ACT TWO - CHAPTER SEVEN

The Gentleman Gangster

Jul 12, 2026

This chapter is dedicated to my good friend, an exceptional author, and a talented musician Mizieya . Thank you for bringing our paths together through Substack and for composing the incredible soundtrack: Silhouette In Shadow, that accompanies this chapter.
Be sure to check out his Substack, and if you enjoy his work, consider supporting him by purchasing his latest book. You’ll find the link below the chapter.

“WELCOME TO GLASGOW”

A reputation is built on
what people say.
Character is built on
the choices no one sees.

SEBASTIAN

Downtown never slept. After sunset, it simply put on a different face. The streetlights had long since lost their war against the dark. Their place had been taken by the neon signs of bars, betting shops, and cheap nightclubs.

Music spilled from open windows, tangled with arguments, crying, and drunken laughter.

Just another evening.

My bomber jacket was soaked through, rainwater dripping from the hem. Damp hair clung to my forehead, and the stubble on my jaw had begun to itch. I’d been telling myself for days that I ought to clean myself up.

The last few weeks, however, had a curious way of convincing a man there were more important things.

I stopped beside a cracked wall covered in fresh graffiti.

DEATH TO THE MORALEZ FAMILY.

Beneath it, someone had scrawled in thick red letters:

DOWNTOWN BELONGS TO US.

The paint still glistened.

“They paint over one wall every morning,” a deep voice said beside me. “Every night, three more appear.”

I looked at Miz.

The tall, broad-shouldered Black man walked with the easy confidence of someone strolling through his own garden rather than the most dangerous district in Glasgow.

His long black leather coat swayed around his knees with every step, while gloves concealed hands hardened by years of honest labour.

“Jacob said this place used to be quieter.”

A faint smile appeared beneath the brim of Miz’s hat. “Jacob’s one of the last optimists still foolish enough to believe in happy endings.”

We carried on down the street. People watched us only in passing. Many recognised Miz. Some offered him the slightest nod.

He returned it just as subtly. It didn’t feel as though the streets belonged to him. It felt as though he belonged to them.

Across the road sat a black saloon. Its engine purred quietly while the wipers lazily swept rain from the windscreen. There was no telling who sat inside.

Only darkened windows...

...and the silhouette behind the wheel.

“Know them?” I asked, giving the car the slightest nod.

Miz never even looked. “They clearly know me.”

“They’ve been following us?”

“Since the moment we stepped into Downtown.”

The car never moved. Neither did we acknowledge it again. We simply kept walking as though it didn’t exist. The feeling of someone breathing down our necks, however, stayed with us.

“How’s Jacob?”

Miz adjusted one of his gloves.

“The doctors say the hole in his side will leave one hell of an ugly scar.”

I nodded before I realised I had. “And Thomas?”

This time Miz smiled a little wider. Among a row of snow-white teeth, a single gold one caught the neon light.

“Ever since your girls brought Jacob back, he hasn’t left his room. The doctors figured out pretty quickly it was easier to speak to Thomas first. Even the nurses have learned to leave enough space beside the bed for his wheelchair.”

There was nothing surprising about that.

Back in the Reapers’ days, you’d rarely see one without the other. The years hadn’t changed that.

Another face drifted uninvited into my thoughts.

Messy blonde hair. Those emerald-green eyes.

Princess...

Since the Himalayas, we’d barely exchanged more than a handful of words. We both pretended nothing had happened. Neither of us was convincing anymore.

For what had to be the hundredth time, I found myself replaying the moment I’d blamed that kiss on hormones and adrenaline. Even now, I wasn’t sure who I’d been trying harder to convince.

Her...

...or myself.

“Something happened?” Thankfully, Miz dragged me out of my own head.

I shook mine.

His large dark eyes settled on me with uncomfortable precision. He didn’t need another question. He read people the way most men read newspaper headlines. “You’re a terrible liar.”

A quiet snort escaped me. “I never claimed otherwise.”

We walked on. The rain swallowed the sounds of the city, granting us a few precious seconds of silence.

Sarah, however, refused to leave my thoughts.

“Then don’t make a mess of it.” He lowered his gaze.

It wasn’t for long.

Just long enough for me to realise...

he wasn’t talking about me.

We stopped outside a small corner shop whose shattered display window was covered by nothing more than cracked plastic sheeting. An elderly woman was kneeling by the broken doorway, patiently sweeping shards of glass off the pavement with a hand broom.

She wasn’t doing it with anger. More with the quiet resignation of someone who already knew she’d be sweeping up again tomorrow.

“Evening, Mrs Carter.” Miz tipped the brim of his hat with two fingers.

“And to you, Miz. Didn’t last long this time, did it...”

He gently took the broom from her hands. Mrs Carter started to protest, but he was already sweeping the glass into neat piles with calm, practised strokes.

“The glazier will be here tomorrow,” he said without looking up.

She gave a weary wave of her hand. “You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

“He’ll be here,” he replied, calm but firm. There was no offer in his voice—only the certainty of a decision already made. “First thing in the morning.”

Her eyes drifted back to the ruined shopfront. “Won’t bring my customers back, though.”

Miz stopped sweeping. For the first time, he seemed at a loss for words. “No...” he murmured quietly. “No, it won’t.”

Mrs Carter managed a faint smile. “Thank you anyway.”

We left her behind.

“You’re paying for the new windows?” I asked as I stepped around a puddle.

For a few paces he simply looked ahead. “The people who broke them.”

I glanced at him. “I doubt they’ll be easy to convince.”

Miz lowered his head, not needing even a second to think. “Everyone can be persuaded.” He caught my reaction from the corner of his eye. “Some with reason.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Others with an invoice.”

Two boys stood on the street corner. They couldn’t have been older than fourteen. One clutched a plastic bag filled with translucent crystals while the other kept nervously scanning the street.

For a moment, Glasgow disappeared.

Instead, I saw the face of a child who had learned long ago not to trust adults. Not the girl I knew today. The one she’d been before.

How many times had Ellie stood exactly like this? Risking her life simply to survive until morning...

I didn’t know. And I realised there was a good chance I didn’t actually want the answer.

The moment they spotted us, both boys straightened. The cockier one lasted barely a few seconds before lowering his eyes and admitting who the drugs belonged to.

Miz took the bag from him, opened it, and emptied every last crystal into a storm drain. They glittered beneath the neon lights for a heartbeat before filthy water carried them away.

“Go home.”

The boy turned deathly pale. “H-he’ll kill me...”

“I know.” Miz’s voice never changed. “But if you stay here, you’ll do the job for him.”

The teenagers disappeared between the tower blocks. I watched their silhouettes fade into the rain. The older one pulled out his phone while running. His thumb flew across the screen.

“He just texted someone?”

“Reporting that we’re here.”

“And you just—”

CRACK! A dull impact echoed from a nearby alley, followed by a muffled scream.

We ran.

Two shaved-headed thugs were kicking a homeless man curled beside a row of bins. The old man lay on his side, shielding his head with both arms as blow after blow rained down.

He wasn’t fighting back. He’d probably learned long ago that resistance only made men like this enjoy themselves more.

My hand reached for Lilith. Too late.

Miz was already there. I never saw him break into a run. One moment he was beside me. The next, he was simply standing between them.

Not a single wasted movement. A short slip. One precise step inside. A crushing left hook buried itself in the man’s liver.

His knees folded instantly. A compact right cross snapped into his jaw. He hit the ground without making a sound.

The other thug—the one with the glass eye—pulled a large hunting knife.

Miz turned sideways.The blade sliced through empty air, missing by inches. He caught the man’s wrist, twisted once, and his attacker slammed face-first onto the wet asphalt.

The whole fight lasted less than three seconds. No wasted motion. No anger. Just flawless technique.

I found myself watching his footwork.

His shoulders. His hips. Soldiers didn’t move like that. Neither did street brawlers.

The man beneath him groaned in pain.

Miz released him, stood up, and calmly brushed the rain from his gloves. “Leave.” He never raised his voice.

The skinhead scrambled to his feet, grabbed his unconscious mate under the arms, and disappeared into the rain.

Miz knelt beside the old man and gently wiped the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. “Are you all right, Mr Doyle?”

The old man spat blood and saliva onto the pavement: “Lad... you still look worse than I do.”

“Give me another ten pints.” Miz helped him carefully back onto his feet. “Then maybe.”

The old man pulled his worn flat cap lower over his brow. While he did, Miz quietly folded a banknote into his palm.

“You shouldn’t waste money on old drunks.”

“I’m not.”

I looked back one last time. Mr Doyle lowered his head, quietly crossed himself, slipped the money into the pocket of his worn quilted coat, and shuffled unsteadily into the night.

The image of the boys—and the old man beside the bins—stayed with me. As Blanc, I’d saved hundreds of lives. But I’d never stopped to wonder what happened to those people the next day. Maybe that was the difference.

The gulf between a hunter...

...and a man who protects his own neighbourhood.

A gulf I’d spent far too long pretending wasn’t there.

“Gangster.” I broke the heavy silence that had settled between us.

Miz seemed less affected by the word than by the rain. “Hm.” He shrugged. “That’s what they call me on television.”

For a moment, he fell quiet.

“Know what the worst part is, Sebastian?”

I looked at him.

“Enlighten me.”

“After a while even the people you’re protecting start believing it.”

His gaze drifted across the broken shopfronts, flickering neon signs, and weather-beaten tower blocks.

“People think power belongs to the man who controls the streets.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “It belongs to the man parents trust with their children after dark.”

He stopped only long enough to retie a loose shoelace. He tightened the knot, brushed the dirt from one knee, then glanced up at me beneath the brim of his hat.

“That’s why I look myself in the mirror every morning. So far I’ve never had to look away.”

His dark eyes settled on mine.

“What about you, Sebastian? Do you look yourself in the mirror?”

THE EMPORIUM. From the outside, it looked like any other luxury club selling expensive liquor, music, and the illusion of happiness after dark.

I’d learned one thing a long time ago. The most expensive establishments usually dealt in things you’d never find on the drinks menu.

Two bouncers stood outside the main entrance. Each of them was pushing seven feet tall, wearing tailored suits that barely concealed the pistols beneath their jackets. They weren’t trying to hide them.

The closer one was an absolute mountain of muscle. He could’ve made a professional strongman look undersized. He noticed us, his eyes sweeping over me before settling on Miz. The tension left his body almost instantly.

“Good evening.”

“Evening,” Miz replied without breaking stride.

The bouncer stepped aside automatically. “Mr Holloway is expecting you.”

I caught Miz’s jaw tightening. Only slightly. Something about that bothered him.

We walked inside.

The music wasn’t playing. It ruled the room. Heavy bass rolled beneath our feet while a sleepy saxophone drifted above it.

Two sounds that had no business working together...

...yet somehow they did.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the place. Just another hideout for rich bastards with more money than conscience.

Then I started recognising the faces. The first sat at a private table in the back. A city councillor. Only that afternoon he’d stood before television cameras with tears in his eyes, mourning the murdered mayoral candidate.

Now he lazily swirled whisky over ice. “William was too cautious.”

“At least things can finally move forward,” the man opposite him replied.

Crystal glasses clinked softly.

One table over sat Glasgow’s Chief Constable. The tuxedo suited him far better than the uniform ever had. “We’ll send more patrols tomorrow.”

“Downtown?”

He shrugged. “For a few days. Should keep things quiet.”

Everyone around the table smiled with quiet understanding.

At the back of the casino stood the presenter of the evening news. The very same woman who’d spent the past week urging people not to leave their homes after dark. Here… she looked like she belonged.

“So what’s tomorrow’s story?” the croupier asked as he spun the roulette wheel.

“The same as always. We’ll show them what they want to see.”

“And they’ll believe it?”

The little ivory ball skipped across the wheel.

“They will... as long as everyone tells the same story.” Suddenly, the headlines of the past few weeks made perfect sense.

Far too many familiar faces gathered in one room. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was a meeting.

The people who spent their days tearing each other apart in front of cameras...

...only to sit around the same table after dark, weaving the same plans.

The city wasn’t rotting from the streets up. It was rotting from the top down.

None of the guests paid any attention to the security.

I did; Doors. Balconies. Stairwells. Cameras. Escape routes. A hunter never looks at a room the way a guest does.

“How many?” I asked beneath the cover of a cough.

Miz blinked eleven times. I understood.

One of the surveillance cameras had just turned towards us.

At the bar, the bartender was already setting down a glass of whisky. “Compliments of the house.” There wasn’t a trace of warmth in his voice.

“I don’t drink while I’m working.” Miz rested his forearms on the bar as he slipped off his gloves.

“Mr Holloway insists on making an exception tonight.”

The second mention of the owner in less than five minutes. Miz simply lifted the glass towards the light before handing it to me. “What do you smell?”

I took a careful breath. Peat. A faint trace of oak. And beneath it the delicate scent of almonds. Cyanide. Not enough to kill. Just enough to stop someone asking inconvenient questions.

“A test?”

“Or a performance.” The glass remained untouched on the counter.

If someone had been watching us...

...they’d just received their answer.

A young woman in a glossy black latex outfit approached us. The neckline and the cut of the outfit had been designed with one purpose in mind. Provocation.

She smiled with the effortless confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect she had on people. “Mr Holloway is waiting for you.”

“I didn’t arrange a meeting,” I answered coolly.

“He did.” Without asking, she stepped closer to Miz. The tips of her fingers brushed the collar of his coat as though dusting away an invisible speck.

“Try that on someone else.” He brushed her hand away.

She didn’t look offended in the slightest. Instead, she caught my wrist and pressed my palm against the inside of her thigh.

Beneath my fingers I felt coarse fur...

...and the warmth of bare skin.

The last shred of my patience disappeared. I seized her wrist hard enough to make her hiss in pain. With one sharp movement, I pulled free and pinned her back against the wall.

The latex squeaked.

I leaned in close. “Touch me again,” I growled into her ear, “and I’ll break your hand. Understood?”

She didn’t move for several seconds. When I finally let go, she took a step back, slowly rubbing her wrist.

“That was the right answer.” She looked directly into one of the cameras.

Miz didn’t even glance her way. “Come on.”

I left her standing there and followed him across the dance floor. The guests carried on enjoying themselves. But too many eyes lingered on Miz.

They knew him. Or at least they knew exactly whose office we were walking towards.

Behind an unremarkable black door, the music fell silent.

A narrow corridor stretched ahead, lined with crimson carpet and paintings worth more than an entire block of flats in Downtown. At the far end waited a lift with a glossy black glass panel.

A soft electronic beep echoed through the corridor.

SARAH

Rain hammered against the SUV’s roof like uneven gunfire, streaking the windows in dirty rivulets. We crawled through traffic.

Aurora sat behind the wheel, her shoulders wound tight. Every few seconds, her hands clenched around the leather steering wheel before reaching for the horn.

A sharp blast sliced through the night’s noise.

“I swear,” she muttered through gritted teeth, glaring through the windscreen, “if one more fucking idiot runs a red light, I’m using this car as my argument.”

Ellie slumped back into her seat, dragging her thumb across her bottom lip. “I’m sure Thomas would appreciate that.”

“The frog-eating bastard appreciates results.” Aurora jerked the wheel around a pothole.

“Not a wrecked car, sweetheart,” Ellie snickered.

“A car can be replaced.” Aurora shot a glance into the rear-view mirror. At me. “And if you don’t like it, you can drive next time.”

Ellie twisted halfway round in her seat. “Sarah?”

I sat in the dim glow of the dashboard, knees pulled up against my chest, boots resting on the seat, an open case file spread across my thighs.

“Hm?”

“You’re not listening to a word we’re saying.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to read my face.

I didn’t even look up. Without thinking, I caught the inside of my cheek between my teeth. “I hear about every fifth word.”

Aurora let out an amused snort, the silver stud in her nose clicking softly against her teeth.

My attention stayed on the paperwork. My finger traced the black-and-white photograph of a missing person.

Male. Twenty-seven. Vanished on his way home from work. No witnesses. No blood. No body.

I turned the page. The paper rustled.

Female. Thirty-five. Last phone call at 9:46 p.m.

Another page. My eyes skimmed the report.

Student. Nineteen. Last known phone location... Downtown.

Like every other victim.

“So?” Ellie asked, her voice suddenly quieter. More professional.

I closed the file. The sharp slap of paper echoed through the car. “Three missing persons.”

“Hah. I knew that.” Ellie absent-mindedly started twirling the ends of her hair.

“The police closed the investigation. Insufficient evidence.”

“I knew that too.”

Aurora gave a curt nod from the driver’s seat. “When Thomas says someone didn’t just disappear, he’s usually right. That old dog can smell blood through concrete.”

Ellie leaned between the front seats. I caught the sharp scent of her citrus perfume. God, I hated that smell. “What do they have in common, Sarah?”

I opened the file again, searching for the hidden pattern. “The timing. They all disappeared late at night.”

“That’s not much. Half of Glasgow’s out at that hour.”

“They were alone.” My finger stopped on the map. “Every one of them disappeared within these three streets.” I tapped the red circle with my fingernail.

Silence settled inside the SUV. That heavy, hunter’s silence. The kind that tells you the trail is still fresh. Even Aurora stopped complaining, her eyes flicking towards the sat-nav.

Three locations. Far too close together.

“That’s no coincidence.” She eased off the accelerator.

Ellie leaned closer, her breath almost melting the frost creeping across my side window. “You think it’s organised? Kidnapping? Ransom?”

“I think...” I paused. My throat tightened. “...someone or something. is waiting exactly where it knows people end up alone.”

The SUV turned heavily into a dark service road lined with abandoned warehouses. The traffic light flickered amber. Then red. We stopped.

In the reflection of the side window, I caught sight of my own face. Pale. Dark circles beneath my eyes. Exhausted down to the bone.

And above all...

...lost inside my own head.

That’s when I realised Ellie had been watching me. For the past five minutes. That innocent little smile had settled onto her lips. The one that usually sent a chill crawling down my spine.

“You’re thinking again,” she said softly.

“I tend to do that. It’s part of my job.”

“No.” Her smile widened. A dangerous sparkle lit her eyes. “You’re not thinking about the case. You’re thinking about our Sebastian.”

Aurora glanced at us in the mirror, baring her teeth in a grin. “Finally. Someone said it out loud.” You could’ve cut the tension in this car with a knife for the last three hours.”

I snapped my gaze back to the file. “No.”

“Oh yes.”

“No, Ellie.”

“Saraaah...” She turned fully in her seat, resting one arm across my headrest. “You’re blushing. I can see it even in this light.”

“I’m not blushing. It’s the reflection from that stupid neon sign outside.”

Aurora coughed to hide a laugh. “You are blushing, sweetheart. Right up to those pointy little elf ears.”

“It’s warm in here,” I shot back.

“It’s four degrees outside,” Aurora pointed out.

“The heating.”

“We don’t have the heating on.”

I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. Brilliant. Exactly the psychological intervention I’d needed today.

Ellie leaned back with a satisfied grin. But she wasn’t finished. She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“Sooo... I wonder what happened between you two. Hmm... What’s he like, when he kisses?”

“ELLIE!” It came out far louder—and far sharper—than I’d intended. My voice cracked.

Both of them burst into uncontrollable laughter. Aurora actually smacked the steering wheel.

I wasn’t laughing. Because my brain was cruel enough to replay the moment with perfect clarity.

The pressure of his lips. His warm, steady breath against my neck. And the wave of paralysing shivers that ran through me the instant he pulled away.

Then his cold, pragmatic words echoed back to me: “That was the omegation.”

My fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of the case file until the paper crumpled.

Anger had no place here. I had no right to feel offended. He was right. Mentor and cadet. Vampire and fairy. On top of that, a mana-less Nightborn. In our world, there couldn’t have been a more obvious anomaly.

Things like that simply... didn’t work. They couldn’t.

So why the hell could I still smell him? Tobacco, rain, and something dark that belonged only to him. And why did it hurt so much when he reduced it to a biological necessity?

“No. It doesn’t hurt,” I insisted to myself, my breathing growing faster. “These are just the aftereffects of the omegation. It can’t be anything else... can it?”

“Sarah?” Ellie suddenly waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello? You back with the living, or did we lose you back there for good?”

I cleared my throat and straightened my jacket. “I’m back.”

Aurora smirked into the rear-view mirror as she shifted into first gear. “She’s lying. Premier league.”

“Keep your eyes on the road, Aurora.”

“You should worry about keeping your hormones under control, princess.”

SMASH! The SUV lurched violently. Something heavy crashed down from the top floor of the abandoned warehouse and slammed onto the hood. Metal buckled beneath the impact. The headlights died, and the windshield exploded into a dense web of cracks.

Aurora slammed on the brakes so hard that all three of us were thrown forward. The case file flew from my lap, its pages scattering across the cabin.

“What the hell—” The words died in her throat.

Through the shattered windshield, we saw it. A body.

Its limbs were grotesquely long, twisted around the front of the vehicle. Before we could make out the details of its face...

...it began to shrivel.

Within seconds, the corpse collapsed into a dense, oily layer of black dust with a sharp, hissing sound.

Rain washed most of it off the hood and into the street, but part of it—a fine, coal-black sediment—slipped through the ventilation ducts and into the cabin.

I caught the smell first. Sulfur. Old rot.And cold.

Ellie instantly clamped a hand over her nose and mouth, while Aurora reached beneath her jacket, her fingers closing around the grip of her revolver.

Without hesitation, my hand dropped beside the seat. My fingers wrapped around the cold stock of my rifle.

Click! I disengaged the safety. For the fourth time.

“Well...” Aurora whispered, her voice taking on that dangerous, ice-cold edge as her eyes swept across the rooftops. “It looks like our kidnapper just sent us a calling card.”

The front door hung from a single hinge. The frame had been torn from the wall, the wood splintered into long, razor-sharp shards. No one had forced their way in from the outside. The pressure had come from inside the apartment.

I entered first, my rifle lowered toward the floor but ready to fire within a fraction of a second. Ever since the attack on the SUV, my senses had been stretched to their limit.

Behind me, Aurora wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Ugh. Sweet decay. I hate that smell.”

I slowly turned in place. Then I closed my eyes. My mind immediately filtered out the noise and began reconstructing the geometry of the room.

“What do you see, Sarah?” Aurora asked, her hand hovering nervously over the holster at her hip.

I didn’t kneel beside the bloodstain. Not yet. I forced my mind to read the broader context first. If I missed a single detail at the beginning, the entire equation would fail at the end. I couldn’t allow that.

“Dust,” I whispered, narrowing my eyes.

Both of them looked at me, confused.

I pointed with my gloved finger toward the windowsill.

“The layer of dust is perfectly even. No one’s been here for at least eight days. Look at the dishes in the sink—the remains of dinner dried without airflow, and fungal spores have already settled inside them. His wallet is still on the table. IDs, cash... everything´s still there. His only winter coat is hanging on the rack.”

Ellie tilted her head, her auburn curls shifting in the gloom. “So he left in a hurry? Panicked?”

“No.” I walked over to the bloodstain and knelt on one knee, my back straight, every muscle ready to move.

I touched the edge of the stain with the tip of my index finger. Dark. Dry. But something about it was wrong.

My brain instantly calculated the volume. No human body produces a blood pattern with this kind of fluid dynamics.

“There wasn’t a struggle here,” I murmured as my eyes measured every centimeter. “The stain is far too small. Less than fifty milliliters. That’s barely enough for a violent coughing fit or a stab wound from a narrow blade. And yet...”

I lifted my gaze, tracing an invisible line.

“The blood begins beside the table. Continues exactly two meters and seventeen centimeters toward the hallway. And then it ends. Completely.”

Aurora frowned. “What do you mean it ends? Somebody carried him? Dragged him away?”

“If he’d been dragged, we’d see smear marks or fabric fibers. If he’d been carried, there would be elliptical drip patterns caused by the attacker’s gait.” I looked around once more. “There are no footprints.”

I lowered myself until my face was only inches above the floor.

My instincts screamed. Where the blood trail disappeared, the texture of the wood changed. It looked dull.

I ran my fingers across it. Something caught against the rough surface of my glove.

Black dust.

Almost like powdered coal. Exactly the same residue that had come through the SUV’s ventilation.

I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger, judging its density. “This isn’t carbon.” Nor ash from burned paper or wood. It has an organic structure... but none of the mineral residue you’d expect after combustion.”

“Sarah?” Ellie interrupted me. Her voice sounded strangely hollow.

I looked up.

She stood motionless in the middle of the room, arms hanging loosely at her sides, her entire body taut as a drawn bowstring.

The Shadow beneath her feet rippled. Like the surface of a black lake after someone had thrown a stone into it moments before a storm.

Then...

A thin, razor-like tendril separated from it.

With a faint hiss, it rose from the floor, curled gracefully around Ellie’s ankle, hesitated for a moment in midair...

...and pointed toward the half-open bathroom door.

Ellie visibly paled. Her breathing quickened. “He’s... doing this willingly. I... I’m not controlling him.”

“What do you mean you’re not controlling him?”

Aurora released the safety on her pistol with a metallic click and aimed it toward the dark hallway.

“There’s something in there,” Ellie whispered, digging her nails into her palms. “Something my Shadow recognizes. It’s drawn to it... and terrified of it.”

I nodded, resting my rifle against my shoulder. “Show us.”

Ellie swallowed hard.

The black tendril crept forward. The bathroom door stood open no wider than the span of a hand.

I pushed it with the toe of my combat boot. The wood creaked tiredly. There wasn’t a body in the bathtub.

No entrails. No massacre. Only a thick layer of black ash.

And in the middle of it...

...a small glass ampoule.

I carefully picked it up between two fingers. It wasn’t cracked. Inside, the last drops of a dense, crystalline liquid rolled lazily from side to side.

The matte white label bore a single, clean typographic inscription: GRAVEGLASS Beneath it, in tiny letters: Project G-13

Standing in the doorway, Aurora spat onto the bathroom tiles.

Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off the vial. “Is... is that the new street drug Thomas told us about?”

I raised the ampoule toward the faint light spilling in from the hallway. The liquid shimmered with an unnatural violet-black sheen.

No sediment. No impurities from amateur production.

“Street-grade Graveglass is diluted with synthetic fentanyl and powdered plaster to maximize profit. This...” I held it perfectly still. “...is a pure, uncompromising chemical compound.”

I turned sharply toward Aurora. Cold certainty flashed across my face.

“No one would sell something this pure on the street.” It wouldn’t make economic sense.” This wasn’t made for addicts.”

I slipped the ampoule into an evidence bag.

The plastic seal snapped shut with a sharp zip.

“This is closer to a master sample. The original source. Ground zero.”

Ellie looked at the pile of black ash inside the bathtub, unable to hide the fear in her voice any longer.

“Sarah... Do you think the drug does... this?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

My mind refused to accept the obvious explanation. Once more, my eyes swept across the bathroom. Then they stopped. On the large mirror above the sink. Pressed into the layer of dust at eye level were fingerprints.

I stepped closer, unable to hide my fascination.

They were too long. Far too pointed.

Ellie’s Shadow let out a low, mournful whine...

...and instantly recoiled beneath her feet.

0:00

-4:34

The basement reeked of mold. Water dripped relentlessly from a ruptured pipe above our heads. Every drop struck the concrete with a hollow metallic ping that echoed far longer than it should have through the narrow corridor.

Ellie walked a few steps ahead of me. Her Shadows clung to her feet, rippling restlessly, waiting for a single command.

Aurora advanced behind us with her shotgun raised, carefully covering every alcove and every doorway leading into the adjoining rooms.

At the end of the corridor sat an elderly man.

His back rested against an old radiator, his wrists shackled to it with heavy chains. A worn flat cap hung low over his forehead, hiding his battered face. His entire body trembled so violently that the chains rattled rhythmically against the pipes.

Relief washed over me. The entire drive here I’d prepared myself for arriving too late. He was breathing.

Ellie hurried toward him. “Thank God... we found you.” She gently touched his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

The old man slowly lifted his head. His eyes were utterly exhausted. His lips moved soundlessly several times before he managed a dry swallow.

“What’s your name?” I asked, kneeling beside him while Aurora inspected the chains with the barrel of her shotgun. “Who are you?”

He shook his head weakly, as though my question had reached him from somewhere impossibly far away.

“My... name... I... I don’t remember anymore.” He stared at his trembling knees. “I think... I think someone once called me.. .Mr... My memory... it’s lying to me.”

He closed his eyes. Deep wrinkles formed across his forehead as he struggled to pull something from the fog consuming his mind.

“I remember...” His voice rasped. “...two people. A giant Black man... and a white-haired man.”

My throat tightened. I looked at his battered face as the pieces fell together.

A Black man. A white-haired hunter. Miz. Sebastian.

He’d met them. Somewhere in these streets. Shortly before this.

“Who did this to you?” Ellie asked, oblivious to the realization crashing through me.

Instead of answering, the old man slowly looked around the basement. His eyes wandered through the darkness behind us, as though expecting someone to step out of it.

“He...”His voice broke. He’s… still...here.”

Aurora immediately raised her shotgun toward the darkness. “Who?”

A tear rolled down his bruised cheek. A faint, resigned smile appeared on his cracked lips.

“Me...”

Ellie and I looked at each other at exactly the same moment. Neither of us understood what he meant.

Suddenly, the man began coughing. At first quietly. Then a thick mass of black, mucus-like fluid erupted from his mouth.

With a violent jerk that made the chains shriek against the radiator, every muscle in his body tensed.

He clawed desperately at his own throat. His fingernails ripped through his skin. Dark red—almost black—blood streamed between his fingers. He didn’t stop.

“Hey!” Ellie grabbed his wrist.

He tore himself free so violently that she was thrown backward nearly a meter. His hands tore frantically at his own chest... His shoulders... His face... As though trying to scrape the flesh from his own body.

Ellie went pale. “Sarah...” There was nothing but pure terror in her voice.

The old man burst into tears. Except... What flowed from his eyes wasn’t tears. It was Shadow.

“Please...” He gasped desperately for air. His jaw chattered unnaturally. “I don’t want... I don’t want to let him take control of me...”

I raised my rifle and settled the stock against my shoulder. Because training overpowered everything else. Even compassion.

Aurora did the same. Her shotgun remained fixed on his head.

Ellie stepped sharply between us: “Wait!”

We never got the chance to react.

The old man’s body snapped backward at an angle no human spine should ever bend.

A sickening crack echoed through the basement. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Jaw dislocated. Chest began swelling violently.

Skin stretched impossibly tight. Then his ribs gave way. A long limb tipped with a blade forced itself out through the opening.

Ellie stumbled backward.

The Shadow tore itself free from its human shell. A creature of exposed black musculature landed before us in a crouch. It didn’t speak. A single wet, sucking inhalation was enough.

Then it charged. On all fours. Straight at us.

Aurora fired. The shotgun blasts shredded flesh.

The creature never slowed. It didn’t understand pain.

Ellie swung her arm. Her Shadow exploded across the floor as a forest of black spikes.

The creature became impaled among them.

I seized the opening. BANG! The rifle shot thundered through the basement. Dust and fragments of plaster rained from the ceiling.

The body convulsed violently. Its muscles twitched in death.

Then... Silence. Only my rapid breathing remained. Smoke curled from my barrel. And somewhere in the darkness... the steady, cold drip of water continued.

Ellie dropped to her knees...

...and gently cradled the old man’s head.

The old man’s eyes opened one last time. There was no fear left in them. “Thank you...” The words dissolved into a faint exhale. His fingers, which had been clutching Ellie’s sleeve, went limp.

Ellie remained kneeling beside him. Her hands were covered in black ash.

I understood. All this time... He had been trapped inside his own body. He had only been waiting for someone to finally set him free.

I lowered my rifle.

Aurora watched the motionless body for a moment before nudging it with the tip of her boot. “It’s over.”

“No.” Ellie growled. “Not yet!”

I scanned the basement. Discarded syringes and shattered ampoules littered the floor.

“We split up.”

Aurora disappeared into the adjoining corridor.

Ellie and I headed toward the heavy metal door at the far end of the basement.

The moment it opened, the smell of disinfectant mixed with blood hit us. Hospital beds. They were lined up inside.

On the first lay a young boy. His eyes were open...

...but life had abandoned them long ago.

An IV tube still disappeared into a vein in his arm, filled with liquid that shimmered with tiny black crystals.

“Graveglass... Damn it, that poison was running through his veins...”

On the bed beside him, a smaller child writhed helplessly against leather restraints.

“Mom...” He struggled for every breath. “Tell... the man in the hat... that he was right...”

Ellie rushed to him. “Breathe.” We’ll get you out of here.”

He shook his head violently. Every word cost him. “I don’t... want... to end up... like this, Mom...” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I just... want to go home... to my mom...”

Something moved beneath the skin of his neck. One glance was enough. The transformation had already begun.

Ellie clenched her jaw. She extended her hand. Shadow wrapped around her fingers, shaping itself into a long black blade.

“I’m so... so sorry.”

With one swift, precise movement...

...she drove it through his heart.

“Mom?” The boy whimpered.

Ellie’s Shadows lunged toward his body. “No!” She jerked her hand back violently. “Kill him... don’t consume him! Do you understand?!”

The Shadow ignored her.

It wrapped itself around the boy’s chest...

...and began pulling him into itself.

“Stop!” She screamed as she tore her arm free.

The Shadow resisted. It writhed around her arm like a rabid animal. At that exact moment. the boy’s head twisted violently to one side. His neck snapped.

Ellie froze. Horror filled her eyes. “I...” Her gaze fell to her trembling hand.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Birdeye! Vulture!” Aurora’s voice echoed through the basement. “You need to see this!”

We ran toward her.

I raised my flashlight. The concrete wall was covered in dried blood. Three words had been written across it.

HE IS WATCHING!

Something glinted faintly near the corner of the ceiling. At first I thought it was a drop of water. Then I looked through my scope.

It was a miniature camera lens. A security camera pointed directly at us. Its tiny status light blinked once and went dark.

Someone was sitting on the other side of that camera. I couldn’t see them.

Even so I had the unmistakable feeling...

...that they had just smiled.

SEBASTIAN

The elevator climbed so silently I could only tell we were moving by the numbers above the doors. But instead of a stark office, I was greeted by the heavy scent of aged wood, oil paint, and expensive tobacco.

A genuine art gallery. Rembrandt. Turner. Caravaggio.

I stopped beside a marble sculpture. A museum inventory tag still dangled lazily from its pedestal. They hadn’t even bothered to remove it.

I smirked and flicked the little card with my finger. “Nice piece. Looks like someone took the phrase ‘stealing glances’ a little too literally.”

Behind us, heels clicked across the polished floor. Rhythmic. Confident. That wasn’t how fear walked.

“Gentlemen... welcome.”

A man in a dark green tailored suit lazily swirled a glass of red wine. With every measured step of his handmade shoes, he approached us with unnerving composure. He raised a pipe to his lips, released a slow plume of smoke, and studied us.

A professor. Not some ordinary mobster.

My stomach tightened. The most dangerous people are always the ones who never look the part.

“I was expecting older guests,” he remarked casually, inclining his head in a polite greeting. “Arthur Holloway.”

Miz didn’t take the offered hand.

“I understand,” Holloway replied without offense. His gaze drifted toward me, his eyes brightening with interest. “You must be Sebastian.”

“Do we know each other?” I asked, forcing steel into my voice.

“No.” He walked to a table and effortlessly set down his wineglass. “But your name reached Glasgow long before you did.”

My hand instinctively dropped beneath my bomber jacket, fingers ready to find the Glock.

“No need to reach for your weapon,” Holloway continued without breaking eye contact. He spoke with the certainty of someone reading straight from my thoughts.

“I wouldn’t recommend testing that,” I growled.

I watched every microscopic movement. Then I caught it. For the briefest fraction of a second, his eyes flicked toward the door behind him.

I noticed a tiny movement. He was waiting. For someone behind that door. Or for permission.

Interesting. So the confident Professor wasn’t actually sitting at the top of the food chain.

“Tonight, no one is going to die,” Holloway said, returning his attention to us.

“Then why are we here?” Miz’s voice dropped into a dangerously low rumble.

A carefree whistle echoed through the gallery. Almost cheerful. I knew that tune.

“Again?” I sighed.

The whistling drew closer. Holloway calmly stepped aside.

Finally... He appeared. He didn’t even bother looking around. He had no reason to. Every step, every ounce of his posture announced absolute confidence.

“You look disappointed.” He stopped a few paces away. “I have to admit... Graveglass works miracles.”

The light finally revealed his face. After everything that had happened that night... Not a single trace remained. He stood before me exactly as I remembered him from years ago.

“I’ll admit,” he said with a crooked grin, “I’m a little offended you never bothered to confirm my death after the Himalayas.”

His feline green eyes shifted to Miz. “Oh... you must be the city’s famous Gentleman Gangster.”

“Depends who’s asking.”

Holloway remained silently by the wall.

Maxwell walked past me. I didn’t stop him. Not because I wanted to. Something deep inside told me that if I moved now... someone else would die.

He stopped before a long wall covered in monitors. For a moment, I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at. A parking lot. A black SUV. Sarah stepped out first.

“You sick bastard...” escaped through clenched teeth.

“Yes.” That single word angered me more than anything else.

Maxwell watched the screens with the detached fascination of a man observing a nature documentary. “That fairy...” His eyes lingered on Sarah. “Excellent instincts.”

On another monitor, Ellie was kneeling beside the chained old man.

“I take it back.” A delighted smile spread across his face. “This one fascinates me even more.”

“Shut the hell up!” With a flick of my thumb, I spun Lilith. In a flash of light, she blossomed into her axe form.

“A Shadow that still believes she can save everyone.” He paused. “One day... that’ll be the death of her.”

I stepped forward. I was fully prepared to wipe that arrogant smile off Maxwell’s face with a single swing.

Miz’s hand landed against my chest. He didn’t push. He didn’t have to. I knew that touch.

My breathing quickened. Adrenaline pounded through my temples.

“Wise choice.” Maxwell raised a hand, his index finger hovering over a single metal button embedded in the desk.

A blueprint of the basement appeared on the monitors. Ventilation shafts. Sealed doors. Red warning lights.

“I’m glad you understand.” His fingertip lightly rested on the button. “You have thirty minutes.”

A red countdown timer lit up on one of the screens.

My throat went dry.

Sarah was moving through the narrow corridor.

Ellie covered her flank.

Aurora was securing the rear of the basement.

“It would be such a shame...” Maxwell murmured, “...if they ended up like Mayu.”

That was enough. I pressed my Glock against the back of Maxwell’s head.

This time Miz didn’t stop me with a touch. His voice alone was enough: “Sebastian.”

I froze. Then slowly lowered the gun.

“I’ve always wondered what frightens a man who once cleaned entire districts for Cartel Negro.”

Holloway looked up in surprise: “Sir... I didn’t know that—”

Miz silenced him with a single glance: “That was a long time ago.”

“Not long enough,” Maxwell replied. “Certain little birds still remember a warehouse in Havana.” He smiled. “Eight dead teenagers.”

Miz calmly adjusted his cuff. “You still remember only the bodies.” His eyes met Maxwell’s. “That’s why you’ll never understand the difference between us.”

For the first time, genuine curiosity appeared on Maxwell’s face. “Heh, I can see why Downtown respects you.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a small syringe.

Holloway straightened: “Sir...?”

“Arthur.” Maxwell spoke almost affectionately as he patted him on the head. “You’ve done excellent work.”

Holloway flinched as the needle suddenly plunged into his neck. He collapsed to his knees. His fingers clawed at the syringe while he stared at Maxwell in utter disbelief.

“Why...?” he rasped.

Black veins spread beneath his skin. The sickening crack of bones echoed through the gallery.

Maxwell was already walking toward the door.

“Where the hell are you going?!” I shouted.

He stopped. He didn’t even bother turning around. “To wish Jacob a speedy recovery.”

My heart skipped a beat.

While Holloway screamed as his body twisted into something inhuman. Maxwell disappeared behind the armored door. Only then did I realize what he’d done. He’d forced us to choose.

Him...

...or them.

There wasn’t enough time for both.

Maxim Farrier

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