"The next day, we had the doctors determine the exact cause and time of death," Malvin began, his voice strained as if the memory itself was a weight pressing on him. "Turns out, her neck was snapped before her head was torn off. It was... relieving? If that's even the right word?" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "At least it meant she didn't die from something as grotesque as her head being ripped off while she was still alive." He paused, shaking his head. "I guess it's just better knowing it wasn't as brutal as it could've been. Small comforts, I suppose."
He leaned back, his gaze distant. "Anyway, the days after were rough for everyone. This kind of thing doesn't happen often—not here. And the brutality of it guaranteed the news would spread like wildfire. And spread it did, to every corner of Ironhelm." His tone turned bitter as he continued, "People were terrified. And, of course, the damned press—caring more about selling their stories than anything else—took full advantage. Fearmongering like vultures, they ran headlines like 'If the Guard can't protect themselves, how can they protect us?' It was all bullshit, designed to rile people up and sow panic."
"Must've been a tough time to be in the Guard," Jos said sympathetically, his usual sarcasm absent.
Malvin nodded, his expression annoyed as he remembered. "It hasn't changed much, has it? Not even now," Aeron added, his tone back to its usual deadpan.
"Yeah," Tores added with a cringe on his face, "they never write about us stopping crimes or arresting the bad guys. But our failures? Those are front-page material." He rubbed his face at the memory of how the press had covered his failure to stop The Fiend from breaking into Ironguard property.
"Did the press report on the note, Captain?" Loreen asked, leaning forward slightly.
Malvin shook his head firmly. "They kept that quiet, If that had got out, me and Silas would've been targets, plain and simple. And by keeping it under wraps, we could keep working—use ourselves as bait to lure the bastard out." He leaned forward, his jaw tightening. "If only Philip Crude had been stupid enough to take that bait and try to kill us right after sending his damn message."
Malvin clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as anger surged through him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a slow, steady breath before speaking again. "A week went by," he said, his voice taut with suppressed frustration. "A whole damn week, and we had nothing—no leads, no witnesses, no hints. Just silence. It wore on all of us, but for Silas and me... it hit especially hard."
---
Silas let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against a nearby wall for a moment's respite. "Hey, Malvin," he said, his voice heavy, "do you think the killer's going to come after us anytime soon?"
Malvin stood a short distance away, his sharp eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Maybe. Maybe not. Who the hell knows how people as sick as that think?" he replied without looking back, his tone laced with frustration.
Silas nodded absently, his gaze dropping to the ground. His boot scuffed against the dirt as if he were kicking a loose rock, though there was nothing there. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, "this feels awful." He paused, his voice growing quieter but no less bitter. "Just to send us a message, they do that to Riley. And what do we do?" He gestured vaguely toward the street around them, his shoulders slumping even further. "Just back to what we always do. Patrol. Like nothing happened."
Malvin let out a sigh of his own, finally turning to face his partner. His expression was tight, a mix of irritation and resignation. "What do you expect us to do?" he asked, his voice blunt but not unkind. "Without any leads, we can't do a damn thing. So yeah, doing our usual job—and being bait—is the best we can do right now." With that, he turned back, his attention shifting to the busy-ish road once gain, watching it quietly as the world carried on around them.
Silas shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the afternoon sky, "Yeah, I get that," he muttered under his breath. "Still doesn't make it suck any less."
---
"Both of us felt guilty, like Riley's death was somehow on us instead of the sick bastard who murdered her," Malvin admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling briefly before he let out an exasperated sigh. "Goddess, if I could go back in time and slap some sense into us for thinking that way, I would."
Jos chuckled dryly, his usual sarcasm seeping in as he lifted the mood slightly. "I would too. Who the hell thinks like that?"
Malvin shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. "Our dumbasses, apparently," he muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, as if things weren't bad enough already, that's when the little shit showed up to prove us wrong..."
---
"You look like crap," Silas heard from beside him, the voice cutting through the fog of exhaustion he had been drowning in. He shifted his gaze, annoyance flashing across his face before he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, I know I look like crap, but who the—"
As he turned to look, his words caught in his throat, his eyes widening in shock. "Huh!?"
Malvin, hearing his partner's startled exclamation, furrowed his brows and slowly turned around. He opened his mouth to ask, "What's wrong, now—" but his own words died in his throat when he saw what Silas was staring at.
There, standing next to Silas, was a certain blue-haired, blue-eyed boy. His presence, unexpected and utterly unwelcome, sent a wave of annoyance through Malvin.
His face contorted into a scowl, his hands instinctively balling into fists at his sides. "What the hell are you doing here, brat?" he growled, his teeth gritted.
Xain, for his part, put on a nervous smile, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Uhh... hey guys," he said, clearly uneasy, but trying to appear as though he hadn't just walked into a hornet's nest.