The fog was no ordinary mist. It didn't drift or curl in the casual way of sea-borne haze — it pressed forward, deliberate, as if it had chosen its path and nothing could divert it. The tavern's laughter had died. Chairs stood abandoned, tankards left half-full.
Adrian stepped into the main room, the lantern light barely punching through the white. Greaves stood near the door, hand resting on the grip of his revolver. His eyes, usually steady, flicked from shadow to shadow.
"She's here," Greaves murmured.
They pushed outside. The street was gone — swallowed whole by the shifting wall of mist. Sound was muffled, the city's familiar smells muted beneath the sharp tang of salt and something faintly metallic.
A figure moved in the distance.
She did not walk so much as glide, her pale shape barely distinct from the fog itself. Adrian's mind tried to fill in the details — dark hair spilling over a gown of white, hands empty yet heavy with intent. She stopped when she saw him.
"Detective," she said, and her voice was velvet over steel. "I've been waiting."
Adrian kept his tone level. "You've been killing."
Her lips curved — not quite a smile, more a recognition. "I've been keeping my bargains."
She stepped closer. The fog seemed to breathe with her, pulling and folding around her figure until it was the only clear thing in the world.
"I could give you what you want most," she said softly. "The truth you've been chasing since you first put on that badge. One answer, the only one that matters."
Liora's warning echoed in his mind — Never answer her question.
Adrian let the silence stretch, but her gaze was unrelenting. Then she tilted her head, and the question came:
"What would you give to have it?"
It was almost reflex to speak — to ask what truth?, to bargain, to push back — but the air seemed to thicken in his lungs. He forced his jaw shut, staring back at her without a word.
Her eyes, bright as glass in lantern light, studied him. "Interesting," she murmured. "Most men answer. And then they belong to me."
A shape moved behind her — Greaves, stepping forward with his weapon raised. The Widow turned her head slightly, and the fog swallowed him whole.
Adrian reached for his own gun, but she was suddenly close, her breath cool against his ear.
"You'll answer me soon enough, detective," she whispered. "Everyone does."
Then she was gone. The fog broke apart as if nothing had ever been there, revealing a silent, empty street.
Greaves stumbled out from an alley, coughing. "Where the hell did she go?"
Adrian holstered his gun. "She's playing a long game."
He didn't add the truth that chilled him most:Her voice was still in his head, and part of him wanted to answer.