Jackson’s eyes snapped open to a sky as dark as spilled ink.

  It took him a few seconds to understand where he was. Every muscle shrieked in protest, like it had been dragged instead of carried. The concrete beneath him was cold. Dust clung to his clothes. Dried blood pulled at his skin.

  He sat up slowly, teeth clenched, one hand pressing against the wound Eva had given him. It was still bleeding. He lifted his head, his vision swimming, and saw her.

  Eva was crouched at the edge of the penthouse roof, knees pulled in, arms wrapped tight around herself. From where she sat, it looked like she might jump.

  As the moon reached its peak behind her, soft and pale, like it didn’t know what had happened earlier on, she turned her head when she noticed him moving.

  Jackson exhaled. “Well,” he said quietly, his voice coming out rough. “You’re still awake.”

  She didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the horizon as the light crept higher. Jackson folded his wings back into his coat with care. The motion sent a fresh pulse of pain through his back. The wounds there still hadn’t closed. None of them had.

  He looked down at his chest again, fingers coming away red.

  “How am I still bleeding?” he muttered.

  He pushed himself to his feet and walked toward her, slow and careful. The closer he got, the more he could feel the tension in her body. When he reached out and touched her shoulder, she startled violently. Eva leapt away and ran to the far edge of the roof, crouching low, eyes locked on him.

  Jackson froze.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, each word dragged out through pain and regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He lifted his hand, hesitating, then lowered it again. “It’s not safe here.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, her posture changed. She dropped to all fours. A faint growl slipped from her throat as her eyes widened, like pits of black fire.

  Jackson knew he was losing her. He took a breath and let the white wings unfurl. They snapped open with the sound of a heavy sail catching the wind, glowing in the moonlight.

  “I promise,” he said, calmer now. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The moment the wings unfolded, something in Eva shifted.

  The growl faded. Her shoulders loosened. Her eyes softened as she stared at them, as if they were the only familiar thing left in the world. She drifted toward them, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to count every plume. She took a hesitant step closer. Then another.

  Jackson watched her carefully.

  But when the heat of the moonlight grew too bright and he drew the wings back into his coat, her reaction was immediate. She jumped away again, fear snapping back into place.

  That hurt more than the wound in his chest.

  “It’s not safe up here,” he said. “A police helicopter could spot us.”

  He paused, then added, “Or worse. The Order could find us.”

  That got her attention. He saw it in the way her muscles tightened, the way her breathing changed. The name landed somewhere deep.

  “I need you to trust me,” he said.

  He moved toward her again, slowly, giving her time to retreat if she needed to. This time, she trembled, but she stayed. When his hand finally rested on her head, he felt the heat of her skin.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “For trusting me, Eva.”

  For the first time since he woke up, Jackson smiled.

  Down at the diner, Hayes and Cannon sat frozen, both still processing the impossible fact that Jackson Blackwood had just walked past them.

  The silence stretched until Isabelle leaned over the counter, wiping her hands on a rag.

  Are you guys planning on leaving?” she asked. “...Cause we’re not gonna stay open forever.”

  Hayes finally looked up. She spoke to Cannon without even acknowledging Isabelle.

  “Three weeks,” she said quietly. “After three weeks, he finally shows up… and walks past us like we’re nothing.”

  Her jaw tightened, anger creeping into her expression.

  Cannon turned toward her immediately. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he said. “And no.”

  She shot him a look.

  “You are not going after him,” Cannon continued. “Unless you want to end up like Dean.”

  Isabelle cleared her throat loudly as she stepped closer. "Hello? Earth to detectives?”

  Both of them looked up, momentarily disoriented.

  “We’re closing in five minutes,” Isabelle said.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Hayes let out a short, almost forced chuckle. “Sorry,” she said. “We got sidetracked.”

  Isabelle studied them for a moment.

  “I saw the way you looked at that man,” she said, her curiosity winning out over her boredom, “Do you know him?”

  Hayes stood, grabbing her jacket. “It’s not important.”

  But as she reached the door, she couldn't help herself. She turned back.

  “Was it just me,” she asked, “or did you notice anything… weird about that man?”

  Isabelle blinked. Then she laughed softly.

  “Well,” she said, “aside from the fact that I’ve seen him before, and he called me Valerie…”

  Cannon stopped cold. “You’ve seen him before?” he asked sharply. “Where?”

  Isabelle’s smile faded. “At the park,” she said. “I bumped into him, and he called me Valerie and then…” She hesitated. “... he disappeared.”

  A flicker of fear crossed her face. “Is there a problem?”

  Hayes stepped in quickly. “No,” she said. “Just… he looks familiar. That’s all.”

  She pulled Isabelle into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Izzy” she said softly.

  Then she and Cannon walked out into the night.

  As they reached Cannon’s car, Cannon glanced at her. "Back to the precinct,” he asked, “or do you plan to switch states?”

  Hayes didn’t answer right away.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph, the same one from the underground library. She stared at it for a moment before slipping it back.

  “There’s too much mystery to walk away from,” she said. “Even if it means we can’t trust anyone but ourselves from now on.”

  Cannon nodded and got behind the wheel. Hayes got into the passenger's seat and they drove off.

  Across the street, a black SUV with tinted windows sat idling. The driver slowly rolled his window down, raised a phone to his ear, and spoke calmly.

  “Site four is clear,” he said. “Nothing too suspicious.”

  The window slid back up, but the SUV remained.

  Back at the Grand Heights, Jackson sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, tending to the wound on his chest. He wrapped it in bandages, leaving it unstitched. Normally, he wouldn’t need stitches, but this injury looked different; the edges were scorched, as if fire had kissed his skin before Eva’s nails had finished. Each pull of the bandage made him grit his teeth, the dull ache radiating through his torso.

  As the first pale light of the Grayhaven sunrise bled over the skyline, Eva began to move through the room like she was discovering a museum.

  She entered the bathroom, her eyes tracing every detail, lingering on the faucets and tiles. She reached the sink, frozen by the sound of running water. To her, it was a miracle; a continuous, shimmering flow. She leaned in, trying to catch the liquid in her palms, but as the cold touch hit her skin, she jumped back in sudden fear. Her elbow knocked a heavy glass vase, which shattered with a sharp crash.

  Eva didn’t scream. She didn’t make a sound at all. She immediately dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands and curling into a tight ball. She stayed there, trembling violently, waiting for punishment that might never come.

  Jackson reacted instantly. Despite his bandaged chest, he moved faster than he should have with a gust of wind announcing his presence.

  He expected an intruder, an assassin from the Order. Instead, he found a girl broken by the sound of breaking glass, trembling but silent. He let out a heavy, ragged exhale, his shoulders dropping with relief, and sat on the floor a few feet away, careful not to crowd her. Blood seeped faintly through his bandages, but he ignored it, watching the sunlight scatter across the polished floor.

  "No one’s gonna hurt you for breaking a glass, Eva,” he said, his voice calm. “Trust me. I’ve broken way more than that tonight.”

  At the sound of his voice, she lowered her hands. Her eyes were wide, darting toward him with the look of a frightened animal. Jackson met her gaze with a soft, tired laugh.

  “Come,” he said, pushing himself upwards, “I think it’s time we eat.”

  He stood and stretched his hand toward her. Eva stared at his fingers for a long, agonizing heartbeat, her eyes searching his. Finally, she placed her hand in his. As his fingers closed around hers, she shivered, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation of pain. But it never came. When she opened them, she found only his calm, steady expression.

  He pulled her up and led her back into the main room, stepping over the sea of broken glass and expensive ruins. He reached for the brown paper bag from the diner and pulled out the food.

  Remembering her fear, he didn't try to hand it to her. Instead, he placed a burger on a clean plate at the bar counter and slid it toward her, giving her control.

  Eva hesitated, her gaze flicking between the food and him. Then she reached for it slowly, her movements cautious, almost ritualistic. She peeled the burger apart layer by layer, sniffing each piece before placing it in her mouth, eating with the deliberate care of someone learning what it meant to be safe.

  Jackson leaned back against the counter, picked up the half-full bottle of bourbon, and poured a glass. He drank slowly, keeping his eyes on her. Watching her eat, he allowed himself a quiet moment of satisfaction. She was here. She was alive. And for now, she was learning to trust.

  When Hayes and Cannon stepped into the precinct that morning, it was already a beehive of activity. The air smelled of burnt coffee and the hum of printers; a jarringly normal sound compared to the silence of the docks. They hadn’t even reached their desks when Officer Burnley intercepted them.

  "Hayes, Cannon. Glad I caught you," Burnley said, checking his watch. "Captain wants to see you both."

  Hayes’s hand tightened on the strap of her bag. "Both of us?"

  "Yeah," Burnley replied, looking a bit confused by her intensity. "He called, not more than five minutes ago."

  "Did he say why?" Hayes pressed.

  Burnley opened his mouth to answer, but Cannon stepped in, smoothing over the cracks in Hayes’s composure. "Thank you, Burnley. We’ll be right there."

  As the officer moved off, Hayes let out a long, shuddering exhale. Cannon leaned in close, his voice a barely audible murmur.

  “Relax,” he said quietly. “There’s no way he’s onto you.”

  She nodded once, more reflex than confidence, and they walked toward the captain’s office.

  Vance looked exactly how a grieving captain should. Buried behind his desk. Coffee gone cold in his hand. Paperwork stacked like it might collapse if he stopped holding it together.

  He looked up. “Any leads on the docks?”

  Hayes didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes swept the room.

  “No.” Cannon replied. “No solid leads.”

  Vance raised an eyebrow. “So you’re sticking with the fairytale hypothesis.”

  Hayes stepped forward. “With respect, sir, there’s no other explanation that fits. We have multiple witnesses. That rules out coincidence. And it rules out a ‘fairytale.’”

  Vance studied her for a moment, then smiled faintly.

  “You remind me why I keep you both on my force,” he said. “Best investigators this city’s seen in a long time.”

  Hayes felt a flicker of relief. But it didn’t last.

  “That’s why I need you to hear this carefully,” Vance continued. “The mayor wants this case closed. He thinks your talents are better used elsewhere.”

  Cannon stiffened. Hayes felt her jaw tighten.

  “I’m giving you one week,” Vance said. “If you don’t produce a valid suspect, I’m handing the case over to the feds.”

  The words landed heavy.

  “Sir…” Cannon started.

  “We’re close,” Hayes cut in. “That thing is still out there. We can stop it.”

  Vance’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to hear it. One week. That's all you get. You’re dismissed.”

  They walked out of the office in a daze, the door clicking shut behind them like a guillotine.

  Once the door shut behind them, Hayes leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “The feds?” she said. “Or the Order?”

  Cannon let out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "One week? Well... we better get to work.”