Traces in the dark

The sky hadn't brightened when they returned to the precinct. Ava's fingers trembled around the Polaroid. Nathan's face stared back—alive, terrified. Real. Her mind struggled to process it.

Marcus was a shadow at her side. Close. Protective.

"He's playing with you," Marcus muttered, jaw clenched. "With us."

Ava looked up. "But why keep Nathan alive? Why now?"

Marcus didn't answer. He took the photo from her, studied it, then carefully tucked it inside a folder. "Because Damien wants to break you. And he knows I won't let that happen."

His voice had weight—an edge sharp enough to cut through the fog in her mind. He was no longer just her partner. He was her anchor.

They locked down the station's war room, maps and photos pinned with urgent intensity. Damien's trail wasn't just methodical—it was intimate. Every move seemed to revolve around Ava. Around them.

Ava pulled her chair closer to the table. "He left the photo here. Which means he was here—watching."

Marcus knelt beside her, meeting her eyes. "Then let him watch. I want him to see what happens when he pushes too far."

His hand grazed hers. The heat of his touch sent sparks up her spine. She didn't move away.

"You're angry," she said softly.

"I'm protective," he corrected, voice dark. "He doesn't get to touch you. Not in any way."

The words stunned her. Not just because of their weight—but because she felt them too.

For a heartbeat, she let herself sink into the moment. The way Marcus's hand lingered. The storm brewing in his eyes—not of fear, but of possession. He wouldn't let her fall. Not to Damien. Not to guilt. Not to the ghosts chasing her.

She leaned forward. "What if we're wrong? What if Nathan's already—"

"He's not," Marcus cut in. "You saw the date. He's alive."

"And if Damien's lying?"

"Then I'll make him pay for that lie."

Ava's breath hitched. She hadn't seen Marcus like this before. Controlled rage. Raw devotion. Every part of him screamed, I will burn the world if it means keeping you safe.

The intensity terrified her—and yet, she needed it.

Her phone buzzed again.

Blocked number.

She answered it immediately, speaker on.

This time, Damien's voice was clearer. Calm. Almost amused.

"You're spiraling, Detective," he said. "But I'll throw you another breadcrumb. There's a clue in the photograph. But you'll only see it if you stop looking with your head… and start looking with your heart."

The line went dead.

Ava stared at the photo again. Nathan's background—dark brick, a rusted pipe behind him. A faded symbol on the wall. She narrowed her eyes.

"It's a warehouse," she murmured. "That logo… it's the old shipping company—Tremont Freight. Abandoned ten years ago."

Marcus was already grabbing his coat. "Then that's where we're going."

"Wait." Ava stood, blocking his path. "It could be a trap."

He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. "Then I'll walk into it first."

"No. We go together."

He didn't argue. He only brushed a strand of hair from her face, gently, like she was something he couldn't afford to lose.

"You don't get to go where I can't follow," he said, voice like a vow.

They arrived at the warehouse just after dawn. The sky was a dull grey. The structure loomed like a tombstone—tall, cold, forgotten.

Marcus checked the perimeter while Ava moved cautiously through the main entrance. The air inside was stale with rust and old blood.

They found a trail—drops of red leading toward a stairwell.

Basement.

Of course.

Marcus took the lead, flashlight sweeping the shadows. Ava followed, gun drawn, every nerve on fire.

At the bottom, they found another box.

Inside—another Polaroid.

Nathan again. Same expression. But this time, Ava saw it—the symbol behind him. Not just Tremont Freight.

There was a number scrawled on the wall behind him. 17B.

"Storage unit," Ava whispered. "It's a riddle. Damien's leading us."

Marcus stared at the photo. His hand curled into a fist.

"This ends tonight," he growled.

Ava touched his arm. "We'll find him. Together."

But Marcus turned to her, eyes fierce. "Ava, listen to me. If anything happens to you…"

"It won't."

"I'm not saying this as your partner. I'm saying this as the man who—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "You mean more to me than I ever thought someone could."

She blinked.

"Marcus…"

He stepped closer. No more space. No more hesitation.

His voice was rough. "You can pretend this is just about the case. About Damien. But I know you feel it too."

She did. Every heartbeat screamed it.

"I don't want to lose you," she admitted.

"You won't," he said, leaning in.

Their lips brushed—tentative. Fragile. Real.

It wasn't fire—it was gravity. Pulling them closer, grounding them. A promise sealed in silence.

But before they could fall deeper, Ava's phone buzzed again.

Another message.

Coordinates. And a timer.

3 hours.

Nathan's life—counting down.

Ava's breath caught. She looked at Marcus. He was already moving.

"I've got you," he said, taking her hand.

And this time, she didn't pull away.

They ran toward the unknown—not as partners.

But as something far more dangerous.

As something Damien never anticipated.

They raced through the city like ghosts chasing time. Marcus's grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, and Ava couldn't stop staring at the timer ticking down on her phone screen.

2 hours, 48 minutes.

The coordinates pointed to an abandoned industrial district on the city's outskirts. A graveyard of rust and silence. It was exactly the kind of place Damien would choose—isolated, decaying, and riddled with hiding spots.

Ava felt Marcus glance at her more than once during the drive. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her, but didn't dare take his eyes off the road.

"What if this is just another game?" she murmured, voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"It is," he said. "But this time, we know the rules. And I'm not letting him win."

She turned to him. "Why do you care so much?"

He braked suddenly, pulling over into the empty lot outside the address.

"Because," he said, turning to face her, "if I lose you—if he takes you from me—I won't come back from that."

Ava's heart stuttered. She wasn't used to this. To being seen—not just as a detective or a survivor, but as herself. Fragile. Human. Wanted.

She opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden movement from a nearby window caught her attention.

A flicker of shadow.

They were here.

The building was larger than expected—half collapsed on one side, jagged concrete like broken teeth. Marcus moved first, drawing his weapon. Ava followed silently, pulse pounding.

Inside, it smelled of mold and old machinery. Their footsteps echoed despite their caution. Every corner was a trap waiting to be sprung.

"Split up?" Marcus asked softly.

"No," Ava said, gripping his jacket. "Not again."

His eyes softened. "Together, then."

They cleared the first floor—empty. Dust. Silence. But then, a sound.

A soft, muffled thud from above.

They froze.

Second floor.

Together, they crept up the stairs, weapons drawn. The hall stretched ahead—doors on either side, cracked and hanging off rusted hinges.

Then they saw it.

Room 17B.

Painted in red, half-faded but clear.

Marcus reached for the handle. Locked.

He looked at Ava. "Ready?"

She nodded.

One.

Two.

Three.

He kicked it open.

Inside—darkness. A small room. A single bulb flickering overhead.

And in the center—Nathan.

Tied to a chair. Bloodied. Barely conscious. But alive.

Ava rushed forward, but Marcus held her back. "Wait."

That's when they heard the click.

A timer on the wall. Wires snaking toward the chair. Toward Nathan.

Bomb.

Ava's breath caught. "No. No no no—"

Nathan lifted his head weakly. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Marcus scanned the room, eyes locking on a small black box near the floor.

Trigger mechanism.

"He's wired," Marcus said. "We move wrong, he dies."

Ava stepped back, trembling. "Can you defuse it?"

"I can try."

But before he could take a step, a voice crackled through a speaker in the corner.

Damien.

"You found him. Congratulations, Detective," he drawled. "But here's your final test."

The timer sped up.

60 minutes became 30 in seconds.

"You have to choose," Damien continued. "Save Nathan. Or save yourselves. But not both."

Then silence.

Ava's vision blurred.

Marcus dropped to the floor, inspecting the bomb.

"I need tools. I need time," he muttered.

"You've got both," Ava said, pulling out her kit.

She knelt beside Nathan, brushing blood-matted hair from his face. His eyes fluttered open.

"Ava…"

"I'm here," she whispered. "We're going to get you out. I promise."

Marcus worked quickly, sweat beading on his brow. His hands didn't shake, but Ava could feel the pressure crushing him.

"You know," he said under his breath, "I was going to tell you something earlier."

Ava blinked. "Now?"

"In case this goes wrong."

"It won't."

He paused. Looked up at her, eyes fierce.

"I love you."

Ava's breath hitched.

It wasn't a grand declaration. It was raw. Desperate. Honest.

And she knew it was true.

"I love you too," she said.

Marcus nodded once—and cut the red wire.

The timer stopped.

Silence.

Ava didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until her knees gave out.

Nathan slumped forward, breathing, alive.

Marcus exhaled and collapsed beside her. She threw her arms around him before she could think. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe:

They could win.

But as the sirens approached outside and backup swarmed the building, Ava looked down at Nathan's wrists.

Carved into the skin—deep, deliberate—were the words:

"She's next."

And suddenly, Ava realized—

This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.