Monday Morning
The news can't decide if she's a savior or a demon.
A talk show host rants over a grainy crime scene photo — The Surgeon zipped into a black bag, the viaduct lit by squad car reds and blues.
> "And there you have it, folks — another vigilante slaughter. Sure, The Surgeon was a killer — but where does this end? When did we hand justice to a masked maniac with throwing knives? Is this what you want, huh? Vigilante trials by talon?!"
The next channel plays the same story — but flips it:
A teenage girl holds a flickering candle in a growing street memorial — Jess's name whispered among flowers and broken beer bottles.
> "If The Raven hadn't come, she'd be dead. If The Raven hadn't come… maybe she'd still have a chance."
Two sides. One city. One new myth clawing at their dreams and nightmares.
---
Detective Ward watches it all from his precinct office.
He stands at a corkboard littered with feathers, crime scene shots, and scribbled maps of alleyways and dead ends. One side reads The Flock. The other, now — The Surgeon — already crossed out in red.
He circles the Raven's blurry outline on a printout from that night. Feather cloak spread wide in a freeze-frame.
> "So you want to clean my city, huh?" he mutters to no one.
His partner, Collins, leans in the doorway, chewing on a stale muffin. "Boss, you ever think maybe she's… I dunno. Not the worst thing right now?"
Ward doesn't look up. He tears another feather from an evidence bag — rolls it between calloused fingers.
> "She's the match. They're the fire. One feeds the other. If I don't stop her, I'm just sweeping ashes off charred concrete."
---
At The Nest
Micah leans back in a squeaky chair, one boot propped on an ancient filing cabinet. His laptop hums, showing security cam feeds — city blocks and abandoned warehouses stitched together in blue flicker.
Selene stands by her workbench, cloak spread wide like some predator bird drying its wings. She wipes dried blood from the talon tips — Jess's blood. Harrow's blood. Her own.
Micah breaks the silence first — always does.
> "So… big hero. Saved the damsel. Murdered the mad doctor. City's talking about statues and pitchforks in the same breath. Must feel good to be a local cryptid."
She doesn't answer.
He pokes more. "Come on. Gimme something. Broody line. 'I didn't do it for them, Micah.' Or, 'Justice has no sleep schedule.' Anything."
She looks at him — eyes rimmed red from too many hours awake, too many hours pretending she's not about to fall apart.
> "I almost lost her. I was too late. Again."
Micah's grin falters. Just for a second. He softens.
> "Hey. You didn't. She's alive. Because of you."
She drops the bloodied cloth in the trash. Stares at the wall — the pins, the red strings, the names scratched out. One less monster. A dozen more waiting.
Micah tries one last jab.
> "Also — for the record — I did not hack a city hospital's power grid so you could cry on me about your feelings. Next time, at least buy me dinner first."
She smirks. Just a ghost of it. It's enough to keep him talking.
---
At the Morgue
Jess sits at her locker — staring at nothing. Her wrists are wrapped in gauze, a tiny stitched cut where The Surgeon's scalpel first kissed her skin.
Selene sits beside her — same steel bench, same fluorescent hum.
> "You don't remember much?" Selene asks, carefully.
Jess shakes her head. "I remember cold. Metal. A smell — bleach. And… wings. You were there, weren't you?"
Selene's chest tightens. "No. Just a mask. Whoever it was… they saved you."
Jess frowns. "Why does it feel like you're lying?"
Selene tries to laugh it off. "When do I ever lie to you?"
Jess lets it drop — but only for now.
---
That Night
Evan calls. She ignores it. She can't be Selene right now — not when The Flock moves in the corners, learning from The Surgeon's mistakes.
---
Back in the Nest
Micah stares at the city map projected on the wall — each blinking red dot a rumor, a gun deal, a missing girl, a cop on the take.
He tosses her a new feather blade — sharpened, balanced.
> "Ward's got your scent. The Flock's regrouping. The city's still rotting. But hey — at least you took out one nutjob doctor. Silver linings, right?"
She straps the new blade into her gauntlet. Her ribs still ache from Harrow's scalpel.
> "The Flock won't hide behind shadows forever. King Crow thinks he's untouchable. But shadows can bleed."
Micah raises his energy drink in a mock toast.
> "Amen, Edgar Allan Poe. Now go scare the living hell out of someone deserving — and please, try not to get blood on my drone this time."
---
Somewhere in a private club uptown — King Crow watches a news clip of The Raven standing over The Surgeon's body.
He smiles — teeth sharp, eyes hidden behind a crow mask.
> "Good. Show them your claws. The more they fear you, the more they'll forget me."
He turns to a shadowed figure at his side — another lieutenant in the endless flock.
> "Find me something she can't save. Something that reminds her she's mortal."
---
At Evan's Apartment
Evan stands at his window — phone in hand, her last I'm sorry text still open, unsent words stuck in his throat.
He loves her. He doesn't even know who her really is.
---
The City
Somewhere under neon rain, a man paints black feathers on a brick wall — a tribute or a warning.
Ward pins fresh photos to his board — threads crossing until they choke him in his sleep.
Jess lies awake, remembering wings. Remembering a whisper. Run, Jess. Run.
Micah watches her on a cracked monitor. Keeps the lights low. Keeps her secret safe.
And The Raven — perched on a rooftop that bleeds rust and neon — watches it all.
---
Tomorrow, another hunt. Another wound. Another promise she'll break.
But tonight, the city sleeps — one eye open, one feather at a time.
---
END OF CHAPTER SIX