Chapter 30: I’m In!

Avery blinked, wondering if he was still asleep and having some bizarre dream. But nope, there was Edward, grinning like a kid, surrounded by boxes and bags.

"I'm moving in!" Edward announced, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're... what now?" Avery managed, his brain struggling to catch up.

Edward's smile didn't waver. "Don't be shy, partner! We're in this together, right?"

Before Avery could protest, Mrs. Kim's voice cut through the air like a knife. "If you two lovebirds are living together, then live together! No need to be coy about it."

Avery's head whipped around. To his horror, he realized they had an audience. The building's resident aunties were gathered nearby, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls.

"Oh, young love," one sighed dreamily.

"About time Avery found someone," another added with a wink.

Avery felt his face burn. This was so not how he planned to start his day. He opened his mouth, ready to set the record straight, but the words died in his throat as he caught sight of Edward's puppy-dog eyes.

"You... you're not kicking me out, are you?" Edward's lower lip trembled.

Avery wished he could turn off his super-hearing right about now. The whispers and giggles from the nosy neighbors were like nails on a chalkboard. As if being a member of the Night Gallery wasn't complicated enough, now he had to deal with... this.

It's not like he had anything against same-sex relationships. Heck, back in Murim, there was a whole clan of it famous for their deadly charm techniques. But this? This was just a giant misunderstanding snowballing out of control.

"Mrs. Kim, please," Avery tried again, his voice desperate. "You've got it all wrong—"

The old lady cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense! You can't deny true love, young man. It's beautiful!"

Avery opened his mouth to argue, but a crash from inside his apartment made him wince. Edward had already made himself at home, apparently.

…

The message crackled through hidden earpieces and secret channels across Willowbrook:

"Attention, Night Gallery operatives. The Kraken's Wrath has been unleashed on Cleaner 8827. Last known location: Lazarus Facility. This is now an open hunt. Bring down 8827, and the Gemini medal is yours. Happy hunting."

Avery and Edward exchanged looks of shock as the same announcement reached them. It seemed every part of Night Gallery in Willowbrook was about to go on a murderous treasure hunt.

Meanwhile, deep beneath the streets, six figures huddled around a dimly lit table in the Night Gallery's secret war room. The air crackled with tension.

"Something's not adding up," muttered the woman, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Spit it out already," snapped the impatient one, drumming his fingers on the table.

The old man with the fox-like grin leaned forward, his voice a low rasp. "The battle scene... it's all wrong. Different weapons, different styles. The kid, 8827 was a dagger man through and through. This? This was a free-for-all."

Silence fell as the implications sank in. Had they just painted a target on the wrong assassin's back? And if 8827 wasn't behind the chaos at Lazarus... who was?

"Okay, let's break this down," the old man said, rubbing his chin. "We've got 8827's dagger at the scene, sure. But the other wounds? They're telling a different story."

He pulled out a holographic display, showing a 3D model of the crime scene. "See here? Cuts from a two-foot blade. And these jagged marks? Definitely not 8827's style."

"Don't forget the Butcher's missing axe," the woman added, her eyes narrowing. "That's one hell of a trophy."

The guy with the perpetual smirk chimed in. "A killer who keeps souvenirs? Doesn't sound very Cleaner-like to me."

"More like an Artist, right?" The youngest member spoke up, his eyes bright with excitement. At the others' surprised looks, he shrugged. "What? I pay attention in briefings."

The woman leaned back, a thoughtful frown on her face. "Are we seriously considering that 8827 teamed up with an Artist? That's... unprecedented."

Silence fell over the group as they considered the implications. Cleaners and Artists working together?

"Hold up," the impatient one said, leaning forward. "We need to keep our eyes peeled for any Artists who might be in cahoots with 8827."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You're not suggesting... someone from his own management team?"

"Let's take a look at our suspects," the old man said, his voice gravelly as he adjusted his glasses. He tapped a worn remote, bringing up two fuzzy holograms. "First, we've got Siren Song. Good at what he does, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you know what I mean. Easy pickings for someone with ill intentions."

He coughed, then continued, "Then there's Enigma. Now that's a real puzzle. The higher-ups told us to leave that one alone, even though we all know there's more to him joining the Gallery than meets the eye."

…

Sheriff Davis preened in front of the mirror, holding up the freshly printed photo from the press conference. In it, she was shaking hands with Governor O'Malley, both of them beaming for the cameras.

"Twig," she called to her deputy, "how do I look? City-cop material, right?"

Twig, ever the loyal sidekick, nodded enthusiastically. "You bet, Sheriff! That speech you gave was killer."

Davis allowed herself a smug smile, already daydreaming about cushy office jobs and fancy coffee machines. But her reverie was cut short by a commotion outside.

"More reporters?" she wondered aloud, straightening her badge. But as the door swung open, her grin faltered.

Governor O'Malley himself strode in, his face a mask of grim determination. "Everyone out," he barked. "Sheriff Davis and I need to have a little chat."

Governor O'Malley's eyes bored into Deputy Jenkins, who stood there like a deer in headlights. Sheriff Davis cleared her throat.

"Jenkins," she said, emphasizing his last name, "the Governor asked for privacy."

"Oh! Right, sorry," Jenkins mumbled, finally getting the hint and scurrying out.

As soon as the door clicked shut, O'Malley strode over to Davis's chair and plopped himself down, leaving her awkwardly standing.

"So, Davis," the Governor drawled, "word on the street is you've got yourself a mystery informant."

Davis puffed up, seeing a chance to brag. "That's right. Thanks to our hard work, we tracked down that creep behind all those disappearances. Case closed!"

O'Malley's eyebrow shot up. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone dripping with skepticism. "You're absolutely certain that's how it went down?"

Davis bristled, her patience wearing thin. First her chair, now this? No way was she going to let the Governor walk all over her.

"With all due respect," she said, emphasizing the 'respect' part, "are you questioning my report, Governor?"

O'Malley's lips twitched, barely hiding a smirk. "Oh, heavens no!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. "I wouldn't dream of it... Sheriff Davis."

The way he emphasized her title made Davis's eye twitch.

"It's just," O'Malley continued, leaning back in her chair, "there's this teensy little detail that doesn't quite add up."

Davis crossed her arms. "And what's that?"

The Governor's eyes gleamed. "Well, according to the coroner's report, our bad guy met his end thanks to a very precise stab to the pterion." At Davis's blank look, he clarified, "That's the temple, Sheriff."

He leaned forward, his grin turning predatory. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall 'ninja-level knife skills' being part of standard police training. "

Davis squared her shoulders, channeling her inner action hero. "Governor, you'd be amazed at what I can do. But last I checked, my skill set isn't part of your job description." She couldn't resist adding, with just a hint of sass, "Your job is to stand there, look pretty for the cameras, and shake my hand while I rack up the accolades. 

O'Malley's eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

"You seem awfully invested in this case, Governor," Davis pressed, sensing she might have struck a nerve. "Any particular reason?"

The Governor leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Let's just say some very important people are keeping tabs on your progress. They're quite... intrigued by your potential future contributions."

A chill ran down Davis's spine. What exactly was he implying?

O'Malley's voice dropped low. "Something tells me this case is far from over, Sheriff."

Davis lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. "Well, if it's not," she declared, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, "you can bet I'll be there to crack it wide open."

…

The warehouse on Third Street was buzzing with new energy. What used to be Avery's cozy gang of six had suddenly expanded. Billy, miraculously back on his feet thanks to Avery's magic fingers (and maybe a dash of Edward's chaos), lounged in the corner. And then there was Edward himself, the human equivalent of a glitter bomb in a library.

Slick couldn't stop side-eyeing Edward, like he was expecting the guy to sprout fangs any second. "Uh, Boss?" he whispered to Avery. "Isn't that the psycho from your file? What's he doing here? Besides, you know, giving me the heebie-jeebies."

Avery massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Let's just... focus on the job, okay? Any suspicious characters sniffing around our hideout?"

Sal piped up, looking way too pleased with himself. "Nada, Boss. That Cleaner dude? He kept this place on the down-low. Said he wanted to monopolize the supply of Third Street or something."

"Aw, man," Edward whined, bouncing on his toes like a caffeinated puppy. "I say we let 'em come! It'll be fun!"

Avery shot him a look that could freeze lava. "Not. Happening. Kid."

Edward pouted, eyeing the ragtag crew skeptically. "We're like the Avengers now, right? But... are you sure about these guys? They look more 'Mathletes' than 'Black Widow', if you know what I mean."

"They're worth more than you know," Avery said, his voice softer but firm. The others puffed up a bit at the rare praise.

Suddenly, Twitch's excited yelp cut through the air. "Guys! I'm in! Their system's wide open!"

The warehouse erupted in cheers. High-fives were exchanged, and even Slick cracked a smile. They'd scored a major win... or so they thought.

It had been too easy. Way too easy. In his experience, when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. And in this game of shadows and secrets, being wrong could cost them everything.