He leaned closer, a sly smile playing on his lips as he pulled down his mask. "What's the verdict?" he asked, his piercing green eyes locking onto hers.
Elyne Cooper, the youngest detective in the NYPD, has one mission: capture The Reclaimer, a vigi...
She sank onto the couch, her legs folding beneath her as she stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She told herself over and over that Dante would be fine. He'd done this before, countless times, always returning with that infuriatingly calm smirk that drove her crazy and set her at ease all at once. But now, the weight in her chest felt heavier, more insistent.
She let out a slow breath, forcing herself to stand and find something—anything—to occupy her hands and silence the restless ache in her mind. She picked up a book, flipping through the pages without taking in a single word. When that failed, she moved to the kitchen, scrubbing already-clean dishes, her hands moving with mechanical precision.
The clock on the wall ticked in a slow, mocking rhythm, each second stretching into eternity. Elyne caught herself staring at it, willing the hands to move faster, to bring him back to her sooner. Her eyes flickered to the surveillance feed in the corner of the room, its faint glow illuminating the shadows in her expression. She stared at the empty roads, the dimly lit alleyways, searching for any sign of him, for any reassurance that he was out there, safe.
The minutes blurred into hours as she flipped aimlessly through television channels, none of them holding her attention. She tried everything to shake the unease that clung to her like a second skin, but no matter how hard she fought it, the gnawing feeling in her gut refused to subside.
And then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught it—a flicker of motion on the camera feed.
Her heart leapt, her body reacting before her mind could fully process what she'd seen. She was on her feet in an instant, her pulse racing as her gaze locked onto the screen. Her chest tightened with the faintest flicker of hope, the thought that Dante was back, that everything was fine, that she'd been worrying over nothing.
She could already picture him walking through the door, flashing that smug smile, tossing his jacket over a chair like he always did. The thought made her chest tighten even more.
But then she saw the figure.
It wasn't Dante.
Her breath caught as the feed on the screen flickered, revealing not just one figure but an entire team. They moved with precision, clad in tactical gear, weapons held at the ready. Their helmets and visors reflected the dim light, rendering them faceless, inhuman. Her chest tightened, her pulse hammering in her ears as panic surged through her like a tidal wave.
This wasn't a chance discovery. They'd been found, hunted down by people who knew exactly where they were.
Her hands trembled, hovering uselessly near the edge of the couch as she watched them close in. She had no plan, no time to think. The surveillance camera blinked to black as one of them disabled it, and her world narrowed to the faint hum of the electronic locks on the door.
Then, the sound she dreaded most: the keypad beeped.
Her breath hitched, her mind screaming for her to move, to hide, to grab the knife Dante had left on the counter. But she couldn't move, couldn't tear herself away from the horrifying reality unfolding before her. The door slid open with a sharp, mechanical hiss, and the first figure stepped inside.
He was enormous, his protective suit glinting under the fluorescent lights. The muzzle of his weapon stayed trained low, but his posture carried an undeniable authority. "Detective Elyne Cooper?" he asked, his voice distorted through the helmet, cold and detached.
Elyne's lips parted, but no sound came out. She felt paralyzed, the air thick and suffocating as the weight of his presence pressed down on her. The name felt foreign on his tongue, as if it belonged to someone else, someone she no longer recognized.
Where is Dante?
The thought surged through her like lightning, sharp and painful. He should've been back by now, should've been here to take her away from this, from all of this. But he wasn't. And the knot in her chest tightened with every second he remained absent.
Before she could summon the strength to respond, another figure stormed in, his voice sharp and commanding.
"It's her!"
Elyne flinched as the familiar voice cut through the haze of her panic. Her eyes darted to the doorway, and there he was—Harlow, his weathered face a mixture of relief and frustration.
"Elyne," he barked, his tone less accusatory now, more urgent. He strode toward her, his boots heavy on the floor. "It's over. We've got you."
She barely registered his words as he reached her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She didn't resist, her body rigid, her mind blank except for the growing void where Dante should've been.
Harlow's grip was firm, almost too firm, as if trying to anchor her to reality, but it felt distant, like everything else in the room. "You're safe now," he muttered, his voice softer. "You're safe."
Safe?
Elyne's gaze remained fixed on the doorway, her thoughts spiraling. Safe from what? From whom? And where the hell was Dante?
The questions crowded her mind, but her lips stayed sealed, her body unmoving. She couldn't feel safe—not without him, not without knowing what had happened to the man who had promised he'd come back.
Harlow pulled back slightly, his hands gripping her shoulders as he searched her face. "Elyne, you're gonna be okay," he said again, his voice insistent. But she couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't do anything but stand there, silent and frozen, as the weight of uncertainty crushed her.
She wasn't safe. Not anymore. Not without him.
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