Two weeks later, the air around Brooklyn had grown crisper, with the faintest scent of winter creeping in, carrying the promise of colder days. The sounds of bustling construction echoed through the neighborhood as Mr. Thompson stood atop a scaffold outside the Brooklyn Brew Café, his hands steady despite the weight of the task before him. He adjusted the angle of a steel beam with the help of two engineers, his mechanic's precision evident in his movements. It was a sight to behold — the way the building's structure, once battered and broken, was beginning to take shape again under his careful guidance.
Alastor and Jack stood a few feet away, observing the progress. The breeze tugged at Alastor's jacket, sending a shiver up his spine. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with the effort of creation. Jack had his arms crossed, watching Mr. Thompson as he worked, clearly impressed with how well the man was managing the rebuilding process.
"So, how's everything going?" Jack asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was a touch of concern in it as he glanced toward Mr. Thompson.
Mr. Thompson didn't look up immediately, focused instead on tightening a bolt with practiced ease. "Slow, but steady. We've got a lot of work to do, but I'm confident we'll get it done. My crew's solid, and the tools I've got… well, let's just say they make things easier." He smiled, gesturing toward the pile of equipment scattered around the area, his mechanical background clear in his choice of tools.
Alastor nodded, impressed. "It's looking great so far." His tone was softer than usual, as if the work itself had a quiet kind of beauty to it.
Mr. Thompson paused for a moment, then turned his attention to Jack. "So, what's the plan for you, Jack? You still looking at that grocery store job?"
Jack shifted his weight, looking a little sheepish. "Yeah, I've got an interview tomorrow. It's just something to keep the bills paid for now. Can't keep waiting around for the café to open up again, you know?"
Mr. Thompson raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue further. Instead, his gaze turned toward Alastor. "And you, Alastor? Still thinking about what you want to do?"
Alastor's gaze shifted downward, the familiar feeling of uncertainty creeping in again. "I don't know," he muttered. "I still haven't figured it out."
A silence hung between them for a moment, broken only by the sounds of hammers and drills in the background. Jack glanced at Alastor, his usual enthusiasm dampened by the mood.
"I've been thinking about it, you know," Alastor continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… don't know what I'm meant to do. Everything feels like a blur."
Mr. Thompson's eyes softened, his tone not quite as firm as it had been two weeks ago when they first discussed Alastor's uncertainty. "You don't need to figure it all out right away," he said with a reassuring smile. "Take it easy on yourself. You've got time."
Alastor nodded slowly, but there was still a lingering frustration in the way he clenched his jaw. He wanted to know — to have some clarity — but it wasn't coming to him. Maybe it never would.
Jack, sensing the shift in the mood, decided to change the subject, his voice light but persistent. "Hey, Al, you ever think about working with me at the grocery store? Could be a good break for you, get some routine, you know?"
Alastor shot him a look, shaking his head. "No, Jack. I'm still not sure it's for me." He couldn't pinpoint why, but something about the idea felt wrong. It wasn't just about the work, but about where he was in life.
Jack grinned but didn't press further. He'd asked at least a dozen times over the past couple of weeks, always in good faith, but it seemed like Alastor wasn't ready to make a decision yet.
Mr. Thompson noticed the quiet exchange and gave a gentle chuckle. "Maybe give him some space, Jack. You can't rush someone to know what they want to do. Not like that."
Jack looked at Mr. Thompson, surprised by the suggestion but then gave a soft nod, acknowledging the wisdom in the older man's words.
"Yeah," Alastor said quietly, almost to himself, "maybe some space is what I need."
The three of them stood there for a while, watching the progress unfold. The café's future was still uncertain, but the work was tangible, and for a brief moment, Alastor felt a slight sense of hope — a faint glimmer of something he hadn't felt in a while. It wasn't clarity, but it was a step forward. Maybe, just maybe, the path would reveal itself eventually.
Mr. Thompson, still working on the café, glanced at them both before nodding toward the structure. "We're getting there, bit by bit." Then, without missing a beat, he added, "And so are you two. Trust that things will come together in their own time."
The cold breeze brushed through Brooklyn as winter's approach lingered on the horizon, but for now, the warmth of their small, quiet moment felt like enough.
Later on that day, Emily stood in front of a run-down apartment building, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better days. She hesitated for a moment, her hand resting on the metal railing as she took in the street, the noise of Brooklyn alive around her. Her mind was racing—about Derek, about the strange inconsistencies that kept popping up in her investigation, and most importantly, about the name "Levanzo." She had no concrete answers yet, but she was determined to find out more.
With a deep breath, Emily made her way up to the third floor, knocking gently on the door of the first apartment she was visiting that afternoon. A voice called from inside, muffled but curious.
"Yeah? Who's there?"
"Hi, my name's Emily. I'm doing some research on a guy named Derek Velasquez. I was wondering if you might've known him? He used to live here, a while back."
There was a brief silence, and Emily could feel the tension in the air. The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a man in his late twenties, his expression guarded but not hostile. His eyes flicked toward Emily, as if measuring whether she was someone worth talking to.
"I knew Derek," he said cautiously, eyes narrowing. "Not sure what you're looking for, but he was a regular around here. A couple weeks ago, he just… disappeared. Haven't seen him since."
Emily nodded, trying to keep her tone casual. "I was wondering if you could tell me more about him. What was he like? Did he ever mention anything about what he was doing or where he was going?"
The man shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. "Look, Derek was… kind of a quiet guy, kept to himself most of the time. Had a job, I think. Wasn't really the type to open up about his life. He'd come by, say hi, get a beer, then go back to whatever it was he did. And then one day, he was just gone."
Emily pressed on, hoping for more. "Did he ever talk about anyone in particular? Maybe someone close to him, a friend or someone he trusted?"
The man thought for a moment, scratching his chin. "Not really. He'd mention stuff here and there, but nothing that would make you think there was someone special. Didn't talk much about his family, either. Hell, when he left, no one even knew where he went. I figured he just dipped out, you know? It's Brooklyn. People come and go."
Frustration flickered in Emily's chest, but she kept her cool. She couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness. "Do you remember anything specific about his last days here? Anything strange?"
The man frowned, clearly trying to think. "Strange? Hmm. Well, now that you mention it, he looked a little off for a while. Maybe more tired? Like, he wasn't sleeping much. And the last time I saw him, he seemed... different. His eyes, maybe? It's hard to explain. I don't know, it just felt like something was off with him. But then, a lot of people around here seem like that sometimes."
Emily bit her lip, feeling the weight of the missing pieces in the puzzle. "Did he ever talk about going anywhere, or… meet anyone new?"
The man shook his head. "Nah, didn't hear anything like that. Just the usual. Some guys drop by, they hang out for a bit, but Derek? He mostly kept to himself. Like I said, no one knew much about him."
"Alright. Well, thanks for your time," Emily said, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice. As she turned to leave, the man called out to her.
"Hey, if you ever figure out where he went, let me know. I'm curious, too. It's not like him to just vanish."
Emily gave him a nod, but her mind was already elsewhere. The more she spoke to people, the less she understood. Derek had been a ghost in his own life, and now, it seemed like even his disappearance was just as obscure. The more she searched, the more distant the truth felt.
Her next stop was a small diner down the street, a place she'd heard Derek frequented. She hoped the waitress there might remember something more. Inside, the bell above the door rang softly as Emily entered, scanning the room for anyone who might have known Derek. The diner was quiet, a few locals scattered across the booths.
She walked up to the counter where an older woman, maybe in her sixties, was wiping down a glass. Emily smiled, trying to seem casual.
"Hello, I'm looking for some information about a guy named Derek Velasquez. He used to come here a lot. Do you remember him?"
The woman's face immediately softened, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Derek Velasquez, huh? Yeah, I remember him. Came in here almost every day for breakfast, sat at that same booth by the window. He was a quiet one, not much of a talker, but always polite. Never really said much about his life. Wasn't really friends with anyone here. But then, one day, he just stopped coming. No word, no nothing."
Emily leaned forward slightly. "Did he ever talk about anyone, maybe a friend or someone close?"
The waitress shook her head. "No, not really. He had his habits, but no one really knew him well enough to say he had anyone close. He was… distant, you know? Kept to himself."
"Did anything seem off about him? Maybe near the end?" Emily pressed, hoping for something she hadn't heard yet.
The waitress paused, her brow furrowing as she thought. "Well, now that you mention it, he seemed a little... different near the end. More tired, kind of out of it. But nothing that would have seemed like something was wrong. He was always like that, honestly—quiet, distant."
Emily thanked her, but as she walked out of the diner, the pieces were still missing. No one had given her anything concrete. Derek had left behind no trail, no sign of where he'd gone, and no one seemed to have known anything beyond his quiet existence.
The truth about Derek—and the mystery of Levanzo—was still buried deep, but Emily wasn't ready to give up. She had to keep searching, even if the answers remained just out of reach.