The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a faint orange glow across the cracked pavement as Emily's car slowed down, pulling into the gas station. It wasn't far from the outskirts of town, a place most people passed through without a second thought. But tonight, there was something different about it.
Emily spotted Rachel's police car in the lot, parked by one of the pumps, the officer's light bar flashing faintly against the fading daylight. The engine idled, its low hum mixing with the soft chirps of distant crickets. She parked beside Rachel's vehicle, the wheels crunching on the gravel as she stepped out, her heels clicking on the concrete.
Rachel looked up from the pump, her dark eyes squinting in the dimming light as a thin wisp of smoke curled out of the driver's side window, the last remnants of her cigarette drifting up toward the sky. She smiled faintly as Emily approached.
"Been a while," Rachel said, leaning back in the seat of the squad car. "How've you been?"
"Busy," Emily answered, leaning against the hood of her own car. "You know how it is, trying to keep up with the paper. Things never slow down."
Rachel nodded, flicking the cigarette butt out the window. "Yeah, I hear you. Work's been a bit crazy for me, too. Nothing too exciting though... mostly just the usual. Traffic stops, paperwork... you know how it goes." She shrugged.
Emily's eyes narrowed slightly, studying Rachel. She was always composed, always the professional. But beneath the surface, Emily knew something was off. Something was always off with Rachel. Alastor, the warehouse, and Levanzo. It was a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. And Rachel was a piece.
"So, about the old warehouse," Emily began, her voice casual, but the way she phrased it—soft but deliberate—caught Rachel's attention. "How exactly did you and Alastor manage to bring Levanzo down?"
Rachel's fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter for a split second before she relaxed her grip, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Alastor snuck in, took him by surprise. We... took him down together. It wasn't easy, but it's over. The police took care of it all."
Emily nodded, her gaze fixed on Rachel. She tilts her head, a sudden thought striking her. She remembers hearing the news earlier.
"Wait," she says, her tone shifting. "When we watched the news a couple weeks back, they said Levanzo's dead. Police aren't sure how it happened, but it's been confirmed."
Rachel's breath hitched for the briefest moment before she exhaled slowly, clearly trying to maintain her calm. "We... didn't kill him, Emily. I'm telling you. He most likely ended it himself. Alastor and I, we just did what we could to stop him."
Emily studied her, noticing how Rachel's eyes darted for just a second. There was something there, a slight tremor in her words, a hesitation that didn't sit right. The puzzle pieces in Emily's mind clicked together, and for a moment, she felt a chill run down her spine.
"You know," Emily began again, leaning in just a little closer, "there's something I've been thinking about. Levanzo, he looked exactly like Derek, right? My best friend from high school. The one I told you about. The one who disappeared." She let the words hang in the air, heavy and pointed.
Rachel's gaze shifted slightly. The shift was small, but Emily caught it—Rachel's eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips pressing together. "I... don't know what you mean," Rachel replied, her voice a little too controlled, a little too rehearsed. "Levanzo and Derek—well, they were just... similar in appearance. That's all."
But Emily wasn't buying it. Not this time. "No, I'm talking about the real Derek. The one who disappeared, Rachel. The one who never came back. Tell me, Rachel—did you know about Levanzo's real identity? Did you know what happened to Derek?"
Rachel's eyes widened just enough to betray her calm composure. She stiffened in her seat, the breath caught in her throat. "Emily, I— I don't know anything about that," Rachel said quickly, her voice faltering, but she caught herself. "I really don't."
Emily didn't let up. "So, Derek's death... you don't know what happened to him either? You really don't know anything about him, or his connection to Levanzo?" Her words were more pointed now, more insistent.
Rachel's eyes shifted, darting nervously. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep it together, but Emily could see the cracks starting to form in her carefully constructed facade. Rachel was lying, and Emily knew it.
"Look," Emily pressed, moving closer, her voice soft but unwavering, "I'm just asking you to be honest. Just tell me the truth, Rachel. Did you know who Levanzo really was? Did you know what happened to Derek?"
Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking anywhere but at Emily. "I've told you everything I know, Emily. I didn't know who Levanzo really was until... until we took him down," she said, the words coming out in a rushed jumble. "I swear, that's the truth."
Emily studied her carefully, watching as Rachel's gaze flicked to the side, her expression unreadable. Emily didn't believe her. Not for a second.
With a sigh, Emily stepped back, shaking her head slowly. "Alright, Rachel. I guess there's no point in pushing any further."
Rachel didn't respond. The silence stretched between them, and Emily felt the weight of it press down on her. The lies, the evasions—everything felt wrong, like the pieces of the puzzle were slipping further away with every moment.
Turning toward her car, Emily felt the frustration well up inside her. She had nothing more to go on. Not right now.
As she climbed into the car and started the engine, the sound of the engine roaring to life filled the silence. Emily's grip tightened on the wheel, her mind racing with the knowledge that Rachel wasn't telling her the truth. She had to keep pushing, keep digging, because something was hidden—something important.
But for now, there was nothing more to do but drive away, the questions still burning in her mind.
As Rachel strode down the familiar stretch of streets, her patrol belt heavy against her hips, she couldn't shake the tension from her conversation with Emily. The talk had stirred something in her, a growing sense of unease gnawing at her insides. But it wasn't just Emily's questions—it was the echoes of Detective Marlowe's voice that played over and over in her mind.
His words had been sharp, cutting through her like a blade.
"You sure about that? I mean, I get it. Cops have their fair share of secrets. But a custom firearm linked to an organization like the Eclipsed Order?"
Rachel adjusted her belt, the weight of her responsibility pressing down on her, but also the creeping guilt that followed her every step. Marlowe had warned her, had seen through her, and now Emily was doing the same.
She couldn't help but think back to his presence, the way he sized her up, dissecting every flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He knew something. She could feel it.
"You're lying."
The words still echoed in her mind. And now, Emily's insistent questions about Derek, about Levanzo... they were all a part of the same tangled web. Rachel knew the truth—she knew exactly what had happened to Derek and who Levanzo really was—but she couldn't tell Emily. She couldn't tell anyone. It was a truth too dangerous, too explosive to expose.
And so, the evening air in Brooklyn felt cool as Alastor walked through the dimly lit streets. His sneakers barely made a sound as he moved along the cracked pavement, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. The city hum buzzed in the background, with the occasional honk of a horn or distant siren, but there was something oddly quiet about the moment.
As he rounded a corner, he spotted a familiar face—a figure leaning casually against a streetlight, arms crossed, watching him with that typical smirk. Jack Wilkins.
"Hey, Al!" Jack called, pushing himself off the lamppost and walking toward Alastor with a nod. "Out here doing the slow stroll again, huh?"
Alastor grinned, shaking his head. "Yeah, just clearing my mind after a... job hunt." He shrugged slightly, trying to sound nonchalant.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "A job hunt, huh? You actually apply for anything?"
"Well," Alastor said, looking slightly sheepish. "I applied for a part-time language teaching job through some app. The librarian from the library helped me set it up."
Jack chuckled. "Wait, you applied through an app? You? The guy who barely knows how to work a phone?" He shook his head in mock disbelief. "How do you even manage that? It's like you're living in the Stone Age, Al."
Alastor smirked, trying to play it off. "I'm just not too familiar with how phones work. You know how it is. Technology, right?"
"Right," Jack teased, nudging Alastor with his shoulder. "Old man Alastor, fighting the future one phone app at a time."
Alastor rolled his eyes. "Not everyone's a tech expert like you, Jack."
Jack laughed. "Fair enough. But hey, at least you're getting in on the app scene now. Who knows, maybe you'll get a gig teaching Spanish or something."
"I could teach that," Alastor muttered, more to himself than anything. He paused for a moment before looking over at Jack. "Speaking of phones... You didn't answer my call last night. What was up with that?"
Jack shrugged casually, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Oh, I was spending time with Hannah during my break at work. You remember her, right? The girl from my martial arts class?"
Alastor's eyes lit up. "Yeah, you mentioned her before. So... what happened?"
Jack's smirk grew wider. "Well, we kissed." He said it nonchalantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.
Alastor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No kidding? That's... that's awesome, man."
"Yeah," Jack said, his smile widening. "And I asked her on a date. We're going tomorrow night."
Alastor's expression softened, a hint of happiness crossing his features. "That's great, Jack. I'm happy for you."
But as he said it, a little pang tugged at his chest. The thought of Rachel, the complicated mess of his own feelings for her, crept into his mind. He quickly brushed it off, focusing on Jack's grin instead. "You deserve it, man."
Jack, sensing the shift, grinned wider. "But hey, that's not all. Last night at work, we caught a shoplifter. Hannah and I, we made sure the guy didn't get away."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, impressed. "How'd you manage that?"
Jack shrugged. "Well, it wasn't easy. But we handled it. The authorities came and took care of the guy after."
"Sounds like you're getting better at this whole hero thing," Alastor said, his voice warm with pride. "Maybe you'll get a promotion soon."
Jack laughed, slapping Alastor's back. "Yeah, maybe. Who knows, maybe I'll get that badge before long."
Alastor chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised. You've come a long way since... well, since everything that went down in Queens with Sarah Lee's concert."
Jack looked over at him, a serious glint in his eyes for a brief moment. "I've had a lot of time to think about that stuff. It feels like a lifetime ago."
Alastor nodded, feeling the weight of that history. They had both come a long way.
"Anyway," Alastor said after a pause, "you up for hanging out? Maybe grab a coffee or something?"
Jack shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. I was thinking we could hit a bar instead. I know a place not far from here."
Alastor blinked, confused. "A bar? You... want to go to a bar? I've never been to one."
Jack grinned. "That's why we're going. You gotta experience it sometime, right?"
Alastor hesitated but nodded. "Alright, I'll go. If you say it's worth it."
The two of them walked down the street, heading toward the bar Jack had in mind, the sound of their shoes scraping against the pavement filling the silence between their conversations. They passed a bus stop, the faint yellow glow of the streetlights casting long shadows in the growing dusk.
Unbeknownst to them, a few blocks away, Emily sat at the bar Jack had mentioned, nursing a drink, her eyes scanning the crowd with a quiet intensity. The same bar, the same night, but different reasons for being there.
As Alastor and Jack made their way inside, the door swung open, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses spilling out into the cool night air. Alastor took a deep breath, the unfamiliar scent of the bar filling his nose. He stepped inside, unsure of what to expect—but whatever it was, it was a step into the unknown.