The precinct hummed with activity, officers moving with purpose while Arata's gaze never left the monitor. A new lead had come in: surveillance footage of a suspect in the downtown district. A man moving too deliberately, too precisely.
Arata leaned closer. Every movement, every pause, every hand gesture screamed methodical intelligence. He didn't know why, but it felt familiar.
"Mark every entry point within a three-block radius," Arata instructed. "And cross-reference all previous cases. Someone is orchestrating these killings… someone with access, knowledge, and… insight."
He didn't realize it yet, but the pattern he was tracing was Kane's doing—and in parallel, Lucian's presence in public was slowly weakening the barriers between personalities.
That evening, Lucian wandered the bustling streets, a playful grin plastered on his face, charming pedestrians and tourists alike. A street performer by night, he sang, joked, and flirted with anyone willing to listen.
Sera followed, silently observing him from a distance. She had begun piecing things together—his sudden disappearances, the hollow laughter after stressful events, and the rare moments his golden eyes flickered black.
Lucian caught her gaze and winked, tossing a coin to a child nearby. "The night is ours, darling. Enjoy it!"
But inside, the playful mask was slipping. Kane's voice whispered sharply in his mind: "Pathetic. You can't hide. You never could."
Lucian shook his head, trying to laugh it off. "No, no… it's just… nerves."
The cracks were growing.
At the precinct, Arata examined phone records, street cameras, and bank transactions. He noticed something unusual: a pattern of digital interference at every crime scene.
"Encrypted signals… advanced hacking…" Arata muttered, scanning the data. "This isn't amateur work. Whoever it is… they know everything about their victims before the police do. Too precise. Too clean."
He paused, staring at a timestamp. A chilling thought crossed his mind: what if the perpetrator is… someone inside my own department? Someone close enough to access all this information without raising suspicion?
The possibility sent a shiver down his spine.
Later that night, Lucian returned to the bar, trying to lose himself in performance. But his mind was restless, haunted by shadows of Kane and Arata.
Sera sat at a corner table, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "You're lying to me," she said flatly.
Lucian froze, mid-flourish with a cocktail shaker. "What?"
"You keep disappearing. You act like… someone else. I don't know who you really are anymore."
The words pierced him. For the first time, he hesitated, the childish mask faltering.
In his head, Kane laughed. Arata's voice scolded. Lucian's golden eyes flickered black and back again.
"I… I'm… just me," he stammered, forcing a grin. "Just Lucian."
Sera didn't buy it. "I hope so… for your sake."
Outside, the city slept uneasily. Somewhere in the shadows, Kane watched, planning, waiting. And in the precinct, Arata pieced together threads of a truth too dangerous to imagine.
All three sides of one man were moving closer to collision—yet none of them fully understood the scale of what was about to happen.
And in that convergence, the first true fracture began to form.