(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Dockside Tavern...
The tavern was busy again, the fear of the night softened by the presence of daylight and hot food.
Ben sat near the window, quietly finishing a simple breakfast of grilled sea fish and bread.
He kept his head lowered, illusion magic still holding—just another common traveler passing through Rivermoor.
Then he noticed them.
A group entering together. Disciplined. Too alert for civilians. Silver cloaks.
'Silver Eagles,'
Ben realized at once.
His gaze lingered only a moment—but that was enough.
At the center of the group walked Nebra, her posture composed, eyes sharp.
She was scanning the room out of habit more than suspicion.
Then her eyes met his. Just briefly.
They widened. Not in shock—but recognition.
'So that's how you're playing it, A disguise.'
She thought, noting his plain clothes.
Without reacting outwardly, Nebra turned to the knights with her and gave a quiet order.
They nodded and exited the tavern one by one, leaving her behind.
-Nod
She walked to the counter and requested a private booth.
Moments later, the door to the small room closed—and locked.
Ben finished his meal calmly, stood, and followed.
He stepped inside without knocking.
-Knock -Knock
Private Booth...
Nebra turned to face him the instant the door shut as she asked sharply.
"What are you doing here? And dressed like a commoner, of all things."
Ben released the illusion magic around his clothes just enough for her to be certain it was him while he spoke simply.
"I'm investigating, There's a serial killer operating in this city."
Her expression hardened.
"You too..."
He raised an eyebrow hearing her response Ben continued.
"He's been killing women, and recently we confirmed he's been killing men too. The bodies were just never found."
Nebra's eyes narrowed slightly.
-Frown
"So the rumors are true."
She crossed her arms as she explained why she was here at Rivermoor city.
"I'm here on official business. A wealthy merchant hired the Silver Eagles. His wife was among the victims—or so it was believed. After the new findings, he wants answers."
"So do I,"
Ben replied. They regarded each other for a moment, weighing the situation.
Ben exhaled softly.
"Because the killer is methodical. He blends in. The moment he knows king's presence is here openly, he'll disappear."
Nebra clicked her tongue quietly.
-Tch.
"Figures."
She glanced toward the door, then back at him.
"For now, observe. Cross-reference guard findings with civilian routines."
Nebra considered that as she spoke at last.
"…Then we're after the same thing, Just from different angles."
Ben gave a faint nod.
-Nod
"Looks like it."
Outside the booth, the tavern noise continued—unaware that two high-ranking figures were quietly aligning their hunt.
For a moment, silence lingered between them.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then Nebra chuckled softly.
-Chuckle
"Honestly, you always know how to make things complicated."
She said, her sharp tone melting into something far more familiar,
Before Ben could respond, she stepped closer and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shh."
In one smooth motion, she closed the distance between them, settling onto his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Ben stiffened in surprise—then relaxed, recognizing the look in her eyes.
Nebra leaned in, her voice low as she murmured.
"Walls have ears, And I don't feel like being overheard."
She kissed him—brief at first, then deeper—silencing any protest before it could form.
The locked booth shielded them from the tavern noise outside, turning the small space into a world of its own.
Ben exhaled slowly, one hand resting at her waist as he muttered.
"…You're impossible, and become bold."
She smiled against his cheek.
"And you missed me."
For a few moments, the danger outside the booth faded—the killer, the investigation, the city on edge—All pushed aside.
Eventually, Nebra pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her expression serious once more and spoke quietly.
"Alright, Enough distractions."
She stood, smoothing her cloak. She added.
"We focus, But later—"
She tapped his chest lightly.
"We talk."
Ben watched her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"…Deal."
After Half an hour...
Ben exited the private booth first.
His expression was composed again, illusion magic still in place, posture relaxed enough to pass for an ordinary traveler.
"...."
He left the tavern without drawing attention and stepped into the sunlit street.
Five minutes later...
Nebra emerged as well.
She adjusted her cloak, scanned the area once, then headed in the opposite direction—toward where her Silver Eagle squad was waiting.
To anyone watching, there was no connection between them.
Two separate paths. Two separate duties.
Ben turned toward the direction of the guard headquarters.
As he rounded a corner, someone collided with him shoulder-first.
"Oh—sorry!"
The man blurted out without stopping, already hurrying away.
"Late for my shift!"
Ben steadied himself and watched the man disappear down the street.
Only then did he notice where he was.
"...."
A barber shop stood directly ahead.
The place was crowded—men waiting outside, voices overlapping, laughter spilling into the street.
Clippers buzzed faintly inside. Business was good.
Ben was about to move on—When he heard it.
"Meow."
He stopped. Turned.
"...."
At the edge of his vision, a familiar cat sat perched near a stack of crates.
The same scruffy one he had seen the night before—the one fighting over the discarded hand.
It locked eyes with him.
"...."
"...."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then the cat hissed softly and bolted.
-Hiss!!!
Straight toward the back alley beside the barber shop.
Ben's gaze sharpened as he muttered.
"…You again,"
Without hesitation, he changed direction and followed—slipping past the edge of the crowd and into the narrow alley as the noise of the street faded behind him.
The cat darted through the maze of alleys with surprising speed.
Ben followed at a measured pace, careful not to draw attention. It slipped beneath hanging laundry, leapt over broken crates, and vanished around tight corners just as he reached them.
Finally, it stopped.
The alley opened into a small, forgotten courtyard.
At its center stood an old, run-down house, its walls cracked, paint long faded, windows dark and lifeless.
An iron gate blocked the entrance, rusted but still firmly locked.
The black cat slipped effortlessly through the bars and disappeared inside.
Ben slowed to a halt.
He studied the building.
No lights. No sound. But something about the place felt… occupied he muttered with a sigh.
-Sigh
"…Of course,"
The gate wouldn't open without force—and force would announce his presence.
That wasn't an option.
Ben lowered his hand to his wrist and pressed the button.
The Omnitrix responded instantly, its display lighting up.
-Click
He rotated the dial until a familiar silhouette appeared.
Ghostfreak.
Without hesitation, Ben pressed the dial down.
-FLASH!!!
A radiant green flash erupted, light warping and folding in on itself as his body thinned, unraveled, and reshaped.
Flesh gave way to mist, limbs dissolving into spectral form.
Where Ben had stood—Ghostfreak hovered.
His single visible eye glowed softly as he drifted forward.
The iron gate meant nothing now.
He phased through it like smoke through bars and floated toward the silent house beyond, senses stretched outward.
The cat was inside.
Ghostfreak slipped through the doorway without a sound, remaining invisible as he drifted inside.
The first thing he noticed was movement.
Cats. Dozens of them.
Black, gray, white, striped—some curled up on broken furniture, others perched along cracked shelves and window ledges.
Ravens occupied the higher spaces, clustered along exposed beams, their dark eyes tracking everything in the room with unsettling intelligence.
The house looked abandoned at first glance.
Dust coated the floor. Furniture lay broken or overturned.
Cobwebs stretched across corners like forgotten memories.
But it wasn't truly abandoned.
Ghostfreak's gaze dropped to the ground.
Footprints. Many of them.
Fresh ones overlapping older tracks, moving in and out of the house in regular patterns.
Someone came here often.
Someone careful enough to leave no light—but careless enough to leave habits behind.
'So this is your nest maybe,'
Ben thought. He drifted deeper inside.
The animals didn't react to him.
No hissing. No alarm.
They simply watched—silent, obedient, as if they recognized something familiar in the air.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then he saw it.
A framed photograph, resting crookedly on a small table.
Ghostfreak floated closer.
It showed a married couple.
Or at least, it had once.
The bride's face had been completely scorched black, the surface burned until nothing recognizable remained.
The husband's face was worse—torn away down to the neck, the paper shredded violently, as if someone had needed to erase him entirely.
Not removed. Destroyed.
Ghostfreak stared at the picture for a long moment.
Obsession. Resentment. Fixation.
This wasn't random hatred.
This was personal.
His single visible eye narrowed.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)Thanks for reading the chapter!
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