The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound. The stab wound.

Ashton wakes up with a jolt, his body feverish and head spinning. The night terrors are getting worse. It is beginning to crawl into his conscience, paralysing him as visions crawl past his door, creeping into his windows, appearing from the floor. It's everything that's ever happened to him. Niall's scarred face, the lighter, the dragons, the dagger, the trains, the Burntside Theatre, The Darkville Theatre. Only slightly injected with good thoughts. Take him back. Take him back a year or so, and everything will come back to him.

The diamond the stab wound on the blood all over his shirt ring on his finger barely being caught by Kristoffer.

Nothing makes sense to him right now.

*

Eddie sits in their office, nails ticking together. They're waiting for someone. Their suit is smart, a deep plum purple blazer and straight leg trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a golden brooch on their breast pocket. Suddenly, the door bursts open, the chief of magical police in the door. CC Faye Adams looks rather dishevelled, her black and bleach blonde box braids scrambled over to the wrong side, contrasting to her golden skin, uniform messy and her badge wonky on her bulletproof vest.

'I've been waiting for longer than I should. You said you'd be here at 5 pm. It's now 5:39 pm,' Eddie curls their lip, hands linked over their desk. Adams' hands shake, and her mouth begins to open and close like a fish. Eddie holds up their hand up, 'Don't make an excuse. Just sit down.'

She sits down facing Eddie, hands shaking and tears pooling in her eyes. Adams may have a higher societal rank, but she is frightened of Eddie. She puts a folder down on the desk, 'W-w-well, Mx. Ashbourne, after the m-murder of Mr. Jackson-Smith, we've c-come to the conclusion that... that the AMI must... must be behind it.'

Eddie's face contorts into utter horror, brow furrowed and eyes squinted. Adams keeps speaking, 'W-we don't know who could be behind t-this, b-b-but they must've b-been a-at your meeting.'

'Do you have fingerprints? Any sort of forensic evidence?' Eddie attempts to keep their tone cool, but their voice quakes with an thorough fury unmatched to any before. Adams bites her lip.

'There was... a hair on the body. I-it got tested, and we j-just couldn't find who it belongs to. It was a long straight blonde hair,' She states, 'W-was there anybody there that n-night who had long blonde hair.'

'No. No, nobody,' Eddie sighs, propping their head into their hands, 'Thanks, Adams. I'll call you back over if I need you.'

Adams nods quickly, snatching the folder off of the desk and scampers out of their office.

*

'Let me recap, Kris,' Alexis takes an incredulous sip of her... ahem, pardon me... shaken iced oat milk matcha latte, facing Kristoffer over a wobbly table in a busy Pret. She wears a short-sleeve white top, pinstripe trousers, golden necklace and a crimson red tie, her long black waves knotted in a bun over her head, 'You saw someone get murdered, and didn't tell anyone?'

'I told you that I submitted an anonymous report. I don't want to ruin my reputation,' Kristoffer recaps, head spinning.

'You could've trusted Ashton. Do you not?' She queries, cocking a fluffy eyebrow at him. He shakes his head. Alexis sighs and readjusts her newfound pair of thin rectangular tortoiseshell glasses. She squints her eyes at him, 'Kristoffer, listen. Within our workplace, you do the cool stuff, you know, kill people. I am the accountant, which I enjoy nonetheless. I have not killed a person since two years ago, let alone witness a murder. I have, however, witnessed two of my best friend get married, and you two clearly love each other. Ashton understands. You should confess it to him, you know.'

'I don't... ugh,' Kristoffer looks down at his lunch; an iced coffee and a sandwich. He suddenly feels ill thinking about the blood splattering up the walls, 'It's difficult, you know?'

'Hmm. Me and Hana tell each other a lot of things,' Alexis shrugs, taking the last bite of her pasta, 'You've known him longer than I've known her.'

'That's different. Have you and Hana witnessed a murder?'

'Mmm, true,' Alexis points a manicured nail at him. She takes another sip of her drink, 'Well, I can't help you anymore than I've given you tips. Chat to him when you get back, because he's yours to talk to. I won't even tell him anything.'

*

Kristoffer fumbles in his pockets to find the key to the front door of his apartment. He places his headphones around his neck, the windows down the little corridor linking the elevator to the rooms showing the smoggy light poisoning against the dark evening sky. Number 37. He opens the door with a loud bang.

'Hey, I'm home!'

Should he tell him? All the worries in his mind usually leave him as soon as he steps in the door and cleans off his shoes on the doormat. This time, they crawl under the doorframe, grabbing his ankles and pulling him back to the centre of London. He suddenly feels Ashton hug him tightly, standing on his tiptoes to hug him.

'Hey. How was work?'

Maybe he won't listen to Alexis.

'Good, yeah.'