The sharp click of Emily's pen tapping against her notepad was the only sound in the otherwise quiet newsroom. The newspaper office was buzzing around her, but it felt distant, muffled. Her fingers brushed the side of her coffee cup, but it was cold now, forgotten in the corner of her cluttered desk. Outside the window, the gray clouds of the early Brooklyn winter loomed ominously, but Emily wasn't looking at the sky. Her eyes, though open, stared at nothing.
Her mind kept drifting back to the conversation she had had days ago, the one that had uncovered too many dark truths. Derek, her childhood friend, had vanished without a trace. She knew, deep down, that his disappearance wasn't a simple case of him walking away. No, it was something much darker. Something that tugged at the edges of her sanity.
She reached for the half-crumpled file on her desk—a file that held all of the missing pieces she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. The police reports, the blurry footage of a man who looked disturbingly like Derek, the witness statements that didn't add up. Her fingers lingered on the image of Derek's face, but her thoughts quickly turned to the man who had been playing Derek's role since then. Levanzo. A name that felt wrong in her mouth. But it wasn't just the name that unsettled her. It was the way the man looked—too similar to Derek, yet something about him never quite fit.
"Emily, you okay?" her coworker, a younger reporter named Claire, asked, her voice pulling her back to the present.
Emily blinked, taking in the sight of Claire, who was still tapping away at her keyboard, clearly oblivious to Emily's inner turmoil. Emily quickly pasted on a smile, though it felt stiff. "Yeah, just tired," she replied, her voice unconvincing even to herself.
Claire gave her a skeptical look but said nothing. Emily noticed the way her coworker's eyes lingered on the stack of files, then back to her, but the conversation was over. Claire didn't press further. Emily let out a quiet breath, returning to the file. But it wasn't the words she saw anymore—it was the same question that gnawed at her every night before sleep: What happened to Derek?
But now, another question was slowly eating away at her thoughts: What was Alastor hiding?
She couldn't stop replaying the scene from the Brooklyn Brew café, where Alastor had stepped in between her and those thugs. The men had come in looking for trouble, their eyes dark with the promise of violence. Emily could still remember the shock she had felt, knowing that she was seconds away from a fight that would have ended badly for her. Then, Alastor had appeared, not with a grand gesture, but with calm authority, placing himself between her and the danger with a quiet but unwavering presence. His voice had been steady, unshaken, as he'd told them, "Enough."
It wasn't the way he'd acted that lingered with her; it was the ease with which he had diffused the situation. The men had backed down without a fight. No confrontation, no escalation. They'd left without a word, and yet she felt the shadow of their threat still hanging in the air, as if they hadn't really gone at all.
Emily had found herself staring at his retreating back, trying to piece together the enigma of a man who could be so calm, so capable, and yet so closed off.
It wasn't just that moment, though. It was how Alastor had always been around her—his evasiveness, his reluctance to talk about himself. He was a mystery, but Emily had learned how to read people, how to understand their motivations. And something about him didn't add up. He wasn't just another quiet man. There was more to him, something deeper that he was hiding.
Her thoughts drifted to the night when Alastor and Mr. Thompson had been kidnapped by the Eclipsed Order. The fear had been palpable, though neither of them had shown it when they returned. Alastor had returned quieter than usual, but it wasn't just his demeanor that bothered her—it was Mr. Thompson's. The man had looked unsettled, almost haunted, his eyes constantly darting as though he expected something to jump out at him. Emily had asked Alastor what had happened during the kidnapping, but once again, Alastor had dismissed her questions. But she had seen the subtle signs—the tension in his shoulders, the guarded way he spoke. The way his voice had carried an undertone of irritation when she pressed for more.
It was then that Emily started to notice the pattern. Alastor's reactions weren't just avoidance—they were deliberate. He didn't flinch when things got dangerous, but when pressed about his past, about anything that could reveal his true nature, he became colder, sharper. His evasiveness wasn't just secrecy—it was calculated.
There was something more behind it. She could feel it.
Emily couldn't let it go. She had to know more. He had to have some kind of connection to the things she was chasing—Derek's disappearance, the Eclipsed Order, all of it. Alastor was a thread she couldn't pull loose, no matter how hard she tried.
Her fingers tapped the pen again, her mind racing. She had to dig deeper, had to find answers. What was Alastor hiding?
The files before her blurred as her thoughts sharpened. She would find a way to uncover the truth about him. She had to. Because if he was connected to the mysteries she was trying to solve, she needed to know who he really was.
Meanwhile, Jack Wilkins stood at the center, sweat dripping down his brow, body aching already after only an hour of training. The dojo was small but intense, with the rhythmic sound of feet hitting mats and instructors shouting commands. His arms and legs were sore, his movements clumsy and new. But despite the strain, there was a quiet sense of satisfaction growing inside him.
"Block!" the instructor called sharply.
Jack, still adjusting to the pace, raised his arms, trying to mimic the others. His first attempt was shaky. The second, better. And then, on the third, his arms snapped into position with fluid precision, absorbing the momentum of the strike like it had always been natural. He didn't look at the others, but he could feel their eyes on him. The instructor nodded, approving. The others in the class murmured with surprise.
"Good. Keep it up."
Jack's heart hammered in his chest—not from exertion, but from something deeper. A sense of responsibility, of urgency. He wasn't here just to learn how to defend himself. No, this was something more. He was here because he couldn't shake the feeling that, one day, something terrible would happen again. And the last time, at Sarah Lee's concert, he had done nothing. He froze.
Her name lingered in his mind like a ghost. Sarah Lee—the artist who had inspired him, the voice that had once lifted him on his darkest days. The news of her death still felt surreal, as if it couldn't possibly be true. She had been more than a performer to him. She was someone who had made him believe in hope, in resilience. And now, she was gone. Not because of an accident or illness, but because she had been targeted—randomly, cruelly, senselessly—by the Eclipsed Order.
He could still see it, every detail—people screaming, chaos, gunshots ringing through the air—and Jack, standing there, frozen in fear. He had always prided himself on being quick to act, quick to help others. But when it counted the most, he hadn't moved. He hadn't done anything. The guilt from that night still ate at him.
He thought of Sarah's voice, the way it had filled the room during her performances, powerful and unyielding. She had stood for something, had fought through her own struggles to inspire others. And now, she was gone because someone like Levanzo had decided she was expendable.
Jack clenched his fists as he blocked another strike, the instructor nodding in approval. He couldn't let that happen again. He couldn't freeze, couldn't hesitate when it mattered most. This training was his way of making sure he was ready—not just for himself, but for the people who might need him.
As he practiced the block again, a sense of calm settled over him. This was a start. He could feel it.
The instructor moved on to the next student, and Jack wiped the sweat from his brow, turning to face the others. As he did, he caught sight of a woman walking toward him—tall, confident, with a calm smile. She stopped a few feet away, and Jack quickly realized she had been watching him. His heart rate sped up slightly.
"Nice block," she said, her voice smooth but casual. "I'm Hannah Livingston," she added, offering him a hand. "You're a natural."
Jack shook her hand, a little awkwardly. "Jack Wilkins. First day," he added with a sheepish grin.
Hannah raised an eyebrow. "First day? I don't believe it. You look like you've been doing this for ages."
Jack laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not even close. But... I have some motivation, you could say."
Hannah's expression softened in understanding. "Yeah, I get it. Martial arts is all about control. I've been at it for a couple of years now, and it's taught me more about myself than I expected. It's not just about defending yourself. It's about confidence, discipline... making sure you don't freeze when it matters."
Jack nodded, feeling the weight of her words. That was exactly why he was here.
"What brought you here?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Hannah shrugged lightly. "Same reason, really. I want to feel like I'm in control of my own fate. Things happen fast—faster than you can imagine. I figured it was time to learn how to protect myself... and the people I care about."
Jack felt an unspoken understanding between them. There it was again—the same golden retriever energy, the drive to protect, to defend, to be ready.
"I think we're on the same page," Jack said, a grin tugging at his lips.
Hannah smiled back, her eyes bright with something like respect. "I think we are."
As the class ended, Jack couldn't help but feel a strange sense of hope. It wasn't just about physical defense. It was about mental strength, too. The ability to act when everything else froze. Maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path.
Jack stepped out of the dojo, feeling the sharp contrast of the cool Brooklyn air against the warmth of his muscles, still aching from the training. He stretched his arms above his head, savoring the feeling of accomplishment. The day was still bright, the sun dipping lower as the afternoon edged toward evening. He waved goodbye to Hannah, who smiled back at him, her eyes full of something unspoken—a shared understanding between them.
"See you next class, Jack," she said.
"Definitely," Jack replied with a grin, and as they parted ways, he felt a small but noticeable weight lift off his chest. There was something about the dojo, about the people he was meeting, that felt right. He was building something. Not just his skills, but a foundation he had never had before.
Jack pulled out his phone as he walked down the street, the sound of his sneakers tapping on the pavement joining the rhythm of his thoughts. He pressed Alastor's number, waiting for the familiar click as the line connected. It rang twice before Alastor answered.
"Hey, Jack," Alastor's voice greeted, warm but distracted, as if he were in the middle of something else.
"Yo, Al," Jack said, leaning against a lamppost. "So, guess what? I met this girl in class today."
Alastor sat in the apartment, newspaper spread out in front of him. He had just finished a brief glance at the headlines, his fingers resting on the pages, but his attention shifted at Jack's voice.
"Really?" Alastor's tone shifted, a spark of curiosity and something else—excitement, maybe? But there was a hesitation there, like something complicated lurked beneath his words. "Tell me about her."
Jack chuckled, the corners of his lips lifting into a grin. "Her name's Hannah. She's been at the dojo for a long time—orange belt, pretty good. I think I might've impressed her with my block today. She said I was a natural. We talked a little after class. She's... she's like me, you know? Just trying to get stronger, to be ready for whatever life throws at us."
Alastor paused, his fingers gently folding the edge of the newspaper. The excitement in his voice was mingled with a quiet undercurrent, a tinge of something he couldn't quite place.
"That's great, Jack," Alastor said, his tone betraying an emotion Jack couldn't quite pin down. "It sounds like you're on the right track." He sighed, a little heavier than usual. "You deserve someone who gets you. Really gets you."
Jack's eyes softened, his smile momentarily faltering. "Yeah, I feel like I might be heading in the right direction, you know? But... it's not just about her. It's more about me figuring things out for myself first."
Alastor's mind drifted, fingers tracing an absent pattern on the edge of the newspaper. The conversation with Jack, his openness, stirred something inside of him—something that, like a distant echo, made him wonder about his own tangled feelings. His gaze shifted towards the window for a brief moment, watching the world move beyond it.
"So, Jack," Alastor's voice shifted slightly, quiet but probing, "What does it mean to love, do you think?"
Jack blinked, taken aback by the question. He hadn't expected that. It wasn't something he thought about often. His thoughts went to the people he cared about, his friends, his family. He thought about the bond with Alastor, and the conversations they shared, the way Alastor had been there for him in ways no one else had. But love? The question lingered in the air, like a puzzle piece he wasn't sure how to fit.
"Love, huh?" Jack muttered, looking down at his phone as if the answer might be written there. His thumb brushed the edge of the screen, trying to find the words. He thought about his parents, the way they always had his back, the way he felt when he rescued his dog, and even how he felt about helping people. "I think... love is about being there for someone, even when it's hard. It's being loyal, not because you have to, but because you want to. It's like... it's like you see the good in someone, even when they can't see it in themselves. You just wanna help them, make sure they're okay. And when they smile, you feel it too, y'know?"
Alastor's breath hitched slightly, the words resonating more than he had expected. There was a quiet stillness on the other end of the line. For a moment, Alastor couldn't bring himself to say anything. His thoughts, tangled in emotions he hadn't fully understood, hung there between them.
"I think you're right, Jack," Alastor replied softly, the weight of his words settling between them. "I guess... I'm still figuring it out myself."
Jack smiled a little, feeling a warmth spread through him. He didn't know what was going on in Alastor's life, or what exactly Alastor was struggling with, but the fact that they could have this kind of conversation, even if it was a little cryptic, made him feel like they were more than just friends.
"Well," Jack said, adjusting his grip on the phone, "If you ever wanna talk more about it, you know where to find me."
Alastor chuckled, the sound low and almost wistful. "I'll keep that in mind, Jack."
Jack shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, still walking down the sidewalk as he continued his conversation with Alastor. "Anyway, I was thinking... do you wanna hang out today? Maybe grab some dinner? Just, y'know, have some fun for once?"
Alastor's voice crackled through the speaker, a slight pause before he answered. "Dinner, huh? Sounds good. I could use a distraction."
Jack grinned, feeling a little giddy at the thought of some downtime. "Cool. You should invite Rachel too, if she's free. I'm sure she could use a break from work."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Jack could almost picture Alastor's expression.
"Uh... no," Alastor replied, his voice a little strained. "She's... she's actually on duty today. I don't think she'd be able to make it."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "On duty?"
"Yeah," Alastor confirmed, a touch of discomfort in his tone. "She's a cop. It's... you know, unpredictable sometimes."
Jack nodded, understanding. "Ah, gotcha. No worries. Well, you and me can still grab some food. Maybe next time, right?"
"Yeah, definitely," Alastor said, his voice a little lighter now, the tension from earlier ebbing away.
But just as Jack was about to suggest a place to eat, a sudden sound cut through the conversation—the sound of the doorbell ringing from inside the apartment.
"Hold on," Alastor said, his voice distracted. He set the phone down for a moment, the faint sound of footsteps echoing on the other side of the line.
Jack couldn't help but smile to himself. "I bet it's Thompson coming back," he muttered, still imagining Alastor's awkward daily life.
Alastor opened the door, and Jack heard him pause for a beat. There was a faint rustling of the door, followed by a voice that made Jack's heart skip a beat.
"Alastor?" Rachel's voice came through, clear and casual, but with a warmth that Jack hadn't heard before. "I wasn't expecting you, but hey! I just got off duty, came to drop off the book I borrowed from uncle."
Alastor, a little stiff, cleared his throat. "Oh. You're... you're not still on duty?" His words came out awkwardly, as if he were trying to hide something he didn't quite understand.
Rachel laughed softly, the sound almost like a melody. "Nah, just finished with a robbery situation. We got everything under control." There was a pause, the air thick with unspoken things.
Jack, curious, leaned in closer to his phone, trying to make out what was happening on the other end of the line. "Well, that's good," Alastor mumbled, his eyes still not meeting Rachel's, his body stiff. "I... I thought you'd be tied up longer."
The moment felt strange—Alastor, caught somewhere between feeling relieved and awkward, his earlier comments about Rachel still hanging in the air. Jack couldn't help but grin, sensing an unspoken shift between them.
Rachel, noticing the odd silence, turned to the phone with a casual smile. "Oh, hey, Jack," she said, her voice now softer. "What's up?"
Jack couldn't contain his excitement. "Hey, Rachel! I was just gonna ask if you'd like to join me and Al for dinner tonight. You know, to hang out and relax a bit."
Alastor's eyes widened in embarrassment as he heard Jack's cheerful voice. His cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze flicking to Rachel, then quickly away again. "Jack..." he muttered, voice tight.
Rachel tilted her head, considering for a moment. She looked over at Alastor, noticing the subtle tension in his posture. A soft smile tugged at her lips before she spoke, her voice warm and easy. "Sure, Jack. I think that sounds nice. I could use a bit of time to unwind."
Alastor's jaw dropped slightly, caught completely off guard. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "You... sure?" he asked, though his tone lacked the usual coolness. It was softer than he meant it to be.
"Yeah," Rachel said with a light chuckle, nudging Alastor lightly on the arm as she stepped past him into the apartment. "I'm free now. It'll be nice to relax for once."
Jack, on the other end, had a big grin plastered on his face. "Alright, cool! I'll see you both in a bit then. Don't worry, Al. I won't steal her away from you too much," he teased.
Alastor sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he shook his head, more to himself than anyone else. "Right..." he muttered, still not entirely sure how to feel about the whole situation.
As Rachel and Alastor began to talk, Jack hung up, knowing that tonight was going to be an interesting one.