Sweat and Silence

They walked in silence, each step they walked in heavier than the last. The image still played like static in their minds—an image they couldn't scrub clean no matter how hard they tried.

Ben broke the silence first.

"Gentlemen," he said, stepping ahead of the group, turning to face them as he walked backward. "And lady. Anyone hungry?"

Scott stopped in his tracks. "Are you fucking kidding me, Ben? I can still see his brains splattered across the grass."

"I know," Ben replied, hands raised like a peace offering. "But trauma burns calories. And I'm starving."

Ryan sighed. "He's got a point. Let's eat. We need a break before we burn out."

They found a restaurant, cozy, wooden tables, soft lighting, a jazz tune playing over the speakers. People laughed and ate like the world outside wasn't falling apart.

A guy in his twenties wearing a green jacket devoured a meatball sub with a friend. A mother shared a grilled cheese sandwich with her daughter. A family crowded around a booth, basking in comfort and warmth.

The group stood for a moment, almost envious for the peace around them.

"Come on," Ryan said. "Let's grab a seat."

They sat. A tired-looking waiter approached, not bothering to fake a smile.

"What'll it be, lady and gents?"

Ben opened the kids' menu like he was reading scripture. "Can I get... chicken nuggets? Oh, and ice cream."

"Turkey sandwich. And an espresso."

"Fried chicken with iced lemon tea," Ryan said.

"Fries," Scott muttered.

The waiter scribbled lazily. "That all? Great. I ain't got all day."

As he shuffled off, Ben leaned back in his seat. "So... case closed?"

Ryan shook his head. "Not yet. Finding Robinson, dead or alive, was only part of it. Now we find the one who did this."

Scott frowned. "Any idea how?"

"We keep digging," Ryan said. "He left a message. He wants to be understood. That's his weakness."

"What kind of person does something like that?" Evelyn asked.

Ryan met her eyes. "An artist. At least, that's what he thinks. His victims? Just blank canvases."

Silence settled in again—heavier this time. Their food arrived like a lifeline. They grabbed at it, each more eager than they'd admit.

Just as Scott brought a fry to his mouth, Ben squirted hot sauce across the table. It splattered onto Scott's tray—and his shirt.

"Ben! What the fuck?!"

Ben was already laughing.

Scott lunged across the table, choking Ben with exaggerated fury. "I'm gonna kill you right here, pizza boy!"

Ben wheezed. "Tell my nuggets... I love them."

Between bites, Ryan turned to Evelyn.

"So, what drove you to this path?"

She didn't answer right away. "I was obsessed with mysteries growing up. Not just murders. World mysteries. Unsolved crimes. Lost civilizations. I needed answers. And this… this job gave me a reason to chase them."

He nodded. "My dad always wanted to be one. Never followed through. I just wanted my father to be proud. Same with Ben."

Across the table, Scott was still strangling Ben with mock rage.

They laughed. Because if they didn't, they might just fall apart.

Sunlight shone through the gym windows. It casted long shadows across the empty floor. Evelyn Quinn stood in front of the heavy bag, black crop tank-top clinging into her skin, her fists rhythmically striking.

The door creaked.

Ryan Summers entered the gym. He wears a T-shirt with a bright red letters of the Marvel logo on his chest. He froze.

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder without stopping. "Ryan?" she said between punches. "What are you doing here?"

Ryan cleared his throat. "Oh. Just... checking. Seeing if you're here. Thought we could talk about the case. You know..."

Evelyn turned fully toward him, hands on her hips, her eyes gleaming with a playful challenge. "Or," she said, smirking, "you and me. One-on-one."

Ryan blinked. "What? No. I'm not a fighter."

"Come on," she teased. "I'll go easy. Promise."

He sighed. "Okay, fine."

Moments later, they stepped into the ring.

Evelyn danced around him with ease, then swept his leg. Before Ryan could react, her thighs locked around his head — a flawless headscissor takedown.

He tapped out fast. "Okay! That's enough!"

Evelyn grinned. "We're just getting started, Summers."

Over the next few rounds, Ryan found himself locked in a rear naked choke, then an armbar, then back to another headscissor. He tapped. Again. And again.

By the end, he lay flat on his back, arms spread, chest heaving. "Please," he muttered. "No more."

Evelyn chuckled, offering him a hand. "I'm done now."

Ryan took it, hoisting himself up. "How many matches was that?"

"Thirteen," she said.

"Damn."

Evelyn grabbed a towel and wiped sweats off her face. "Come on," she said, walking past him. "Let's take for a walk."

Ryan followed, still sore, but smiling.

Morning sunlight spilled across the streets. Ryan and Evelyn walked side by side, the gust of wind cool and quiet.

"So," Ryan began, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, "what was your first case?"

Evelyn exhaled through her nose. "Tax evasion. Real low-level stuff. My partner beat the suspect down. Badly. His face was swollen for days."

Ryan looked at her with mild surprise. "How long have you known Scott?"

"Like three days."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "So that partner of yours who did the beating—wasn't Scott?"

She shook her head. "No. Different person. My partner was a woman. She... she was my childhood best friend."

There was a pause. A heavier silence than before.

"What happened to her?" Ryan asked gently.

"She died. About a year or two ago," Evelyn said, her voice steady but quiet. "We were working a robbery case. She got shot—by one of the suspects. Never saw it coming. I worked alone after that, until Richards stepped in."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Evelyn," Ryan said. "That must be rough."

Evelyn nodded. "It was."

He looked at her for a beat, then asked, "How's Scott doing with you?"

She scoffed faintly. "Short fuse. He beat a teenager for stealing a car. Kid's face was bruised up pretty bad."

Ryan grimaced. "Sounds like Scott."

"Yeah. He's not the kind of guy who goes easy, even on a kid. Anyone that drives him angry? They're pretty much done."

Ryan gave a small chuckle, then turned his gaze forward. "What about me, huh? Wanna know my first case?"

Evelyn glanced sideways. "Sure."

"Missing kid. Five years ago. Me and Ben handled it. Spent days looking. Turns out the kid was holed up in an abandoned movie theater."

Evelyn blinked. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," Ryan smiled faintly. "Said he wanted to escape everything. Thought he was being watched."

"That guy's lucky to not have his brains splattered," Evelyn muttered.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah. He is. Can't imagine how his mother would've reacted. He seemed like a good kid."

They came to a stop in front of Joe's Pizza. Ryan opened the door for her.

"Come on," he said. "We deserve something warm after that walk."

The scent of melted cheese and oregano pizza flew in the air. A couple of NYPD officers ordered slices.

Ryan and Evelyn sat across a corner booth.

Evelyn took a sip of water.

"Do you always think everything's a clue?" Evelyn asked.

Ryan leaned back, he's folding his arms. "Not everything. But if something feels off, I follow the thread."

"That's not logic. That's gut feeling."

"It's pattern recognition," he countered. "You've never had a hunch that turned out right?"

"I trust my training more than my instincts. Intuition gets messy. Unreliable."

Ryan smirked. "Says the woman who dismissed that mural because it 'felt too dramatic.'"

"It was dramatic. And you're out here treating a painting like it's a damn crime scene."

"Because it might be," he said, leaning in. "That mural wasn't just there for show. The imagery, the language—it was curated. That's not graffiti. It's a message."

Evelyn crossed her arms, eyes squinting. "You think the killer's trying to speak through paint now?"

"I know they are."

Ryan's phone buzzed.

He answered, standing. "Detective Summers." A short pause. "What? Right now?" Another pause. "We're on our way."

He stood up. "Evelyn, we need to go."

"Where?"

"Just follow me."

They left the pizza half-eaten.

Ryan and Evelyn dashed across the crowded street.

"Come on, Evelyn," Ryan said, urgency in his voice. "We don't got much time. Scott found something—told me to meet him there immediately. Said it was serious."

Evelyn kept pace beside him. "How serious?"

Ryan turned toward the curb and whistled for a cab. "Grotesque. Horrifying. You'll see soon enough."

A yellow cab rolled to a stop. Ryan opened the door and motioned her in. "We'll take this one."

Inside the cab, they sank into the backseat. Ryan leaned forward and gave the driver an address. Evelyn turned to him as the car pulled away.

"This about the killer?" she asked.

"It is," Ryan said, staring out the window.

Evelyn clenched her fists. "We have to stop them. Save lives. Whoever's doing this… calling it art?" She shook her head. "Disgusting. What kind of mother gives birth to something like that?"

Ryan glanced her way. "Don't be rash," he said. "We'll get them. But we need more clues. There's a method behind this madness."

"You think they have a lair?"

"I'm sure of it," Ryan said. "Somewhere they keep all their twisted 'masterpieces.' And when we find it…"

He looked away again, eyes narrowed with quiet conviction.

"…we'll burn the beast's den to the ground."