The streets blurred around Alastor as he moved with urgency, his breath coming in sharp bursts, every exhale misting in the cold air. The city had never felt so oppressive, the shadows swallowing him whole, wrapping around his every step. Each corner seemed to hold a new obstacle, and each alleyway was another reminder that time was slipping away.
He hadn't seen Rachel since the previous night. The feeling of helplessness gnawed at him, and it only made him push harder. I will find her. The thought was a mantra, one that he repeated to himself as his feet pounded against the unforgiving concrete.
Alastor's mind was a storm of doubts, but he couldn't afford to let it show. He couldn't afford to stop. Every minute that passed without Rachel was another moment she could slip further into the clutches of Levanzo's cult.
The dim glow of streetlights cast long, grotesque shadows across the broken streets. The city, once so familiar, now felt alien. No matter how many times he turned, the place seemed endless, like it was mocking him. A maze of concrete and steel that had been built to keep him from finding what he was looking for. He cursed himself for not having more leads, for not knowing where they were keeping her.
Focus, Alastor. You'll find her, he told himself, but even the words felt hollow.
His mind flashed back to the last time he had seen her, the way her smile had felt like the only thing that kept him grounded. He could almost hear her voice, the way she had spoken his name softly as if to remind him that, even in the midst of all the chaos, they were together. But that had been before everything changed, before she was taken, before everything they had built together was torn apart.
He rounded another corner, nearly stumbling as his foot caught on a loose piece of pavement. The frustration built up in his chest, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. This wasn't just about finding Rachel anymore; it was about proving to himself that he wasn't too late. That he could still make things right.
He paused for a moment, leaning against a grimy brick wall, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his shoulders. His hands trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow, even though the night was cold. His mind replayed the fragmented information he had. The vague rumors. The cryptic warnings from people who claimed to have seen her with members of the cult. But no one had been able to tell him where they had taken her.
God, where are you, Rachel?
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing aside the gnawing panic that had begun to claw at the edges of his mind. He couldn't afford to feel this way. Not now.
Just as he was about to continue down another street, he saw something—a faint flicker of light in the distance. For a brief moment, he considered ignoring it, but something about the direction it came from tugged at him. It felt too deliberate to be a coincidence.
With renewed determination, Alastor moved toward the source of the light, each step growing more urgent as he crossed from one alley to another. The further he went, the darker it seemed, the light growing more distant, as if it were just out of reach, pulling him further into the unknown.
His mind wandered again to Rachel. She has to be out here somewhere. She has to.
His hand instinctively reached into his jacket pocket, gripping the phone that had never stopped buzzing with unanswered calls and texts. The last message she had sent, a simple "Help me" with nothing more, had been burned into his mind. She's still alive. I know she is.
Another turn. Another dead end.
He swore under his breath, frustration mixing with desperation. The city seemed to shift around him, its cruel labyrinth blocking his every move. And in that moment, as he stood there staring at yet another empty street, the full weight of the situation hit him like a physical blow. He didn't know where she was. He didn't know how much time they had left. And if he didn't find her soon…
Alastor clenched his fists, jaw tight with resolve. No. I won't lose her. I can't.
Just as he was about to turn back, a sound reached his ears—soft but unmistakable. The distant hum of an engine, the faintest hint of a car, a vehicle moving slowly through the streets. His head whipped around, eyes narrowing in the darkness.
He moved toward it without hesitation, his pulse quickening. The sound grew louder, sharper, and he followed it like a man possessed, each step calculated, driven by the vision of Rachel's face, the memory of her laughter, the hope that she was still out there.
The car came into view, a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows that seemed to blend with the night. Alastor's heart skipped a beat. Could this be it? Could this be the lead he'd been searching for?
Without thinking, he stepped into the street, blocking the path of the car. The driver slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching as the vehicle came to a sudden stop just inches from him.
The door swung open, and a figure stepped out—a man in a dark coat, his face partially obscured by the shadows. Alastor tensed, ready for anything.
But instead of aggression, the man simply looked at him with cold, calculating eyes, almost as if he had been expecting him.
"Looking for someone?" the man asked, his voice low and smooth.
Alastor's mind raced, every muscle in his body coiled. This wasn't just a random encounter. This was a sign. They knew he was coming.
The tension hung thick in the air as Alastor stood his ground, refusing to show any fear. This is it. He was closer than ever before.
He took a deep breath, eyes never leaving the man. "Where is she?"
Meanwhile, the walls of the cold, concrete room closed in on Rachel as she sat, her hands bound to the rusted chair. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each inhale scraping her lungs as if the very air here was poisoned. It wasn't the physical chains that hurt the most; it was the weight of the silence, the long hours that had stretched into days, each one blending into the next, without any sign of hope.
Her mind screamed for escape, for the warmth of sunlight and the sound of her uncle's voice. But there was no escape here, only the cruel and relentless game that Levanzo had crafted for her.
Levanzo stepped closer, his voice smooth as velvet but laced with a venomous bite. "You still don't understand, do you, Rachel? You think this is about me taking you, but it's never been about that. You're just a pawn in a much larger plan." His eyes glinted, cold and calculating.
Rachel didn't look up. She couldn't. If she looked, she might break. She'd already come so close.
Levanzo chuckled softly, clearly enjoying her defiance. "You're stronger than I thought. But even the strongest break. It's only a matter of time." He paced in front of her, his footsteps echoing in the silence. "This isn't about me making you suffer. It's about freeing you. You just don't see it yet."
Rachel's mind raced, trying to block out the noise, the confusion, the words that spun around her like a storm. She couldn't let him get to her. She had to hold on. My uncle and my friends will come for me. They're out there. They're looking for me…
But then, there was movement. A door creaked open, a shadow stepped inside. Rachel's heart froze in her chest.
She lifted her eyes just enough to see a figure moving in the low light. At first, she thought it was another one of Levanzo's followers, another faceless man sent to torment her. But then, something in the air shifted.
The figure stepped closer, and as the light caught his face, Rachel's breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. The world tilted on its axis.
Her brother.
Her brother, Tommy Thompson, who she had mourned for years, who had been dead, gone, erased from her life by the tragedy they'd never spoken of. There was no way it could be him. But it was.
The man standing before her wasn't a stranger. He was her flesh and blood—he was Tommy, the brother she thought had died, the one whose memory she had buried deep. His eyes, cold and distant, locked onto hers, and she saw nothing familiar in them. Nothing warm.
"Rachel," he said, his voice an eerie mockery of the past. "I see you've been struggling. It's so difficult, isn't it? To understand the truth."
Tears welled up in her eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over her. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but her voice was lost. Her hands trembled against the chains, her heart breaking under the weight of the betrayal.
"You're… you're working for him," she whispered, the words tasting bitter and strange on her tongue. She couldn't believe it.
"Not just for him," Tommy replied coldly, stepping closer. "With him. You've been so blind, Rachel. All these years, you never once suspected." His voice was laced with something darker, something far removed from the love she once knew. "The cult was never the enemy. We were always on the same side. You just never knew it."
Rachel's mind spiraled. Her world—her entire understanding of everything—was falling apart. How could he? Her brother, the one she had cried for, mourned for, the one who had been torn from her life, was here, alive, twisted by the very thing she had fought against.
Tears spilled down her face as the truth wrapped around her, suffocating her. This man, this stranger who wore the face of her brother, had been in the shadows all along, pulling the strings.
She collapsed inward, the emotional weight of it all overwhelming her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She just wanted it all to stop.
The sound of the door slamming behind Tommy echoed through the room, and she was left alone with the crushing reality of the moment.