The aftermath of the dockside explosion lingered in the city's air like a ghost—an ever-present reminder that the stakes had never been higher. Frost sat in his study, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across the walls. His fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of his chair as his mind replayed the events of the previous night.
Blake had gone back to the station to file the official report, but Frost knew the explosion at Dock 14 wouldn't be the end of it. Kazan would retaliate. The criminal underworld wasn't known for taking losses lightly, and Frost had a sinking feeling that their move at the docks had only scratched the surface of something far more dangerous.
A knock on the door broke through his thoughts. He rose to answer it, opening the door to find Blake standing there, looking grim.
"We need to talk," Blake said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
Frost closed the door behind him. "What is it?"
Blake handed him a small folded note. "This arrived at the station just after you left."
Frost unfolded the note, his eyes narrowing as he read the neatly written message.
*You've struck a nerve, Frost. But it's not over. Meet me at St. Luke's Cemetery at midnight if you want to see how deep this really goes. Come alone.*
The message was unsigned, but Frost didn't need a name to know who it was from. Kazan, or someone close to him. The challenge was clear.
Blake watched him carefully. "It's a trap, isn't it?"
"Most certainly," Frost replied, folding the note and slipping it into his coat pocket. "But we can't afford to ignore it. Whoever sent this knows something, and they want me to meet them for a reason."
Blake's jaw tightened. "You're not seriously thinking about going alone, are you? They'll have men waiting for you."
"I know," Frost said, pacing toward the window. "But we need answers, Blake. The fire at Dock 14 wasn't enough to end this. If Kazan's planning something bigger, we need to know what it is before it's too late."
Blake shook his head. "I don't like it. Going alone is too dangerous."
Frost turned to him. "That's why I won't be going alone."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I'll go in first, just as the note demands," Frost explained. "But I need you and a few men nearby, hidden. If things go south, you'll be there to back me up."
Blake hesitated, but finally nodded. "All right. I'll gather a small team, and we'll set up around the cemetery. But promise me you'll signal if anything seems off."
Frost smiled faintly. "I will."
---
The chill of the night air greeted Frost as he stepped out onto the cobblestone street, the moon hanging low in the sky like a silent witness to the night's events. St. Luke's Cemetery was an old, forgotten place on the outskirts of the city, its graves dating back centuries. The dead lay in silent rows, their names worn away by time, leaving only faint echoes of lives once lived.
Frost moved quietly through the entrance, his eyes scanning the shadowy landscape. The cemetery was deserted, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant hoot of an owl.
He stopped in front of a large, ancient oak tree that stood near the center of the cemetery, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. He glanced at his pocket watch. Midnight.
Seconds ticked by, each one feeling longer than the last. The stillness was oppressive, as though the very air was holding its breath.
Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
Dressed in a long dark coat, the man moved with purpose, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. Frost's hand instinctively moved toward his pocket, where his weapon was concealed, but he held his ground.
"You came alone," the figure said, his voice low and gravelly. "Good."
Frost narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled, though there was no warmth in the sound. "Someone who knows more than you think. Let's just say I've been keeping an eye on things."
"Do you work for Kazan?" Frost asked, his tone measured.
The man stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away. "I don't work for anyone anymore. Not since Kazan left me for dead."
Frost's eyes widened slightly. "You're a defector."
The man smirked. "You could say that. I was part of his inner circle once, before things went south. I know things, Frost. Things that could bring Kazan down for good."
Frost studied him carefully. There was something about the man's demeanor—an air of desperation, mixed with anger. He was telling the truth, or at least part of it.
"Why contact me now?" Frost asked. "What's changed?"
The man glanced around, as though expecting someone to be watching. "Kazan's planning something big—bigger than anything he's ever done before. He's gathering resources, pulling in favors from powerful people. If he succeeds, he'll control more than just London's underworld. He'll have influence in places you can't even imagine."
Frost's mind raced, trying to piece together the information. "What is he planning?"
"I don't know the details," the man admitted. "But I know it involves a shipment coming in from the continent—something dangerous. Kazan's willing to kill anyone who gets in his way."
Frost frowned. "Why are you telling me this? What's in it for you?"
The man hesitated, his eyes darting to the side. "I want out. I've been hiding from Kazan for months, but it's only a matter of time before he finds me. I figure if I help you take him down, maybe I'll have a chance at a new life."
Before Frost could respond, a loud crack echoed through the cemetery.
The man's eyes widened in shock, and he staggered backward, clutching his chest. Blood began to seep through his fingers as he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
Frost spun around, searching for the source of the gunshot. In the distance, he saw a figure retreating into the shadows, disappearing before he could give chase.
"Blake!" Frost shouted, rushing to the man's side. Blake and his team emerged from their hiding spots, sprinting toward him.
The man was barely conscious, his breathing ragged. Frost knelt beside him, pressing a hand to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
"Who shot you?" Frost demanded, his voice urgent.
The man's lips moved, but no sound came out at first. Finally, with a final, labored breath, he whispered a name.
"Thorne…"
Then, he was gone.
Blake arrived just as the man's body went still, his expression grim. "We'll get him to the coroner's office. Maybe we can trace the bullet."
Frost stood, his mind racing. Thorne. The name meant something—he just couldn't place it.
"Blake," Frost said quietly, his eyes dark with determination. "We need to find out who Thorne is. This just got a lot more complicated."
As the night closed in around them, Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they had only uncovered the tip of the iceberg. Kazan was just one piece of a larger puzzle, and whoever Thorne was, he held the key to unlocking it.
The game had changed, and the stakes were higher than ever.