Liam's POV
I pulled the bike over when a café's sign caught my eye. My arms were trembling on the handlebars, helmet heavy on my head.
Sweat ran down my face, my shirt clinging like I'd just run a marathon. Ten minutes—that was all I had managed.
Ten minutes of forcing my Sharingan into someone's mind to control and it had nearly gutted me.
I killed the engine, dragged myself off the seat, and staggered into the café.
The cool air inside was a relief, but my legs still felt like lead. I found an empty table and dropped into the chair, then let my head slump forward onto the wood. My vision swam behind closed lids, breath shallow, chest heavy.
[You shouldn't have done that, Liam] Eve's voice slipped into my head, calm but sharp. [Your stats are lagging. You need more strength, more intelligence. If you increase them, this kind of weakness won't be there]
I groaned, too exhausted to argue. "Later," I muttered, my voice muffled against the table.
Footsteps approached. A soft, uncertain voice "Um… sir? Are you okay? What can I get you?"
I didn't lift my head. Only my hair and the top of my helmet on the table must've been visible to her. My voice came out hoarse, barely audible. "Chocolate milkshake."
There was a pause, maybe a raised eyebrow I couldn't see. But she just scribbled the order and walked off.
I stayed collapsed there, motionless, until she returned. The glass touched down near my hand with a faint clink, and then she was gone.
I didn't waste time. I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass and brought the straw to my lips. The first sip of the thick, sweet milkshake hit my throat and something inside me loosened. Sugar flooded my system, cutting through the fog, jump-starting my brain. I drank in silence, gulp after gulp, ignoring Eve's continued scolding.
[What if something happened? What if someone saw you like this? You were vulnerable, Liam. You can't afford to be vulnerable.]
I didn't respond—just kept drinking, each swallow pulling me further back from the edge. By the time the glass was empty, my breathing had steadied, the pounding in my head dulled to a manageable throb.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, leaned back in the chair, and finally answered her. "You're right. I won't pull stunts like that again without preparation."
There was silence for a moment, then a softer reply. [Good. Don't make me remind you twice.]
"Deal."
Now, back to work.
We had two threads: Seraphina, the waitress, and the man in the tracksuit who had confronted Hale. I decided to push the second first. I opened my phone, pulled up the grainy photo I'd taken from the bouncer's phone, and sent it to Detective Cross. Then I called him.
He picked up after a couple of rings. "Cross."
"Detective, it's Liam. I need your help with something."
There was a sigh on the other end. "Look, kid, I'm not sure this case is worth it. There's no hook. Even if Hale's some kind of washed-up celebrity, there's nothing that'll stick."
I leaned forward on the table, my voice low but steady. "This case can be a big break—for both of us. And when it hits, I'll make sure you get your fair share of the credit."
He groaned. "You're making a big thing out of nothing here. But… I said I'd help, so—what do you need?"
"I just sent you a picture. The guy in it confronted Hale outside Velvet Rose about a month back. I need to know who he is."
"I'll see what I can dig up," he said. His tone suggested more reluctance than enthusiasm, but he didn't refuse.
"Appreciate it," I replied.
The line went dead.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, pushed back my chair, and left a twenty on the table for the milkshake. No change needed.
Outside, the heat smacked me again. I slid the helmet back on, mounted the bike, and fired up the engine. My body still tired, but my mind was clear.
Back to the office.
I pulled into the parking lot of the DA's office, the hum of my bike echoing against the concrete.
Cutting the engine, I swung my leg over and removed my helmet, the cool, stale air greeting me as I walked toward the elevator.
My mind was already tangled in thoughts about tomorrow's dismissal hearing. Time was running out, and Hale's army of lawyers would be gunning for me.
Stepping out onto the office floor, the usual noise hit me—phones ringing, papers shuffling, the chatter of overworked assistants. When I reached my office, Beth was hunched over her computer, her face illuminated by the glow of her screen. She didn't even notice me at first.
Curious, I leaned against the edge of her desk. "What are you digging into?"
She blinked, startled, then smiled faintly. "Social media. Seeing if there's anything about Hale that might help the case."
For a second, I just stared at her. "Beth…" A small smile tugged at my lips. "Thank you."
She shrugged, casual, but her eyes sparkled. "It's my duty."
I shook my head. "Case research doesn't fall under your job description."
Beth smirked, leaning back in her chair. "If I stuck to my job description, who's going to help you?"
That caught me off guard. I let out a short laugh and just smiled back at her. She was sharper than she let on.
Before I could reply, she straightened, her expression turning serious. "There's something you should know."
We moved into my office, closing the door behind us. She perched on the chair opposite my desk and lowered her voice. "Cameron Dennis… he's keeping a close watch on this case. And on you."
I leaned back, folding my arms. "I already knew that."
Beth gave a small nod but still looked concerned. "I thought you should hear it from me."
"Thanks," I said softly.
She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Anyway, back to work." And with that, she slipped out, leaving me with my thoughts.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow's dismissal hearing loomed over me like a storm cloud. Bratton Gould was going to tear me apart if I walked in with nothing. I needed something—anything—to keep the case alive.
That's when my HUD flickered to life.
An incoming call. John Wick.
I quickly grabbed my phone, pressing it to my ear so it wouldn't look like I was talking to myself. "John," I said, lowering my voice. "Did you find something?"
His calm, gravelly tone came through. "Yes. Need an email address."
[There is a system mail ID available, Liam,] Eve said, her voice crisp in my mind. [It is secure and untraceable.]
The string of numbers and letters appeared on my HUD. I read it out loud. "Send it there."
A second later, a notification pinged. A new folder.
I clicked it open. The first folder exploded with photographs—Hale's last fifteen hours, meticulously tracked. Meetings with lawyers. Drinks with celebrity clients. Late-night rendezvous with women. Looks like John had someone shadow Hale
John's voice followed. "The most suspicious interactions were with two individuals. I'm digging further into them now."
I swiped to the next file—and froze. A grainy but clear clip. Hale's car easing into one of the blind spots Cross had texted me about. The window rolled down. Hale himself at the wheel. A bag—clear, unmistakable—was handed to him by a man outside. A handoff. Cocaine. On camera.
I straightened in my chair, my pulse kicking up. "John… this is enough to keep the case alive."
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