The rain fell softly over the graveyard, the earth still damp from yesterday's storm.
Dark clouds hung low, as if the sky itself mourned the dead.
Daniel stood among rows of fresh graves — each marked with a name tied to him by fate and blood.
One hand clutched a bouquet of white lilies.
Silence pressed on his chest like a stone.
Nearby, another figure approached — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a brown coat.
Alfred, the Drug Control Bureau team leader, stopped at the same grave.
Neither man noticed the third presence at first — a woman in a black coat, holding flowers identical to theirs.
She stepped beside Alfred and placed her lilies gently on the soil.
Her face was calm, eyes glassy with controlled pain.
Her presence felt… intentional.
Daniel glanced at her and then at Alfred.
He offered a nod of respect — nothing more.
Alfred nodded back.
None of them spoke.
Three strangers,
three stories,
bound by one night of violence.
The woman stepped closer to Alfred, just enough that her shoulder brushed his.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered.
Only Alfred heard.
He closed his eyes.
He knew that voice anywhere.
Jessica.
But Daniel didn't even know her name yet.
🌧️ Flashback — One Week Earlier
Alfred stared at the coffins being lowered.
Five officers.
His officers.
He clenched his fists until his nails cut his skin.
Someone touched his arm — gentle, familiar.
Jessica.
Her warmth steadied him.
"You couldn't have saved them," she murmured.
"You don't know that," Alfred replied.
She stepped in front of him and placed his face in her hands.
"You will catch the rest of them," she said.
"You always keep your promises."
Alfred believed her.
He always had.
the rain worsened as the funeral ended, but neither Alfred nor Jessica cared.
They walked together in silence, boots sinking into the wet soil, grief soaking deeper than the storm.
"Come with me," Jessica said softly.
Alfred didn't ask where.
He simply nodded.
Later That Night — Hotel Room
A quiet, warm room.
Rain tapping gently against the windows like fingers on glass.
Alfred and Jessica checked into a small hillside hotel — the kind with no reception questions and no cameras in the hallways.
Inside, the world outside disappeared.
They sat close at first — saying nothing — leaning into each other as if silence was safer than words.
Then exhaustion took over.
Coats dropped to the floor, grief wrapped into warmth, and the storm outside faded into nothing.
Alfred fell asleep with Jessica's heartbeat pressed against him —
two wounded souls sharing the only peace they had left.
The Call
The phone buzzed sharply in the dark.
Jessica's eyes snapped open.
She slipped from Alfred's arms, drawing the bedsheet around herself.
The voice on the phone was hurried — urgent.
"Marshal… he's dying."
Her heart crashed.
Jessica stood, holding the white sheet to her chest, and whispered a curse under her breath.
She looked at Alfred — peaceful, unaware, breathing softly.
She rushed to gather her clothes and scribbled a note on hotel stationery.
I'll go first.
See you later.
Meet me on the 12th.
She placed it gently on the bedside table.
"Stay safe, Alfred," she whispered.
Into the Storm
Jessica sprinted to the parking lot, hair still wet from sleep.
The rain was fierce now, hammering the windshield as she sped onto the highway.
"Get the doctors there," she ordered through the phone.
"No delays. Keep him breathing."
Her tires cut through puddles, splashing mud and water as she raced across the slick roads, past shuttered shops and through the sleeping city.
Minutes later, she crossed the edge of the forest — trees whipping wildly in the storm wind.
At last, the rusted gates appeared ahead:
GEO J. P. Pharmaceuticals
Her father's empire — or what was left of it.
A once-great facility, now a skeleton of steel and forgotten experiments.
But beneath the rotting floors, secrets still lived.
The Underground Lab
Jessica swiped a card and descended the metal stairs.
Water dripped through cracks in the ceiling like tears.
This was no hospital.
It felt more like a prison.
Rows of locked rooms.
Steel tables.
Chemical crates.
And the faint smell of disinfectant mixed with rust and regret.
She ran straight to the last cell.
Marshal lay limp on the floor, pale and soaked.
A doctor knelt beside him, performing CPR.
After one final push, Marshal gasped for air — choking himself awake.
Jessica's breath left her body in relief.
She knelt at his side and grabbed his hand.
"You idiot," she whispered, voice shaking.
He blinked, confused, terrified.
The moment he saw her eyes, he tried to pull away.
"Let me die…" he gasped.
Jessica stood, her face turning cold.
The Truth Burns
"Marshal," she said quietly,
"I need the formula to PhoenixSalt."
Marshal's voice cracked.
"I don't know it. My father made it. He died — your people killed him."
Her expression darkened.
"No," she said, shaking her head with something close to grief.
"That was a mistake.
Your father was the most important piece of this puzzle."
Marshal stared at her in horror.
"You were the one… behind the Rat Diggers massacre."
Jessica didn't answer.
She grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the corner of the lab —
toward a steaming exhaust funnel glowing orange with industrial heat.
Marshal screamed before his skin touched the metal.
His hand burned instantly — flesh blistering, melting.
Jessica held him there, eyes hollow.
"You created pain," she whispered.
"I am only delivering it back."
Marshal sobbed as she let go.
His half-cooked hand hung useless at his side.
"You know why I kept you alive?" she whispered into his ear.
He shook violently.
"To suffer," she answered,
"So both you and your father can feel what you unleashed."
Marshal tried to crawl away.
Jessica grabbed him, pressed a knife to his ruined wrist, and with one swift motion—
Cut the half-burnt flesh away.
His scream tore through the room.
She shoved the severed piece cruelly toward him.
"Blame your father," she said coldly.
And Marshal finally understood:
He wasn't a prisoner.
He was punishment.