Box

Charlie, now resigned to his fate, ran a hand through his hair and finally leaned against his workbench, arms crossed. "Alright, enough about my alleged engineering failures," he grumbled. "Lets get back to the box, yes?"

Valentine, still grinning, reached for the box at the table and picked it up. He set it down on the cluttered workbench with a dramatic thud.

Charlie and Jessica both eyed it.

"As I asked before...where the hell did you get that?" Charlie asked.

"A mystery," Valentine said, wiggling his fingers over it like a magician about to reveal a trick. "A very stubborn mystery."

Charlie gave him a long look. "And you want me to open it."

"Ah, you know me so well."

Charlie sighed, already regretting letting him in. He grabbed the box, turning it over in his hands. "Looks old. But not too old. That's the lock?"

A silver plate shone on the head of the box, having a horizontal gap for inserting whatever key it is used to open with.

Valentine smirked. "That, my dear engineer, is why I'm here. I've tried keys, blades, force, charm—"

Charlie scoffed. "Charm?"

"—and yet, the box remains unyielding."

Jessica leaned closer, tracing a finger over the metallic surface. "It's strange… It's not rusted, not scratched, no signs of wear."

Charlie squinted. "That still doesn't answer where'd you get this?"

Valentine tapped his chin. "Let's just say… it was a gift from a mutual acquaintance."

Charlie wasn't buying it. "From who?"

Valentine flashed him a knowing look. "From Markov."

Charlie froze.

Jessica frowned, her gaze shifting between the two men. "Why do you look like you just swallowed a nail?" she asked, arms crossing.

Charlie ignored her, eyes locked onto Valentine. "You're joking."

Valentine smirked, but there was something sharp beneath it. "I do have a habit of it, don't I?"

"Valentine." Charlie's voice was low. Serious.

Valentine's smirk thinned. "No joke. It was Markov's."

Jessica raised a brow. "Alright, and?" She gestured at the box, unimpressed. "It's just a locked container. So what if it belonged to some guy?"

Charlie let out a breath that sounded a little too much like a curse.

Jessica's frown deepened. "Who is he?"

Charlie glanced at her, then back at Valentine, as if debating whether to actually explain.

Valentine, sensing the tension, leaned against the workbench, utterly at ease despite the fact that the conversation had taken a grim turn. "Oh, Charlie, don't be rude. Enlighten the lady."

Charlie shot him a look before exhaling and rubbing a hand over his face. "Markov's not just 'some guy,' Jess. He's a ghost. A dangerous one."

Jessica tilted her head. "That's vague."

Charlie gave a humorless chuckle. "That's all anyone has on him—vague details and missing pieces." He nodded toward Valentine. "Even this one barely knows anything, and he's been tangled in half the mess in this city."

Valentine gave a mock bow. "Charming as always."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "So what? He's some underworld boogeyman?"

Charlie's jaw tensed. "He's worse. He appeared a few years ago. No records. No real past. Just a man with connections—big ones. The kind that don't make sense. He built an entire network out of thin air."

Jessica was still unimpressed. "And?"

Charlie's eyes flicked to the box. "And every person who's crossed him either ends up working for him—or disappearing."

That made her pause.

She looked back at the box, then at Valentine.

"...And you have something of his."

Valentine's smirk returned. "So it seems."

Charlie exhaled. "You absolute idiot."

He leaned on the workbench, arms crossed, staring at the box like it was some cursed artifact. "You're telling me you just took this off Markov? Just waltzed in and walked out with it?"

Valentine placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "What do you take me for, Charlie? A common thief?"

Charlie shot him a flat look. "Yes."

Jessica, now intrigued, perched on a stool, watching the back-and-forth like a tennis match.

Valentine grinned. "Well, I did technically take it, but it's a bit more complicated than that. You see—"

Charlie held up a hand. "No. No Valentine stories. Just facts."

Valentine sighed as if this were an unreasonable request. "Fine, fine. It was in Markov's possession, but I happened to have found it."

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good Lord, Val."

Jessica raised a brow. "So Markov knows you have it?"

"Not yet," Valentine said cheerfully.

Charlie let out a deep, suffering sigh. "You're going to get yourself killed. Again."

"Well, at least this time I'll have a lovely mystery box to be buried with."

Charlie shook his head, muttering something under his breath before looking at the box again. "And you just decided now to open it?"

Valentine shrugged. "I figured breaking into a mystery package at one in the morning was exactly what you needed in your life."

Charlie rubbed his temples. "Alright, let's go back. How exactly did you get your hands on this?"

Valentine rolled his shoulders. "I was helping a friend."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "You don't have friends."

"Harsh, Charles. Harsh."

Charlie just crossed his arms and waited.

Valentine smirked, then leaned back against the wall. "Fine. Her name's Anne."

Something flickered across Charlie's face. He frowned. "Anne? That's not ringing any bells."

Valentine's smirk faded slightly. He drummed his fingers against the workbench. "I met her some time ago. Under rather… grim circumstances."

Valentine hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, his usual levity smoothed over his face like a mask. "Oh, the usual. Blood, betrayal, unspeakable horrors, me being devilishly handsome through it all."

"Valentine," Charlie warned.

Valentine exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. If you must know, I met Anne in an alley."

Charlie raised a brow. "You meet everyone in alleys."

Valentine exhaled, rolling his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as if trying to recall the memory from the cracks in Charlie's workshop. His voice, for once, softened.

"I was on my way to the tailor," he said. "Had breakfast. A fine one, too. Eggs, toast, a questionable sausage I chose to trust. The sort of morning where you think, Ah, life isn't so bad after all."

Charlie snorted. "That's rare for you."

"Exactly," Valentine murmured. "And then, just as I was strolling along, considering whether I should argue with the tailor about the quality of his stitching—"

"You argued with someone?" Jessica deadpanned.

Valentine ignored her. "—I turned a corner and saw something rather unsavory."

His fingers tapped against the workbench. A slow rhythm, deliberate.

"There was an alley, like any other in Blackmire—filthy, shadowed, the kind of place people vanish into. And in that alley, there was a girl." His voice grew quieter. "Pinned to the wall."

Jessica inhaled sharply.

Charlie's eyes darkened.

Valentine kept his gaze on the ceiling. "Skinny thing, half-starved. And the man—" He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "Well. You can imagine."

The room was silent.

Jessica's voice was careful when she asked, "What did you do?"

Valentine finally looked down, meeting their eyes. His usual playfulness was absent, replaced by something colder.

"I introduced him to the gutter."

Charlie nodded once, as if he expected nothing less.

Jessica, however, swallowed. "You mean you—"

"Oh, I made sure he'd never touch another girl again." Valentine's voice was light, but the weight of it hung in the air like a noose.

Jessica, still trying to gauge him, glanced at Charlie.

Charlie met her gaze. "Valentine doesn't leave things half-finished."

Valentine smiled, slow and sharp. "Exactly."

Jessica shifted in her seat. "And the girl?"

"She was shaking," Valentine said, his voice slipping into something distant, like he was watching the scene all over again. "Wouldn't look at me at first. Thought I was another threat." He exhaled a laugh. "Wise, really. I offered a handshake, tried to talk to her, but she was halfway to bolting."

Charlie frowned. "How'd you get her to trust you?"

Valentine smirked. "I told her she looked absolutely terrifying. Covered in blood. Like a little street demon."

Jessica blinked. "And that worked?"

Valentine chuckled. "It made her pause long enough for me to offer her better clothing. Then I ended up at Charlie's door that night."

Charlie gulped. 

His brow furrowed as his mind flicked back, gears clicking into place like a well-oiled machine finally recognizing an old part.

"Wait," he said slowly, pointing at Valentine. "That was that night?"

Valentine grinned. "Ah, you remember."

Charlie's face twisted into something between exasperation and horror. "I opened the door, saw you standing there with a girl covered in blood, and—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face.

Jessica turned to him, eyes widening. "Hold on. You saw them?"

Charlie let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah. And I—" He gestured vaguely, a pained look on his face.

"I just wanted to close the damn door." He looked at Jessica who eyed him with a strange glare.

"Don't look at me like that. This bastard was smiling as if it was a normal Tuesday and just wanted a shirt," he pointed at Valentine, to which, Valentine mimicked the expression of a man hurt by a terrible betrayal.

Jessica, for her part, looked halfway between horrified and deeply, deeply entertained. "You mean to tell me," she said slowly, "that your first instinct upon finding a blood-drenched girl in an alley was to—what? Take her for a wardrobe change?"

Valentine tilted his head, as if this were a ridiculous question. "Obviously."

Charlie, looking as if he had just aged ten years, rubbed a hand over his face. "And then you had the audacity to show up at my door—again—with another problem you just adopted off the street?"

Valentine grinned. "What can I say? I'm a man of habit."

Charlie pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're a goddamn menace."

Jessica, still wrapping her head around this new information, narrowed her eyes. "And this girl—Anne—what happened to her?"

Valentine's smile flickered, just for a second. He shifted, tapping a rhythm against the workbench. "Oh, you know. She survived."

Charlie caught the change in his expression. His frown deepened. "Val."

Valentine ignored him. "Now, about that box?"

Jessica wasn't about to let it slide. "Wait. Survived how?"

Valentine waved a lazy hand. "Oh, you know. The usual. Blood, betrayal, unspeakable horrors, me being devilishly handsome through it all—"

Charlie cut him off. "Valentine."

A beat.

Then, without his usual dramatics, Valentine sighed. "She worked for Markov. And she was good at it."

Valentine leaned back, crossing his arms. "Markov collects people like her. The ones Blackmire spits out and leaves for dead. He picks them up, dusts them off, and offers them something better."

Jessica's mouth tightened. "And what does he ask for in return?"

Valentine's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Loyalty."

Jessica exhaled, shaking her head. "And now you've gone and stolen from him. And put an innocent girl in danger."

Valentine's grin sharpened. "Well. Technically, I haven't stolen anything. Anne was on delivery. I just found and gave her some help. Then I replaced the package. She did fail according to her, because she was late. But she doesn't know the truth.Yet."

Charlie glared at him. "Yet. What the fuck does that mean, Valentine?"

Valentine rolled his shoulders, unconcerned. "It means Anne's still breathing, still free, and still blissfully unaware of how very angry Markov is about all this."

Charlie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "And when he does find out?"

Valentine grinned. "I'll cross that bridge when it collapses beneath me."

Charlie closed his eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience. Jessica, meanwhile, had shifted forward, her elbow on her knee, studying Valentine as if she were trying to decide whether he was brilliant, insane, or both.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You just happened to find a girl in a bad situation, realized she worked for Markov, saw that she was carrying something important, helped her escape, and then just... took the package she was delivering?"

Valentine beamed. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is simple," Charlie snapped. "It's called a death wish."

Valentine placed a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "Charlie, please. You make me sound reckless."

"You are reckless!"

Jessica raised a brow. "And yet, somehow, you're still alive."

Valentine winked at her. "A charming disposition and impeccable luck."

Charlie groaned. "No, it's because you drag other people into your messes so they have to keep you alive out of sheer spite."

Valentine gave him finger guns. "And it works every time."

Charlie looked like he was seriously reconsidering all of his life choices. "Gods help me, Fontaine, one day, I'm going to lock you in a room with all your bad decisions and see how long you last."

Valentine smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time, dear Charles."

Jessica, shaking her head, turned back to the box. "So, what's inside?"

Valentine's smirk faltered—just a little. "That, my dear, is the million-coin question."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "You don't know?"

Valentine held up a finger. "Ah, but I intend to find out. Hence why I'm here, at the ungodly hour of—" He checked his nonexistent watch. "—whatever the hell time it is."

Charlie stared at him, then at the box. "You're an absolute bastard, you know that?"

Valentine grinned. "And yet, here you are, about to open it for me."

Charlie sighed, already regretting his entire existence, and turned toward his workbench. "You better hope whatever's inside was worth pissing off Markov."

Valentine, smiling like a man who had no concept of self-preservation, leaned in. "Oh, Charlie. Everything is worth pissing off Markov."