Chaos broke out in the precinct.

    Agent Nelson stood before the wild conference room, pointing at officers and assigning them to each force. The intel stunned her, when Rios showed it. A hot tip of Celine's location, and a photo of Mark, battered, bound, and bloody. What drove her further was the looming threat of Detective Derekson, who seemed hellbent on making the case his own.

    Amy would beat him to it. She had to, otherwise he would ruin the whole operation. And she had no doubt he wouldn't care if Mark was killed or not; his only sights were on Wilford Warfstache, and the glory that would come with arresting him.

    "Odetta," said Nelson, pointing at her. "Your team will take lead into the building."

    From afar, shrouded by officers, Agent Rios met Odetta's eyes. They shared a nod.

    "And Agent Rios," said Amy, meeting her gaze. "You'll be with me."

    Bingo, thought Rios, sending Amy a nod. Blank really was good at his predictions.

    "Alright," called Nelson, clapping her hands together. "Let's get moving!"

———

A haunting line glowed on Dark's phone.

'Where it all began,' said the message, 'and where it all ends.'

    Dark clutched his hair while Wilford paced, repeating the message over and over under his breath. Jim watched with worry, taking refuge next to Host.

    "Riddles," cursed Dark, running his hands over his face. "She's playing us with riddles."

    "'Where it all began,'" said Wilford. "What beginning does she mean? The part where you slept with her husband, or the part with us—"

    "This is ridiculous," said Dark, eyeing the time.

    Nine p.m. One hour and thirty minutes left.

    "Can you—" chimed Jim. "Can you ask for a hint, maybe?"

    "Might as well," said Dark, typing a message. "Let's inflate her ego some more."

    Dark's message was left on seen. Minutes dragged on, and on, and on, with no answer, until he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up.

    "They're probably in the city," said Dark. "We should start looking."

    Jim stood. "I can drive."

    "No, Jim," said Wilford, eyeing Dark. "Not this time." He took a deep breath, and when he met Dark's eyes, they shared a nod. "This is between us and Celine."

    "But—"

    "Stay here," said Wilford sternly. "Watch over Host, will you?"

    Jim opened his mouth to protest, then gave in with a huff. "Okay, okay," he said, wringing his hands together. "Be careful, please."

    Wilford ruffled Jim's hair and leaned in close. "Don't worry about us, kid," he said, forcing a smile. "If anything happens to us, keep this city going for me. Mkay?"

    Jim nodded, and Wilford turned to Dark, meeting his eyes. "Come on," he said, tapping the man's shoulder. "Let's save your friend."

———

As the city blared on, and chaos filled its streets, Celine stood, peaceful, separated from it all.

    She took a deep breath and tipped her head back, sighing at the cold breeze that rustled her hair, her dress. When she opened her eyes, she took in the sight of the city and its lights, which glowed like embers in the night. From her view on the roof, it looked endless.

    A steel door clanged shut, and heels clicked behind her, followed by the drag of a body. She didn't turn her head to see who it was. Moments later, the dragging stopped, and Blank came to her side, gazing out at the city.

    "Agent Nelson is on her way," said Blank, voice quieter under the city ambience.

    "Good," said Celine.

    They stood there, on the roof of the skyscraper, in silence. Blank gazed at Celine through the corner of his eye.

    "Wilma is in position," he said carefully. "But you don't plan to keep her there, do you?"

    Celine's eyes went half-lidded, and she glanced at Blank, a smirk toying her lips. "Do you have something to say about that, Blank?"

    He shook his head. "And Warfstache?"

    Pleasure stole Celine's features. "I'm going to string them along," she said. "They won't know where we are until the last minute."

    Blank glanced over his shoulder, and this time, Celine followed his gaze. There, only feet away on the floor, was Mark, his wrists and ankles bound by rope. Celine had given Blank permission to rough him up, and the damage showed. A bloody lip, a bruise swelling along his forehead. Even if the bodyguard woke up, he'd be too hurt to defend himself in time.

    Celine gazed at Blank steadily, taking in his forever-deadpan features. "You've been off," she noted quietly. "Ever since I told you to talk to him."

    Blank inhaled through his nose, gazing down at Mark's body. He pressed his foot into the bodyguard's chest and rolled him onto his back, lingering there.

    Emotions may have never shown on the man's face; but for someone who knew him, the air around him could become readable. Blank was a man of subtleties, the slightest prick of sweat under skin or the shift of light before it rained. A perfectly blank canvas, until you looked close enough to see the imperfections.

    "What did he say to you?" challenged Celine.

    Blank slowly dragged his gaze onto hers.

    "Enough," he said.

    Celine narrowed her eyes, and Blank looked at his watch.

    "You should respond with a hint, soon," he said.

    He met her eyes, the air around him closing her off. Before she could say anything else, he turned away and walked towards the roof exit.

    "Where are you going?" Celine called over the wind.

    Blank opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be on time," he said.

    The door clanged shut behind him, and Celine frowned, turning back to Mark's body. A prickle of distrust settled along her skin—a feeling she didn't take too kindly from a man she depended on for the bulk of her operation.

    That man and his patterns...

Was he planning something behind her back?

———

Ten p.m.

    Thirty minutes left.

    They had been driving around the city for an hour, searching high and low for any place Celine might be hiding. So far, they had no luck. Their time, and patience, was running thin.

    "Well?" said Wilford, hands over the steering wheel. He glanced at the passenger side and found Dark's troubled features, his fingers digging into the phone in his lap. "Anything?"

    "None," breathed Dark, staring at the messages.

    'A hint, Celine,' was his most recent message, sent twenty minutes ago. Still, no response. Not even a sign. There were navigating blindly—no idea where Mark could be except for that dreadful line:

    'Where it all began, and where it all ends.'

    Wilford pulled over onto the side of the road, and Dark sent him a look, brows furrowed.

    "What are you doing?"

    Wilford put the car in park and turned to Dark, meeting his eyes. "We need to think," he said.

    "That's all I've been doing is fucking think," Dark scoffed, stress lining his brows. "What else are we supposed to do?"

    Wilford sighed, and he set a hand over Dark's shoulder, trying to meet his eyes. The businessman glanced away.

    "We're going to find him," said Wilford gently. "I promise you, Dark."

    "You can't promise on a life, Wil," said Dark under his breath, closing his eyes. "There's nothing else we can do."

    "So you're just going to give up on Mark?"

    Dark glared at him. "Of course I'm not," he said in disbelief. "I got him in this mess. I have to get him out of it." His face fell. "I just... wish Celine would quit playing these goddamn games—"

    Wilford turned the car off. The vibrance of the city filled the space between them, louder now that the engine was dead. Dark met the mafia boss' eyes.

    "I know," said Wil gently. "But no one plays fair in this world, Dark. It's just a different kind of violence."

    Wilford glanced down, and he carefully took Dark's hand in his own, running his thumb along his knuckles. The time on the console between them glowed: 10:10.

    Twenty minutes.

    "Y'know, I've had something like this happen to me before," said Wil. "Back when I first joined the mafia." Dark watched him carefully, noting the fallen tone of his voice. "They gave me a choice: either I follow their orders and kill an entire family..." His brows furrowed. "...or they kill mine."

    Wilford traced the path of Dark's hand.

    "No matter what I chose," he said, "I killed both."

    "Your family?"

    "My sister," said Wilford. "I killed the promise I made to her. I left her to die."

    "You kept her from getting killed."

    "She doesn't know that," said Wilford.

    10:13.

    Seventeen minutes.

    Wilford clearly wanted to say something else, but instead, he cleared his throat.

    "Anyway," said Wilford, "the point is, we can't give up. We don't have the best options, but we've got to work with what we've got." He motioned towards the phone. "So let's look again."

    Dark pulled up the messages, and Wilford scrolled to the most recently-sent photo of Mark.

    "Let's start with this."

———

10:20.

    Ten minutes.

    Wilma paced in the lobby of the building, checking and rechecking her gun. For an hour, now, she kept playing through what she'd do to Wilford when he arrived. Would she aim the gun at him the moment she saw him? Would she wait, let him take her in first, and shoot him while he was stunned?

    Her heels clicked along the marble floors.

    Another set of heels joined hers.

    She stilled, and she glanced around, finding Blank at the side entrance. He walked towards her, eyes pinned on her. The look made her shudder.

    "You're not supposed to be here," she said, letting the gun hang at her side.

    Blank stopped feet away from Wilma, meeting her eyes.

    "I know," he said.

    Wilma gave him a look, and slowly, Blank turned his shoulder towards an isolated hallway. He remembered watching as Dark and Wilford disappeared down there to get away from the party—the night it all went down.

    "You want Warfstache alone," said Blank. "Bring him there."

    An uneasy feeling settled in Wilma's chest, and she narrowed her eyes. "Celine told me to stay here..."

    Blank let the words hang a moment, face deadpan.

    "I know," he said again, something different in his voice. He kept his eyes pinned on Wilma's, slowly rose a brow at her, and just as slowly, it clicked. It was all the motion Wilma needed to know what he was doing.

    Blank was going behind Celine's orders.

    He kept his gaze on Wilma's a moment longer, and without another word, he turned away and up the elevator, leaving her alone in the lobby with a decision.

———

10:25.

    Five minutes.

    "I recognize that room," breathed Dark, voice hitching with hope.

    He and Wilford had ditched the car, now rushing through the busy sidewalks. Dark examined the photos sent by Celine while Wilford kept a lookout, picking out buildings that held bits of construction.

    "If I'm right," said Dark, zooming in on the background of an image, "that's the penthouse for the new building on—"

    That's when the newest message came.

    The phone chimed, and both Wilford and Dark stopped in their tracks, staring at the phone. Adrenaline rushed through Dark's frame, and he scrolled to see what it said.

    '5.'

    That's all it was, that single number.

    "Five?" hissed Wilford, brows furrowed. "Five what—minutes?"

    Then it clicked.

    "Fifth Street," said Dark, meeting Wil's gaze with wide eyes. "They're on Fifth Street."

    Wilford's brows rose. "Where it all began," he exhaled, "and where it all ends. Holy shit."

    "We have five minutes left," said Dark, shoving his phone away.

    "We're a ten minute drive from Fifth Street," said Wilford. "C'mon. We have to run."

    "Shit," cursed Dark. "What if she kills him by then?"

    "We won't let that happen," said Wilford, breaking into a run. Dark followed, and together, they rushed towards Fifth Street, the minutes ticking down, down, down, until the final hour.

...

Thank you again for all your patience with me on updates <3 Finals week is coming soon, and I've been studying/doing work like crazyyyy.

Thank you so much for reading and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo