Seraphim POV
My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. For hours, I'd been tossing and turning, trying to
sleep, but that damned thing had other plans. I gave it an hour, thinking maybe
whoever it was would get the message. No luck. The relentless vibration continued,
mocking me.
Finally, I grabbed it off the bedside table, my patience gone. Commander Harris's
version 2.0—as I'd come to call him—was on the other end. His voice was as sharp
as ever, cutting through the grogginess like a knife.
"We need you at the Bureau. Now."
Straight to the point. No greetings. No explanations. And, of course, no love lost
between us. Harris's replacement, Captain Ryker, carried the same energy as the
man himself—a stickler for rules, a slave to protocol, and absolutely incapable of
hiding his disdain for me. If anything, he might've hated me even more than Harris
ever did.
"Nice to hear from you too, Captain," I said, my sarcasm lost on him—or ignored
entirely.
"This isn't optional," he snapped.
"Emergency meeting. No delays."
The line went dead. Not even a chance for me to argue, not that I would've
bothered. With a groan, I rolled out of bed and threw on the first semipresentable outfit I could find. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
The Awakener Bureau was a hive of chaos when I arrived. Reports were scattered
across desks, agents darting between rooms, their expressions a mix of
exhaustion and urgency. It was clear this wasn't just another routine investigation.
Captain Ryker stood at the front of the room, flanked by two senior analysts. His
gaze swept over me as I entered, cold and assessing, like he was already tallying
my faults for the day.
"Nice of you to join us, Seraphim," he said, his tone sharp and clipped. "Take a
seat."
I ignored the jab, sliding into an empty chair near the back. The monitor at the
front of the room flickered to life, displaying a series of gruesome images. Crime
scene photos.
"As you're all aware," Ryker began, addressing the room, "the city has been
plagued by a series of high-profile suicides over the past few weeks. Business
moguls, politicians, philanthropists... And now..." He clicked to the next slide,
revealing the face of the latest victim.
"Senator Reynard," someone muttered.
Murmurs rippled through the room. Reynard wasn't just another name in the
headlines—he was a symbol of moral uprightness. If he had skeletons in his closet,
they'd been buried deep.
"These aren't suicides," Ryker continued, silencing the room with a glare. "They're
murders."
A heavy silence followed his words, broken only by the faint hum of the projector.
"Murder?" I said, leaning forward. "How can you be sure? The evidence—"
"Points to a pattern," Ryker interrupted, his voice like ice. "Each victim left a
confession before their death, admitting to hidden crimes—embezzlement,
bribery, trafficking, even manslaughter. And each confession was signed in their
own blood."
A chill swept through the room. This wasn't just a murderer. This was someone
sending a very deliberate message.
"Do we have a lead?" another agent asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ryker shook his head. "The killer leaves nothing behind. No fingerprints, no DNA,
no witnesses. Just these 'confessions' and the bodies."
I stared at the images on the screen, my mind racing. The confessions weren't
just a detail—they were the whole point. Whoever was behind this wanted their
victims' secrets exposed, even in death.
"What about an Awakener?" I said, earning a few curious looks. "If the killer is
one of us, it would explain the precision. The lack of evidence."
Ryker crossed his arms, his expression tight. "We've considered that possibility,
but without concrete proof, we focus on what we know. And what we know is that
this case has stalled."
He paused, his gaze locking onto me. "Which is why it's yours now, Seraphim."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," Ryker said. "This entire case—the murders, the confessions, all
of it—is now under your jurisdiction. You've been vocal about your... unique
perspectives." His words dripped with disdain. "So let's see if you can do better
than the rest of us."
The room was deathly silent as his words settled over me.
"Captain," I started, keeping my tone even, "I'll need—"
"You'll have what resources we can spare," Ryker cut in, already dismissing me.
"But don't expect much. The Bureau is stretched thin. Consider this your
opportunity to prove your worth."
I wanted to argue, to remind him that this wasn't the kind of case one man could
solve alone. But I knew better. Ryker had made up his mind, and in his eyes, I was
either going to sink or swim.
"Understood," I said, my voice flat.
"Good. Dismissed."
The agents around me began to disperse, but I stayed in my seat, staring at the
images on the monitor. Each face was a puzzle piece, each confession a clue. The
murders weren't just about vengeance—they were deliberate, methodical.
And now they were my problem.
The reports were scattered across the desk, a chaotic collage of lives ended too
soon. Victim profiles, crime scene photos, timelines, autopsy notes—it was all
there, and yet it made no sense.
I leaned forward, my fingers tracing lines across the maps pinned to the wall.
Cylvana, Caelum—murder after murder. I'd been trying to find some kind of logic,
a thread that tied them together, but it was like trying to solve a puzzle with
missing pieces.
"Think, Seraphim," I muttered to myself. "There's always a pattern."
I flipped through the files again, one by one. Most of the victims were tied to
politics or power—senators, bureaucrats, even the occasional crime boss.
Corruption ran deep, and these deaths felt too precise to be anything but
intentional. Whoever was behind this had a purpose, even if I couldn't see it yet.
Then I paused. A map in one of the files caught my eye. It marked the locations
of the last five murders. Three in Caelum. Two in Cylvana.
I grabbed another map from an older case file and layered it over the first. It
was subtle, but the trend was there. The closer I looked, the more the pieces
aligned. Almost all of the killings seemed to converge toward Caelum, as if the
city itself were pulling the strings.
"Caelum…" I whispered.
The decaying heart of the empire, where secrets festered and lawlessness
thrived. It made sense. If someone were orchestrating these murders, Caelum
would be the perfect place to operate from—out of sight, out of reach.
For the first time in days, I felt like I had a direction. A lead.
Without hesitation, I grabbed my coat and stepped out into the cold night. If
there were answers, they were in Caelum. And I'd find them—even if it meant
walking straight into the darkness.
I didn't have the luxury of time to dwell on my findings in Cylvana. The more I
sifted through the reports, the more the connection between the murders and
Caelum became undeniable. The pattern was too clear. As much as I tried to ignore
it, I knew I had no choice but to head back to the city.
The weight of the case felt heavier than ever as I boarded the transport back
to Caelum. It hadn't been long since my transfer to Cylvana, and in that short time,
I'd grown used to the air of unfamiliarity. But now, returning to Caelum felt like
stepping into a ghost of my past. The streets, the buildings—they all felt both
foreign and hauntingly familiar, like remnants of a life I no longer fully understood.
I tried to focus on the task at hand, but the tension in my chest grew with each
mile closer I got. There were patterns in the cases I couldn't ignore, and I couldn't
shake the feeling that I was walking into something much darker than I'd
anticipated. The murders... they were too connected to the shadows of Caelum,
and whatever was waiting for me there, I needed to uncover it.
By the time I arrived, the city's pulse seemed different—more oppressive.
The crime scenes were a dead end.
I'd combed through every inch, walking the bloodstained alleys and shadowed
corners where lives had been snuffed out. Nothing. No clues, no traces, no
footprints, not even a hint of motive beyond the apparent connection to
corruption.
I'd spent hours with Kira, my forensics specialist, poring over reports that
detailed every fiber, every blood droplet, every speck of dirt. The results were
the same: inconclusive. Whoever was behind this knew how to cover their tracks—
or they were working on a level I hadn't encountered before.
My frustration grew with every passing moment. The silence of the evidence felt
louder than any scream, mocking my inability to piece together the puzzle.
By the time I left the Bureau's lab, the sun was beginning to set. I couldn't go
back to my temporary quarters. The walls there felt too close, suffocating.
Instead, I wandered, letting my legs carry me wherever they pleased. Eventually,
I found myself at a park in the heart of Caelum—a rare oasis in the decaying city.
That's when I saw him.
Lucian Blackwell.
He was sitting on a bench, the faint glow of a cigarette tip marking his place in
the dimming light. He wasn't dressed to stand out—just a simple black coat and
slacks—but he never could quite blend in. His posture was relaxed, almost bored,
yet there was an edge to it, like a predator waiting patiently for the right moment
to strike.
I hesitated for a moment. Lucian wasn't someone I'd ever approach lightly. He had
a way of turning every conversation into a mental chess match, his every word
calculated to shift the balance of power in his favor. But desperate times called
for desperate measures.
I sat beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Lucian didn't so much as glance
my way, his focus seemingly fixed on the dimming horizon. I debated breaking the
silence but decided against it. If he wanted to acknowledge me, he would.
Minutes passed, each one dragging longer than the last. Finally, he sighed, crushed
his cigarette against the edge of the bench, and tossed the butt into the bin
beside him.
"I think I know you from somewhere," he said, his voice smooth, but with an
undercurrent of curiosity. "You look frustrated. Stressed. How about this—why
don't you tell me what's going on, and we'll see if I can be of any help?"
I looked at him, caught off guard. Lucian's reputation preceded him—a man with
a sharp tongue and sharper instincts. Trust wasn't a word I'd associate with him,
but at that moment, I had nothing to lose.
"You really want to help?" I asked, my tone cautious.
Lucian tilted his head, studying me with the faintest smirk. "Let's just say I'm in
the mood for some... intellectual stimulation."
There it was, that trademark Lucian charm laced with barely veiled condescension.
I sighed, leaning back against the bench.
"You really want to help?" I asked again, narrowing my eyes at him.
Lucian raised a brow, his smirk never faltering. "Call it curiosity. You've got the
look of someone knee-deep in a mess they can't clean up. I like a good puzzle."
I hesitated. Sharing even a sliver of my investigation with someone like Lucian
felt like a gamble, but his confidence—his audacity—was disarming.
"Fine," I said finally, rubbing a hand over my face. "I've been tracking a string of
murders. Awakened individuals, all of them powerful in their own right, all taken
out with precision. It's not random, and it's not sloppy. Someone's orchestrating
this, but the trail goes cold every time I think I'm onto something."
Lucian's expression shifted slightly, the faint smirk fading as he leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees. "Interesting. Awakened, you say? You've checked
for power signatures at the scenes?"
"Of course," I said, exasperated. "Forensic reports, power residue analysis...
nothing. It's like whoever's doing this is two steps ahead. Or worse—they're
covering their tracks so well that there's no trail to follow."
Lucian nodded slowly, as if processing every word. "And you think the answers are
here in Caelum?"
"It's the only thing that makes sense," I admitted. "The pattern, the geography—
it all points here. But I can't figure out who's pulling the strings or why. It's like
trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing."
He was quiet for a moment, staring at the ground. Then, without looking at me, he
said, "You know, once Lilith told me... If the burden is something you can't hold on
alone, try asking for help."
I blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. Lucian rarely spoke about Lilith,
and when he did, it was never lightly.
"Help?" I asked, my voice skeptical.
He leaned back against the bench, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. I know you're probably
used to doing everything on your own—being the lone wolf, the perfect soldier.
But this case? It's bigger than you. Bigger than any one person."
I frowned, the words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. "And who exactly
am I supposed to ask for help? Everyone I trust is either out of reach or just as
lost as I am."
Lucian chuckled dryly. "Trust is a tricky thing, isn't it? But maybe you don't need
trust right now. Maybe you just need someone who knows how to navigate the kind
of mess you're in. Someone who sees things differently."
"And you're suggesting... you?"
He finally looked at me, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable. "I'm not offering my
services, if that's what you're asking. But take this as advice: don't let pride blind
you. There are people out there who can help. You just have to know where to
look."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Lucian wasn't wrong, but the thought of
relying on anyone—especially someone like him—felt foreign.
He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "You've got that look again. Like
you're chewing on something tough." He smirked. "Don't overthink it, Seraphim.
Sometimes the answers are closer than you think."
As he walked away, the evening shadows swallowing him, I found myself staring
after him, his words replaying in my mind. Maybe he was right. Maybe this wasn't
something I could solve alone.
And maybe, just maybe, Lucian wasn't as much of an enigma as he wanted me to
believe.
I stayed seated on the park bench long after Lucian had walked away, his words
lingering in my mind like a stubborn echo.
"If the burden is something you can't hold on alone, try asking for help."
The park was quiet now, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city
filling the silence. The shadows stretched longer as twilight descended, painting
the world in hues of orange and blue. I leaned back, staring at the sky as if it
might offer answers.
Lucian's advice wasn't what I expected. Coming from him, it felt... odd. Vulnerable,
even. I wasn't sure if he genuinely cared or if it was just some twisted form of
amusement for him.
Still, his words struck a chord.
I'd always believed that strength meant standing alone, solving problems without
relying on anyone else. But this case was unraveling me. The sleepless nights, the
dead ends, the weight of every unanswered question—it was all catching up.
Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe I needed to find someone who could help.
The thought felt like admitting defeat, but as I sat there, bathed in the fading
light of the day, I realized something. This wasn't about pride or ego. It was about
finding the truth, no matter what it took.
And if that meant asking for help...
I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath. When I opened them again, the park
was almost empty, the first stars beginning to dot the darkening sky. It was time
to get moving.
I didn't know where this lead would take me, but for the first time in a long while,
I felt a small flicker of hope.