, ditching small hideouts, centralizing their power. Word was: they were planning something big, bloody, and public. A ritual with dozens—maybe hundreds—of civilians involved. One last show for their blind god.
And it wasn't just Grimm. The Council had backed off. Some abandoned Grimm's faction entirely. That made him unstable. Cornered.
Desperate.
I didn't have the full picture. But I knew someone who did.
POV: First Person (Sentinel)
Location: The Crow's Eye – Late Night
The bell over the door creaked when I stepped into the Crow's Eye.
Felt like walking into a crypt. Low lights, heavy scent of incense, shelves cluttered with relics that probably hadn't moved in ten years. If this place had a heartbeat, it was weak and out of rhythm.
Behind the counter stood a tall, wiry man with close-cropped hair and a faded hoodie. He looked up from a cracked laptop—eyes sharp, calculating.
He didn't reach for anything. Just stared.
"…Well, shit," he muttered. "You're him, aren't you?"
I didn't answer.
"Damn," he said, shaking his head. "Alright. You want something, or just making house calls?"
I stepped forward and dropped a thick envelope on the counter. Cash. Enough to get his attention.
"I need information," I said flatly. "On the Council. On Grimm. Structure, lieutenants, rituals. Everything."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And here I thought I'd be getting a visit from the DEA before you." He picked up the envelope, thumbing through the bills. "Encrypted drive, then? No backdoors. You want it clean?"
"Clean. Fast."
He studied me for another beat, then nodded.
"Fair enough. Sit tight."
He disappeared behind a bead curtain, leaving me with ticking clocks, the smell of old wood, and my own thoughts. Five minutes passed. I didn't move. Didn't relax.
When Knox came back, he had a small plastic pouch with a sleek black flash drive inside.
"All offline. No pings. You'll find council details, Grimm's lieutenants, known safehouses, suspected rituals. I even tossed in speculation on a couple of the council's inner hierarchy. No names, but enough to chase."
I took it. Slid it into a side pouch.
"I'm not going to ask how you got all this," I said.
"And I'm not going to ask what you're planning," he replied.
A moment passed.
"You know," Knox added, "you're the first one to walk in here wearing a mask and not trying to sell it for drugs."
I turned to leave.
"If you ever show up again," he called after me, "just make sure I'm still around to see it."
POV: First Person (Silas)
Location: Dorm – Next Morning
By morning, I was back in the dorm. Devon wasn't around—probably off chasing clouds or girls, or both. I didn't ask anymore.
I locked the door, shut the curtains, and slid the flash drive into my laptop.
Encrypted. Naturally. But Knox gave me the key. As soon as the files opened, I realized what I was looking at: floor plans, locations, asset charts. Movement logs. Orders. Symbols. Names—some redacted, others just vague titles like "The Veil" or "Eyes of Dusk."
And then there was Grimm. Pages of him. He had an entire digital folder dedicated to sightings, cult documents, leaked photos.
One stood out—Oak Cathedral.
A forgotten landmark on the east end. Last officially used over a decade ago. Closed for "structural instability." But Knox's footage told a different story. Deliveries, night activity, armed guards in robes.
I pulled out my burner phone and sent a text to Whitlock.
Sentinel:
Received intel from CI. Grimm's people are converging on Oak Cathedral. Mass activity. Ritual suspected. Civilians could be involved. Be ready. I'll be on-site. I'll call it in when it starts.
No reply. None expected.
POV: Third Person (Whitlock)
Location: Police HQ – Afternoon
Sergeant Whitlock stood in her captain's office, trying not to snap.
"I'm telling you, sir. I got word through a CI. Something big is happening. If we sit on this, people are going to die."
Her captain looked tired, skeptical. "You said the same thing last week, Whitlock. We have nothing solid."
She clenched her jaw.
Just then, a call came in. Officer at dispatch stuck his head through the door.
"Sir. Multiple 911 reports. Gunfire. East district. Near Oak Cathedral."
Whitlock looked her captain dead in the eye.
"There's your solid. Let me take a tactical team."
He didn't stop her.
POV: First Person (Silas)
Location: Oak Cathedral – Early Evening
Oak Cathedral looked like something out of a horror movie. Stained glass cracked, vines crawling up the stone, iron gate barely hanging on.
I was already inside. Already moving.
Gunfire echoed in short bursts. Shadow after shadow moved through the halls. Armed. Focused. Not just cultists—soldiers.
Knox's intel was right. This wasn't just a ritual. This was an operation.
I moved fast. Cloaked. Silent. I took two on the outer ring—non-lethal. Knocked them out cold. Took their weapons. Left the robes.
I was just starting.
If Grimm was inside, I'd find him. If Silica was watching, she'd know I was here now.
Two down. Dozens to go.
And this time, I wasn't stopping halfway.