ㅤㅤ"Well, I'll be damned," Lloyd muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the eerily quiet hall. "I know I said give it a week, but it's only been days, and the place is nearly deserted." His words hung in the air as we walked through the precinct, the usual hum of activity replaced by an unsettling stillness. Desks sat empty, paperwork abandoned mid-task, as if everyone had just vanished without warning. "Seems like if the higher-ups truly wanted something done, they'd get it done. Assholes." I chose to ignore his small rant when I saw Rook, along with Michael, by the coffee machine. They wore serious expressions, their gazes filled with doubt before being replaced by something else when they saw me approach.

ㅤㅤ"M, good to see you." Michael clasped my hand tightly, before I moved to Rook who were soft but firm, until she laid eyes on something—or someone—behind me. I looked back over my shoulder and caught the guarded look in Lloyd's eyes. I didn’t need to see Rook’s face to know it mirrored the same suspicion. My heart sank, and I silently pleaded with them. If my eyes could speak, they’d beg for understanding—for peace, on whatever they had going on. Lloyd hummed softly, his gaze drifting as he turned to engage Michael in conversation during introductions. "I don't trust him," Rook murmured beside me. I shot her a firm look, dismissing her suspicion before it could take root.

ㅤㅤ"You don't have to," I replied, stealing a quick glance at the two men deep in conversation. When I turned back, Rook had kept her eyes on me—her gaze sharp, steady, and fixed on my face, as if searching for something I wasn’t ready to give. Thankfully, she chose to let her question drift elsewhere, focusing on that night instead—the night I got the wound. "How's the arm?" Her fingers reached out, but I pulled away instinctively. I didn’t even know why.

ㅤㅤ"Sorry... I-" she began, but Michael's voice cut her off mid-sentence. "M, let's get going. We’ve got a lead based on your clues." Just like that, I pulled away from her advances, but the act didn’t sit right with me; if anything, it made me feel worse. "We’ll talk, I promise," I said. This time, however, she remained insistent, more so than ever before. "But when?"

ㅤㅤI could see that she was hurt, that she was still reeling from that night. But there were so many things on my mind, things I couldn’t even pinpoint or put into words—it was all gibberish, and nothing seemed to make sense. Even then, despite the storm raging in my head, I knew I should reassure her, comfort her. But I couldn’t bring myself to. It was as if some dark force, like gravity itself, was holding me back.

ㅤㅤ"Sometime later..." I said, unsure. Then again, it was better than nothing, I supposed. "Okay... sometime later, then," she agreed, her face and voice being a mix of emotions. With that, we turned our focus back to the goal.

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ㅤㅤ"Is everything all good, Detective?" Lloyd asked, coming up beside me as we walked through the precinct. Rook and Michael were ahead of us, conversing and casting the occasional subtle glance my way. "We've got a lead, so yes," I replied, deflecting the conversation. Before I could take another step, his hand grabbed my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. His eyes were filled with concern as they drifted to my arm—specifically, the wound that had bled through my uniform. 'Damn it. Was it because I pulled away from Rook too quickly?'

ㅤㅤ"What happened?" he asked, his hand still resting on my shoulder, his eyes probing mine as though they could uncover something buried underneath. "Just a rough fall. Don't worry about it," I replied with practiced indifference. It wasn't anything worth concern—just like everything else, just like the way I'm slowly unraveling still.

ㅤㅤ"Alright then," he murmured, his gaze lingering a moment longer before turning away. 'That look. Fuck... Why do people always try to help when I don't event want them to?' My thoughts began to untangle, spiraling out of control. Maybe I should see a doctor, get some meds or something. 'Yeah... maybe that'd help...'

ㅤㅤ'What? Where?-' My mind snapped back, and I found myself in the passenger seat of the cruiser, Lloyd behind the wheel. 'Damn it, again?' I hissed internally. A sharp, searing pain flared in my head—just like every other time it happened. "Hey, you alright? It looked like you just jolted back from... somewhere," Lloyd said, his voice tinged with curiosity and afterthought. And honestly, it felt like it, too. "Jeez, every time I look at you, it's like you're teering over the edge—like you're standing at the end of the line."

ㅤㅤMy thoughts began to linger on what he said, his words echoed, drawing me deeper in my thoughts. And, before I knew it, I was caught in the familiar haze of my own mind—trapped in it, again—until his voice pulled me back. "You're spacing out on me, Malorie. Are you sure you're alright?"

ㅤㅤI ignored him, turning my attention to the street ahead instead. "We're close," I deflected, holo-ing Michael, who was tailing us in their cruiser. "Pull over, let's stop here." I scanned the streets again. The markings were faint—sprayed amid other graffiti—but the symbol itself was far from subtle. "What are you looking at?" he asked, leaning over to see exactly what had my attention. "Blackhand," I replied, my gaze fixed on the symbol. "Wherever you see a black handprint with a flame at its fingertip, it's best to tread carefully. Wouldn't want to get lit and burned before even stepping out the vehicle, do you?"