The heavy silence between Frost and Blake lingered as they walked away from Kent's office. Every step seemed to echo with the gravity of the situation they were in. Frost's thoughts, usually sharp and precise, were more scattered this time, the weight of the investigation starting to bear down on him. He knew Kent's warning wasn't just empty words—there was a deeper game at play, one that threatened to consume them all if they weren't careful.
"You really think Kent's going to slip up?" Blake asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as they strolled through the fog-filled streets.
"He already has," Frost replied, his voice low. "His arrogance is his biggest flaw. He thinks he's untouchable, but no one in this game is."
Blake took a drag of his cigarette, squinting at Frost. "What's our next move then? We can't just sit around waiting for him to make a mistake."
Frost's eyes narrowed, focusing on the dark horizon ahead of them. "No. We pressure him. We make him believe that the walls are closing in. He'll panic and reveal more than he intends to."
"How?"
"Lacey," Frost said simply. "We hit her next. If we can dismantle Kent's network by going after the people he's closest to, we'll corner him."
Blake nodded thoughtfully, flicking ash from his cigarette. "You think she'll be an easy target?"
Frost's jaw tightened. "No. Lacey's smarter than Kent. She's been in this world longer. But everyone has a weakness, and we'll find hers."
---
The following night, Frost and Blake stood outside Margaret Lacey's estate, their faces illuminated by the faint glow of the gas lamps lining the street. The grand house loomed before them, its windows dark and imposing. This was where deals were made, where the elite gathered in secret, hiding behind layers of wealth and power. But tonight, Frost and Blake would tear down those walls.
"You ready for this?" Blake asked, shifting uneasily. He never liked infiltrating high society events; too many eyes, too many chances to slip up.
"We go in quiet," Frost replied, adjusting his collar. "We mingle, observe, and gather intel. No direct confrontation, not yet."
They had donned their best evening attire, blending in with the upper echelons of London's social elite. Lacey's gatherings were known for their exclusivity, and getting in had required pulling a few strings. But once inside, they knew the real work would begin.
As they approached the entrance, they handed over their forged invitations to the doorman, who gave them a cursory glance before nodding them through. The interior of the estate was opulent—chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests who milled about with glasses of champagne in hand.
Blake leaned in close to Frost. "What's the plan?"
"We split up," Frost whispered back. "You keep an eye on Lacey. I'll try to find anyone connected to Kent."
Blake nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Frost, ever the observer, moved through the room with ease, his sharp eyes scanning for any familiar faces. He spotted a few notable figures—wealthy businessmen, influential politicians—but none that would lead him directly to The Whisperer's web.
It wasn't long before he caught sight of Margaret Lacey herself. She was standing near the grand staircase, engaged in conversation with a man Frost didn't recognize. Her laugh was light and charming, but her eyes were calculating, always assessing, always in control.
Frost moved closer, careful not to draw attention to himself. He listened in on snippets of conversation as he drifted by, catching just enough to confirm what he had already suspected: Lacey was more deeply involved than anyone realized. She wasn't just a participant in The Whisperer's dealings—she was orchestrating them.
But just as he was about to move on, something caught his attention. A name, whispered quietly in the midst of a conversation. Thorne.
Frost's pulse quickened as he tuned in, his focus sharp. Two men stood by the fireplace, speaking in low voices.
"I heard Thorne's back in London," one of them said, glancing around nervously. "They say he's planning something big."
The other man nodded, his expression grim. "He's after Frost. Wants him gone for good."
Frost's stomach turned at the mention of his own name. So Thorne knew. He knew Frost was getting closer, and now the hunter had become the hunted.
Frost turned to leave, needing to find Blake and get out of the estate before anyone noticed them. But as he moved, he felt a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"Detective Frost, I presume?"
He turned slowly, his eyes meeting those of Margaret Lacey. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"I've been expecting you," she said smoothly, her voice as cold as the ice in her glass. "Care to join me for a drink?"
Frost's mind raced, but he forced a calm smile. "It would be my pleasure."
---
Lacey led Frost into a smaller, more private sitting room, away from the noise and chatter of the main event. She closed the door behind them, her every movement deliberate and poised.
"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?" she said, turning to face him. "I know why you're here, and I know what you're after."
Frost's expression remained neutral. "Enlighten me."
"You think you can bring down The Whisperer," Lacey continued, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "You think you're going to expose this grand conspiracy and save London from the shadows that control it."
Frost didn't respond. He didn't need to. Lacey already knew everything.
"But you're in over your head," she said, stepping closer. "The Whisperer is not some petty criminal you can arrest and lock away. He's an idea. A force. And even if you manage to cut off one head, another will take its place."
Frost met her gaze, unflinching. "Every force can be stopped."
Lacey chuckled, shaking her head. "You're brave, I'll give you that. But bravery won't save you when Thorne comes for you. And he will."
"I'm not afraid of Thorne," Frost said evenly.
"You should be," Lacey replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Because he's not just coming for you. He's coming for everyone you care about."
Frost's blood ran cold at the implication. But he didn't show it. Instead, he straightened his coat and gave Lacey a hard look.
"Then I guess I'll have to make sure I get to him first," he said.
Lacey smiled again, this time with genuine amusement. "Good luck, Detective. You'll need it."
Without another word, Frost turned and left the room, his mind racing. He found Blake near the entrance, his expression tense.
"What happened?" Blake asked as they stepped outside into the cold night air.
"We need to move fast," Frost said, his voice hard. "Thorne's coming for us, and we don't have much time."
Blake nodded, his eyes narrowing with determination. "What's the plan?"
"We take down Kent," Frost said, his jaw set. "And then we go after Thorne. But this time, we do it on our terms."
As they disappeared into the foggy streets of London, Frost's resolve hardened. The game was no longer about strategy or patience. Now, it was about survival. And Frost wasn't going to let Thorne or The Whisperer win.
Not this time.