Frederick Brown was the quiet type. Not that his neighbors would have known—he had only moved in recently. But in the two weeks he had lived in that small apartment, he had kept to himself, making little to no noise.

This was for good reason, as the blonde detective—when he was home—spent most of his time either sleeping or staring at the walls.

Some might have interpreted this as a sign of boredom...

They would have been wrong.

It was just his way of meditating and contemplating his thoughts, weighing his options.

For there was much he needed to consider.

On the one hand, there was the pressing matter of finding an elusive murderer before he could strike again... and understanding his motives was even more crucial.

On the other, there was the similarly pressing issue of the alarm. He knew it could not be ignored. But addressing that particular problem would require setting the former aside—at least temporarily. And he was not sure he could afford to do that just yet.

After careful consideration, he decided the latter issue could wait. There were enough safeguards in place that he could reasonably delay his intervention for a few days. He wasn’t sure if that would be enough to close the investigation, but he would give himself this extra time to find out.

Either way, a time would soon come when he’d have to leave. There was no way around that.

He could at least make some preparations.

With a sigh, he stood and headed out.

If he was leaving soon, he might as well enjoy the little time he had left.

***

The address was in the poorest neighborhood of Joqqal—of course it was. He realized he should have expected this. Fanaticism did not come out of nothing. It was often born out of despair and poverty.

Paul found a spot across the street, from where he could watch the house without being seen.

While he waited, he recalled the unsettling experience in the cave.

It was like nothing he had ever felt before. There was power there. Ancient power that had terrified him.

Could he remove the mask from the wall?

Maybe.

He had seen a path that could take him there.

But did he want to take it?

An insect buzzed around his head and he distractedly waved a hand in the air to dismiss it.

The problem no longer was so much about whether he could do it or not, but rather about whether he should or should not.

Whatever that thing was, it had been placed there for a reason. What right had he to even try to take it without a full understanding of its function?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The power that coursed through those threads, the way the mask had reacted to his probing, all of it just made him question the validity of Jack’s request.

Besides, why did his friend want it so much?

He was a historian, sure, but so was Will. And Will did not seem too thrilled with the notion himself, nor did he think it was necessary for their work.

For centuries, scientists had studied it from a distance just fine. Why change this now?

There was some movement in the house—he could tell from the shadows dancing behind the windows, though the lights were off inside. Night was still some hours away, though, so that did not strike him as odd.

He felt the bug was now crawling on the skin of his arm. He squashed it with the palm of his hand, annoyed.

Three hours went by as he stood there, watching.

When the sun finally disappeared and he felt the ache in his bones from standing there, he finally gave up.

The woman would not show up now.

He would come back tomorrow.

And the day after.

Until he saw her.

With a sigh, he turned and walked away.

Of course, the challenging aspect of it all still titillated him... But could he allow that to cloud his judgment?

As he made his way back toward the hotel, he heard the sounds of a nearby scuffle.

He changed direction and quickened his pace.

At the next corner, he saw at least a dozen men piling up against one lonely guy. Without a moment of hesitation, he decided to help the lone wolf.

While he still had the advantage of surprise, he made a few quick Gestures to gather a decent amount of energy around him—he would need it. He grabbed some of it into his fist and redirected it toward the closest men. With a flick of his finger, he forced it to pull them apart. They flew into the air and were propelled ten feet away.

He rushed at two other who had turned to face him. He punched them in the face, one fist each—but his punches were supercharged with the energy that still spun around him. They were instantly knocked out.

It did not take long for Paul to change the odds of the fight.

There were many ways his magic could be useful... and he had never shied away from using it to exact justice.

***

She was a tall woman with long black hair that flowed down to her waist, partially covering her bare back. The dress she wore was thin and skin-tight, leaving little to the imagination. It stopped midway to her knees, exposing her long smooth legs that ended in high heels.

Everywhere Thyria went, heads turned. But she paid this no attention.

She walked with resolve toward the main square, where had once proudly stood the Moonrise Theater.

The building was still there—what was left of it, at least. It now was just a burnt-down and empty husk.

She stared at it for a long moment, remembering what it had looked like in its heyday—a brightly lit architectural feat that attracted crowds from all across the universe.

Not that she ever thought much of the shows it featured, or the people it drew... but there were memories here that kept her awake at night.

It was upsetting just to think about it. But she knew that, sooner or later, she would have to confront the choices she had made on that fateful night... so it might as well be now.

“Very well, then,” she muttered to herself.

A couple walked past her, looking her up and down.

She glared back at them.

“What? You want a picture?”

They looked away and quickened their pace.

“Humans,” she grumbled. “Despicable bugs the whole lot of them!”

Her eyes returned to the charred structure as she walked in its direction.

She didn’t know what exactly she needed to do to obtain the closure she so craved. But whatever it was, it would have to happen here. She felt certain of this, at least.

The interior was even more of a mess. The stairs were broken; pillars had fallen—bringing down entire floors with them; the walls were riddled with holes, as if large chunks of stone had been ripped out of them; all surfaces made of wood had been turned to ash, while all others had become charcoal black; whatever furniture had not been consumed by the flames had long since been looted, as had been the paintings and carpets and chandeliers and a variety of other items.

There were few colors left here. It was a world of black and white and gray.

She made her way through the rubble until she reached the large—now unhinged and hanging—doors that led into the amphitheater.

As soon as she stepped into the vast room, she was assailed with the memories. Of the fire breaking on the stage. Of the people screaming, flailing their arms, running, and crushing their neighbors. Of the panic that had turned the crowd into a weapon. Of the collapsing walls. Of the flaming curtains.

But, most of all, she saw herself walking through the chaos and looking around at all those humans who were about to die...

She would never forgive herself for her crime.

She should have let them all burn.