Several hours before Officers Hendrics and Belsamel's disappearance.

11:15 in The Gray.

"How long are we supposed to tail her? At this rate, he'll be out of the city before we even get a glimpse."

The quartet arrived at the crime scene on Peiner St. right after David had eyeballed the fiery-haired dame, strutting through the mall with her gal pals.

"Venessa wants to handle her solo."

"We can't keep bending over backward for her every whim. We're chasing a guy, not playing delivery boy for a blood bag."

"This argument's useless. Venessa spilled the beans about this woman's link to the Demonic Contract, knowing damn well how it's all gonna unfold. She wouldn't risk ticking off so many folks for nothing. Let's just bide our time, wait for her to be alone, and snatch her up."

"The Demonic Presence she's carrying is barely a blip. In a couple of hours, it'll be gone. We must move within the hour."

As the trio debated their course of action, the silent Fourth made a subtle gesture, tearing a tiny rift in The Gray with a gentle gust. The breeze darted through the rift toward a large man enjoying ice cream with his kid.

"Hey!" The man exclaimed as the gust sent the ice cream flying onto MK's turquoise blouse. Unfazed, MK walked past the parent and child along Svet and Rey.

"Sorry!" The father scrambled for wet wipes, apologizing profusely. "My wife always packs them because I tend to forget."

"Daddy, I dropped my ice cream," the distressed five-year-old cried.

"Give dad a second, Denise. I'm so sorry, miss," the father apologized again. MK, inspecting her stained blouse, sighed. She had bought it just twenty minutes ago, a decent F&T brand, and planned to wear it all day.

"No worries," she reassured, glancing at the disappointed child. "My shirt devoured your ice cream. It was tasty. Now I need to wash its mouth. I'll catch up with you at Chelsie's," MK told Rey and Svet, who checked their clothes to ensure they didn't suffer the same fate as MK's blouse.

"Got them!" The jittery dad declared.

"No worries. Get your kid another ice cream or something," MK dismissed the source of the mess and headed straight for the mall's bathroom.

Her mood hung in the balance today. Waking up to Eric's reassuring message about Michael's well-being, she couldn't shake off the memory of their kiss the night before. It left her conflicted, and the day unfolded with an unusual assertiveness, especially considering Michael was a near stranger and not exactly her usual type.

Trying to pinpoint what drew her to him, she pondered his gradual, cool demeanor or his politeness. Yet, she knew a polite guy wasn't exactly a rare find. 'There had to be more to him than meets the eye,' she thought with a half-smile, unintentionally punny.

With Rika busy, MK decided to spend the day with Svet and Rey, hoping relaxation might offer some clarity on her unexpected behavior the night before.

Facing the bathroom mirror, she grimaced at the stubborn stain on her blouse. 'This won't cut it. Needs a good wash.' With a sigh, she reached for the F&T paper bag.

Her hand was seized and forcibly lifted. A white-gloved hand held hers, and a taller figure pushed at her back. Confused, she tried to catch a glimpse in the mirror, but there was no one behind her.

"But..." Lips trembling, she looked at her hand – it was still held, and the unseen force continued to press. "Halt."

The manly voice, oddly soothing, stopped her just as she was about to turn. Her pupils glazed over, and her struggles ceased. Two fangs sank into her neck.

"Don't turn her," someone cautioned, but MK was already slipping into a deep sleep. "Make her a Thrall."

The fangs withdrew, and the white-gloved hand released her. The man vanished into The Gray as MK's hand fell to her side, frozen like a statue.

"The Demonic Presence messes with the scrying. I only have a face of the suspected human. Agitating the Demonic Presence will guide us closer, but it's speeding up its vanishing act."

"Tell her to run to him."

"Go!" A rift opened in The Gray, and his voice echoed in MK's ears.

Unfazed by her stained blouse and the F&T paper bag, MK bolted out of the bathroom like a pro sprinter, causing chaos in the mall. Anyone in her path was blown back like they'd been tackled by a giant football player.

"The searing Demonic Presence will attract hunters after the bounty and him. Can you handle them?" He directed the silent one, who nodded and disappeared in a green fog.

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…

Now, at 14:07, Detective Ilmar's heart drummed in his chest. 'The door's open…'

His family's apartment, situated on the 7th floor, beckoned. Ignoring the memory of his wife's voice abruptly cut off during the call, he couldn't wait for the elevator, even with three of them, and hustled up the stairway.

The only light on the 7th floor filtered through the corridor's window. His apartment, on the left wing, one of two on that side, had its door slightly ajar, allowing the internal light to carve a path.

Sticking to the corridor's wall, Ilmar unholstered his gun, preparing for a potential home invasion. He'd shoot down any unfamiliar face if the initial glimpse inside warranted such action.

Reaching the door, he peeked cautiously. No one in sight. Slowly opening it, there they were…

'Aisha! Nura!'

His wife and teenage daughter sat frozen on chairs, their faces etched in terror.

Behind Aisha's chair loomed a man over two meters tall, and the woman behind Nura's chair measured at least one hundred and eighty-five centimeters – his height, he figured – given her long, wild hair. Both were clad in long fur coats, now splattered with fresh blood. The gruesome evidence pooled on the floor, between his family and the two invaders, where the lifeless bodies of Officers Hendrics and Belsamel lay.

Detective Ilmar's pupils contracted as he recognized the fallen officers, and in one swift motion, he aimed his gun and fired twice.

The impossibility of what happened next rattled him to the core.

The man and woman effortlessly blocked the bullets with the palms of their hands.

"Good shot," the woman remarked, inspecting the bullet before casually flicking it away with her sharp-nailed thumb – all their nails were thick and pointy.

The bullet whizzed past Detective Ilmar's ear, embedding itself in the wall.

"You get only one," she declared, sidling over to Nura's side.

The barely seventeen-year-old girl stared at the wild-haired woman, resembling a lamb facing a ravenous wolf.

Bending down, the woman's long left arm encircled Nura's head, and her large hand covered more than half of the terrified girl's face.

"Don't touch my daughter!" Detective Ilmar snapped.

His protest was too slow, unprepared. His chin met the floor, head pressed so his jaw couldn't open. Downed, his gun smacked from his hand, hit the wall somewhere before dropping. The bodies of his colleagues lay right in front of him, his face nearly in their blood. He didn't care. As the disorientation passed, the woman looked directly at him, her towering partner a mountain above.

"Be grateful. You'll pay for only one of the bullets," said the man, and the powerless Detective Ilmar could only watch.

The woman turned back to Nura, her hand squeezing enough for the cheekbones to border on cracking.

"Listen well, little pup. Don't cry. Don't make a sound. Don't move. Be absolutely obedient. Else, I'll chew the skin off your face. If you understand and are ready, blink once. You're not allowed to blink again until I'm done. Not even during. Disobey, and what would I do? Right, I'll chew the skin off your face. You don't want that, do you? Take a breath through your nostrils, fill in your chest, and blink. You have five seconds to prepare. One, two…"

Nura's complexion paled, and her frozen-out-of-fear posture shook. Tears poured from her eyes, ensuring there'd be nothing left once the five seconds were up.

"No…" The woman's voice stretched. "If mommy tries to move, the punishment would be worse. Worse than what we did to these lumps because it won't end with the relief of death."

Aisha trembled in the same posture her daughter sat. It wasn't the disturbing power of the invaders that compelled her to sit, but the haunting imagery in her brain of the savagery with which they murdered Officers Hendrics and Belsamel.

"F-"

The word "Five" lingered on the woman's tongue when Nura blinked. The tears ceased, the shaking stopped, leaving her seated like a puppet detached from her own being.

The woman beamed. "Yay! You really did manage to obey. Now stay unmoving. Don't ruin the fun."

A jagged dagger emerged from her coat, moving with a speed that Detective Ilmar couldn't follow, let alone perform. In a flash, Nura's pinky was severed.

The surge of pain jolted Nura's consciousness, yet the woman's intimidation kept her from doing anything foolish.

"See? It wasn't that bad. Can prove it with the remaining nine, if you want." Amused, the woman displayed the pinky for all to see.

Detective Ilmar growled, screaming internally. Aisha's trembles escalated. Nura... obedient.

And then...

She tossed the pinky between her serrated teeth, crunched, and swallowed. Nura slumped into unconsciousness. Aisha screamed, earning a light tap on the head from the woman, and she too succumbed to unconsciousness.

The woman strolled calmly toward Detective Ilmar, traversing the blood puddle, nonchalantly kicking Officers Hendrics and Belsamel in her path.

He stared at her with a madness growing inside.

"Make me repeat myself, and what would I do?" She squatted, smiling, spitting out a small fragment of what was once Nura's right pinky. "Nah, I won't chew your face. I'll chew your daughter's. Close your eyes to show you understand. Don't open them."

After a lengthy second to barely retain his rationality, he complied.

"We are taking your wife and daughter to a..." She scanned the surroundings. "Cleaner place. We'll contact you with your wife's cellphone. What we want is the man responsible for the crime scene those two protected. You have until sundown to deliver him. Let's call it six thirty. Every ten minutes later, I'll cut and eat another of your daughter and wife's digits, right in front of their faces, so they'll know the scent of their blood from my breath. If I'm clear, open and close your eyes."

Detective Ilmar blinked, his vision adjusting to the dimly lit room. "Good. Count to a hundred, then you're free to start your task. Don't be late," she declared before leaving the apartment shrouded in an eerie silence.

Detective Ilmar began to count, each number a heartbeat in the hushed aftermath. '…one hundred.' Opening his eyes, he slowly rose to all fours. "Wha- Wha- Wha-" The last ten minutes replayed in his mind, assaulting him. "Ah!" He yelped at the renewed sight of Officers Hendrics and Belsamel's brutal demise.

Alone now, the true extent of their agony became apparent. Limbs contorted unnaturally, upper and lower bodies twisted, faces ripped, with eyeballs and teeth scattered in a gruesome tableau. "Eh!" He exclaimed, alarmed, glancing down at his feet. As he moved to leave, a sharp pain shot through his right hand, gun-holding fingers broken. "I don't have time!" He spoke aloud, attempting to shake off the shock. "Neighbors... unless they killed them in advance, should've heard the gunshots. I can't stay here!"

Gathering his gun, he closed the apartment door, locking it behind him. Racing down the stairway, impatient with the sluggish elevators, he hurried to his car. 'I must find Michael!' The guilt or innocence of the man implicated in Mason and Neil's deaths became inconsequential. Detective Ilmar had no other leads, and if sacrificing an innocent man was the price to save his wife and daughter, he was prepared to abandon his pursuit of justice.