"The Illuminati."
He said it without drama.
Just another suspect.
Austin sat back.
"You really think that's who's behind it?"
"I think I have circumstantial evidence pointing in that direction."
"That's a long way from proof."
"I know."
Austin rubbed his jaw. "I mean... How do we even know the illuminati actually exists and isn't made up?"
"Take it from a detective, Austin. The illuminati are very, very real, almost as real as the fact that nine eleven was an inside job."
"Excuse me, What!" Austin asked in shock mid gulp, almost choking on his beer.
"We're not having that conversation today though." Hawkings said in a smug expression. "Maybe if we both survive world war three."
"A war between humans and supernaturals. I wonder how that would look like?" Austin muttered almost to himself as he thought of Clara.
He thought of the life they had built together despite everything that should have made it impossible.
"I was married to a werewolf, Joe."
Hawkings nodded.
"I know."
"I want this coexistence thing to work."
"I know."
Austin looked down at his beer.
"I need it to."
Hawkings studied him.
"I understand why."
He paused.
"I'm not saying you're wrong to want it. I'm saying humanity has a very consistent record when it gets afraid of something. Peace can be available and people will still choose the thing that makes them feel safe."
Austin had no answer for that.
So he asked the only question left.
"What are you going to do now?"
Hawkings reached beside the couch and pulled out two envelopes.
He placed them on the table.
One contained the divorce papers.
The other contained his resignation.
"Two weeks' notice."
Austin looked at him.
"And the divorce?"
"Signed."
Hawkings tapped the papers.
"It's all going one direction anyway."
Then he looked at Austin.
"The funny part is all of this is going according to their plan."
Austin frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Before Hawking's could answer, the doorbell rang.
They both looked toward the hallway.
"You expecting somebody?"
Hawkings stood.
"I wasn't even expecting you."
He walked to the door and opened it.
Megan Worthington stood on the porch.
Austin followed.
She carried herself with the same warm professionalism Austin had seen a hundred times, the kind that made even an ordinary doorway feel more orderly simply because she was standing in it. She smiled at Hawkings and apologized for arriving without warning, explaining that location sharing was part of the security protocol and that she needed to reach Austin. She had come herself because she wanted to. Then her eyes settled on Hawkings.
"Ahh, so you're Joseph Hawkings."
She extended her hand.
"It's very nice to finally put a face to the name."
Hawkings shook her hand.
His grip was firm and professional.
His eyes stayed on her for a fraction longer than politeness required.
"I'll be waiting in the car. Give you two, some privacy." Megan said.
Her gaze moved between the two men.
Just once.
Then she turned and walked down the porch.
Hawkings watched her leave. "Well, she's... Hot."
Austin laughed. "Man, come on."
"She reads as too good to be true."
"You're being harsh."
"Whatever."
He closed the door.
Austin shook his head.
"Anyway."
He picked up his jacket.
"If you're right, and I really hope you're not, then whoever is behind this can be found."
Hawkings looked at him.
"And if they can be found, are you sure they can be stopped?"
Austin slipped his jacket on.
"I've seen enough bloodshed. I don't want another war. I don't want humans and supernatural beings tearing each other apart because somebody figured out how to push the right buttons."
He looked directly at Hawkings.
"But that doesn't happen if everybody sits around waiting for it. I'll do what i can."
Hawkings said nothing.
"I'll need your help though. You gotta keep fighting too. Do it for Melanie."
The room went quiet.
Not empty.
Just waiting.
Hawkings looked at the papers on the table.
Austin didn't push him.
He simply grabbed his keys.
"At the very least, you'll be too busy to try killing yourself again."
Hawkings looked up.
Austin smiled.
It wasn't a joke.
It was the closest thing to a hand on his shoulder.
Then Austin turned toward the door.
He stopped beside the family portrait hanging in the hallway.
Austin, Sydney, Melanie.
Three faces caught in a moment before everything had become complicated. Sydney was smiling without restraint. Melanie stood between them with one arm around each parent, young enough that the future still looked like something guaranteed. Austin remembered taking the photograph. Nobody had been posing perfectly. Nobody had been thinking about what would happen later. They had simply been together, and for that instant, together had been enough.
"Maybe we can't make the world a better place, but we can at least save it. I'm counting on you, Joe."
Hawkings looked at him.
"After all this, lets watch a game."
Austin opened the door.
"You bring the beer."
"Deal."
Austin stepped outside.
The door closed behind him, and he immediately got to work.
Hawkings stood alone in the backyard with the cold pressing through his clothes.
The yard was small, fenced, and practical. A patch of dead grass sat beneath the November frost, bordered by a narrow strip of concrete and the back steps. There was no firepit, no patio furniture, nothing that suggested anyone had come outside for pleasure in a long time. Now a small fire burned in the middle of it, its orange light flickering against the dark fence while Hawkings watched his breath disappear into the cold.
The rope burned first.
He watched it curl inward as the flames consumed it, fibers blackening and collapsing into ash. He didn't stare because the sight was meaningful. He stared because he wanted to make certain there was nothing left that could ever be used again.
The letter went next.
The paper caught along one corner, folded inward, then vanished beneath the flames. Hawkings didn't read it. Whatever it had contained belonged to a moment he had already decided not to return to.
The resignation papers followed.
His name disappeared into fire.
Hawkings held the divorce papers in his hand.
The pages were heavier than paper had any right to be.
His signature sat beside Sydney's, both names reduced to ink beneath words that made something final out of years neither of them had managed to save. He looked at his own handwriting for a long moment, thumb resting against the edge of the page.
Then he let go.
The papers fell into the fire.
The flames took them.
Hawkings watched until there was nothing left but curling ash.
He breathed into the cold.
"I'll do what needs to be done."
His voice barely carried beyond the fence.
"For Sydney. For Melanie."
He looked at the fire.
"I hope you see that someday."
The flames continued burning.
Hawkings stayed where he was, alone beneath the gray afternoon sky, watching the last pieces of the life he had been preparing to leave behind turn to ash.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't planning how to disappear.
He was thinking about what came next.