I took a quick glance at Ben—his breathing had turned rugged, uneven, every inhale a fight against pain he no longer bothered to hide. The glitching lights had drained what little strength he had left. His eyes darted around the square like a hunted animal's, searching for threats he knew were already too close.
"Ben," I said quietly, "you're not going to make it if we keep running together."
He shook his head, stubborn, wild-eyed. "I'm not leaving you."
"You don't have a choice." I stepped closer so the crowd would swallow the words between us. "They want me. I'm the scan target. I'm the loose end they need tied up. If you stay, you die for nothing."
He clenched his jaw, trembling. "You still don't get it… they'll kill you."
"I know," I said.
"And that's why you need to go."
For a moment, the noise of Times Square faded into a distant blur—the neon lights painting his battered face, the crowds rushing past like ghosts unaware of the war unfolding between us.
Ben's voice strained. "Waller… after everything I did, everything I messed up… you still trust me?"
I swallowed the answer that wanted to come out.
Instead, I put a hand on the back of his coat and pushed him toward the crowd.
"Trust has nothing to do with it. Survive. That's your job now."
His eyes widened. "Waller—wait—"
"Ben," I cut in, firmer than I intended, "this is where we split."
A beat of silence.
Then, with a hoarse whisper:
"We'll meet again, right?"
I didn't lie.
I didn't promise.
I just turned away.
He hesitated… then disappeared into the river of people, swallowed by the city's indifferent heartbeat.
I watched the spot where he vanished until the Eclipse symbol flashed once more in the corner of a billboard—so faint only I would notice it.
They were already tracking me.
Good.
I wanted them to.
My final breath before moving felt like a goodbye—to Ben, to Serena's voice still whispering my name through the comm, and to the life I'd barely managed to hold onto.
The hunter had become the hunted.
And tonight… I walked into the dark alone.
---
FIVE YEARS AGO — BEFORE THE ECLIPSE…
It was one of those humid mornings when the city felt half-awake, the streets still stretching their arms. Ben and I had just wrapped up our usual workout—nothing serious, just enough to pretend we were keeping our lives together.
He was my long-time friend, my go-to partner, and the only person I trusted enough to match pace with. For months we'd been bouncing between cases, people, and problems—some dangerous, some annoyingly routine. Still, having him beside me made the job feel less like a job and more like a rhythm we both understood.
My phone buzzed.
I didn't think much of it until I heard the voice.
"Hello, who's this?" I answered, catching my breath.
"It's Devon." His tone was lighter than usual, too steady for someone calling this early. "Get your ass and that raccoon partner of yours over here. We've got an urgent issue that needs tackling."
I glanced at Ben, who was rolling his eyes at the nickname.
"Fifteen minutes," I said. "Does that work?"
There was a brief silence—Devon thinking, or maybe measuring how much trouble we were already in.
"Indeed," he finally replied. "Time's ticking."
The line cut.
Ben and I exchanged a look.
Nothing dramatic, nothing heroic—just that familiar, wordless agreement we always had.
We grabbed our stuff and started moving, unaware that this call, this morning, this seemingly ordinary moment…
was the first quiet warning before everything shifted.
Before the Eclipse.
And before we learned what it could take from us.
We headed out, the sun barely warming the pavement as we got to Ben's car. He tossed his bag into the backseat and slid behind the wheel like he was preparing for another routine assignment. I wasn't so sure.
Devon didn't call early unless something was already burning.
As we drove, the city unfolded in front of us—people jogging with coffee cups, buses hissing at the curb, the usual morning chaos that made everything feel normal. But somewhere underneath all that noise was this faint pressure… like the atmosphere knew something we didn't.
"You think this is about the docks?" Ben asked, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.
"Devon didn't sound like it," I said. "Too calm. That fake calm he uses when he's trying not to shout."
Ben gave a short laugh. "Great. So we're heading straight into something stupid."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Traffic slowed, and for a moment neither of us spoke. A strange stillness settled over the car—an unspoken shift, like a quiet ripple in a lake.
Just a moment.
But it stayed with me.
We reached the precinct in under fifteen minutes. Devon was waiting outside, arms crossed, eyes sharper than the morning light. The kind of expression that meant he'd already run through three possible outcomes and didn't like any of them.
"Took you long enough," Devon said as we approached.
"We're literally early," Ben muttered.
Devon ignored that. "Both of you need to hear this. Something came in last night—something big. And it's not just another case."
He looked from me to Ben, measuring us.
Testing if we were ready.
Or maybe wondering if we ever could be.
Then he turned, motioning for us to follow.
"Come on," he said. "This is where things start."
Neither of us knew then—
not me, not Ben—
that this moment would mark the first shadow cast by the Eclipse.
The beginning of everything we'd gain… and everything we'd eventually lose.
Devon led us down the hallway, his steps sharp and impatient. Whatever he wanted to show us clearly wasn't something he could explain over a phone call.
"Just so you know," Ben whispered beside me, "if this is another one of his 'urgent' rat-in-the-evidence-locker emergencies, I'm turning around."
"Relax," I muttered. "Worst case, it's a raccoon pretending to be a rat."
"Ha. Funny. You're the raccoon."
Devon didn't slow down, but I could practically feel him rolling his eyes at us.
We stopped in front of the briefing room. Devon typed in a code, slid his badge, then looked over his shoulder at us.
"This stays in this room. Understood?"
Ben raised a hand. "Cross my heart. Hope Waller dies."
I elbowed him. "You said that wrong on purpose."
"No, I didn't."
Devon breathed in through his nose—deep, controlled, like he was trying not to send both of us home out of sheer annoyance. Then he opened the door.
Inside, the lights were dimmed except for the glow of a projector. On the screen was a symbol—simple, sharp, and unsettling. A crescent shape crossing through a dark circle, almost like an eclipse caught mid-phase.
I frowned. "Art class again?"
Ben leaned closer. "Nah. Looks like one of those indie band logos. The kind that screams in basements."
Devon shot us a look that could kill.
"This," he said, tapping the remote so the symbol zoomed outward, "showed up on three bodies last night. Same mark. Same pattern. But no traceable connection between the victims."
Ben stopped joking. "Gang? Cult?"
"Neither," Devon said. "Or at least… not anything we've seen before."
He switched to another slide—crime scene photos, maps, an encrypted note that looked like someone wrote it while running for their life.
"This group calls itself The Eclipse. We've had whispers, hints, little anomalies over the past year… but last night? They made a move."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
A shift.
A warning.
"So what exactly do you want us to do?" I asked.
Devon finally looked at me—the kind of look that said he'd already made a decision before we even walked in.
"I want the two of you on this. Quietly. No paperwork yet. No chatter. You're the only ones I trust not to screw this up… too badly."
Ben grinned. "Aw. He trusts us."
"I trust you to be minimally chaotic," Devon corrected.
Ben nudged me. "Look at that. Promotion vibes."
I shook my head, but I couldn't help a small smile. "Yeah. Nothing screams promotion like investigating a group that brands corpses."
Devon gave an exhausted sigh. "Both of you—try to take this seriously. Because if these people are what I think they are… this is just the beginning."
And he was right.
We just didn't know how deep it would go—or how much of our lives it would swallow.
"Just to be sure," I said, keeping my voice even as the Eclipse symbol faded from the projector screen, "if this is as big as you say… does the Chief know?"
Devon's silence lingered for a beat too long.
Then he exhaled softly.
"No," he said. "And it's better he doesn't."
Ben let out a low whistle. "So we're doing black-ops work without the black-ops pay. Classic."
Devon ignored him, eyes fixed on me.
"But I've got people—old allies, former analysts, a couple of unofficial sources. They owe me favors. They can help us connect the dots where the department won't."
He paused, then pointed at me with the kind of authority that froze the air.
"And Waller… please. I'm begging you. Don't flirt with the female contacts."
I blinked. "Why does everyone think I flirt—"
"Because you do," Ben cut in. "It's your love language. You flirt with baristas, suspects, witnesses, traffic cones—"
"That was one time," I snapped.
Devon held up a hand, his expression deadly serious beneath the humor.
"You two need to understand: the people we're meeting aren't random informants. Some of them are walking on thin ice just talking to me. If Eclipse is really moving the way these symbols suggest, then anyone who gets involved becomes a target. These aren't people you charm. These are people who disappear if something goes wrong."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Tighter.
I straightened. "Okay. I get it."
"Good," Devon said. "Because this—" he tapped the edge of the projector screen "—isn't local crime. It isn't turf war. Eclipse has a pattern that stretches beyond city lines. They operate in pulses. Appear, vanish, appear again—each time with more precision."
Ben crossed his arms. "And no one else picked up on this?"
"They did," Devon said quietly. "And every one of those people either got reassigned, shut down… or stopped asking questions entirely."
That settled something heavy in my gut.
A warning.
A beginning.
Devon continued, his voice lowering.
"I'll be taking you both to meet my contacts tonight. They'll show us what they've gathered. Patterns. Maps. Cases that were dismissed or tampered with. Together those pieces might finally reveal what Eclipse is building."
Ben raised a brow. "Building? I thought this was just a weird mark on bodies."
"I thought so too," Devon said. "But my friends believe Eclipse is preparing for something larger. Something coordinated."
I swallowed. "Coordinated like what?"
Devon didn't answer at first.
Instead, he closed the folder in front of him with a soft, final thud.
"Like the kind of thing you don't survive if you see too early."
Silence.
Chilling, swallowing silence.
He looked at both of us, his expression carving a line between fear and resolve.
"So," he said, "you still in? Both of you?"
Ben and I exchanged a look—half disbelief, half adrenaline.
And without saying a word, we nodded.
Devon picked up the folder.
"Good," he said. "Then let's begin."