"Be careful, Dimitri."
Kian's warning echoed in Dimitri's ears long after he stepped out of the room. The door shut behind him with a soft click, but the words clung to him like a stubborn stain, refusing to fade.
A victim. But if she was a victim... Dimitri's breath caught in his throat. What kind of person survives a monster like Thanatos and emerges wanting to emulate him?
The idea unsettled him. Dimitri leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling of his office. The dim light cast a soft halo around him, but the shadows seemed to deepen, pooling around his feet like dark water waiting to drag him under.
What kind of person?
A bitter, humorless laugh bubbled up, but he choked it back, throat tightening. The answer was so painfully obvious it hurt. The kind who's been touched by darkness... His hands trembled as he rubbed at his face, exhaustion weighing him down. The kind who lives with it every single day, until it's all that's left.
Memory fragments he'd tried so desperately to suppress floated to the surface, each a jagged shard cutting through him. His father's face, once warm and inviting, morphed into something grotesque, twisted by years of denial and self-deception. He'd tried to hold on to the image of the man who had taught him to ride a bike, who had praised him for his good grades, who had tucked him in at night.
But then the truth had come, seeping into every crevice of their home. The air grew thick with tension, sour and putrid. The way his mother's smile had wavered, eyes darting away whenever he asked where his father was late at night. It had been small things at first—a lingering scent of bleach, spots of red marring his father's shirts, fleeting expressions of something unreadable in his eyes.
And Dimitri had known. God, he had known.
But you were just a kid. How much could you really understand? That's what his mother had whispered over and over again, voice raw with desperation. Even as they packed up their lives and fled in the dead of night, those words followed them like a litany meant to protect him. Or maybe it was meant to protect her, a flimsy barrier against the horror of acknowledging that they'd lived side by side with a monster.
Dimitri's nails dug into his palms, the pain grounding him, keeping him from slipping completely into the abyss of his thoughts. He glanced at the glass of whiskey on his desk, its amber depths shimmering softly under the dim light. A comfort. A crutch. His only friend when the darkness inside grew too loud, too suffocating.
What if I'm just like him?
The thought hit him like a fist to the gut, leaving him breathless. He snatched up the glass, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. His father's face—the calm, smiling mask he'd worn—flashed behind his eyelids. That face, once filled with promises of love and safety, was now nothing but a specter, a cruel reminder of what lurked beneath the surface.
Dimitri had spent years convincing himself that by hunting men like his father, he'd distanced himself from that legacy. That standing here, on this side of the law, made him different. Better.
But what if it hadn't? What if every step he took into the minds of the killers he studied, every dark insight he uncovered, only brought him closer to what he feared the most?
Anger swelled inside him, fierce and all-consuming, not directed at anyone or anything in particular—just himself. For all the secrets he'd uncovered, all the twisted minds he'd stared into, he was still terrified of looking too deeply into his own. Because no matter how many monsters he captured, he couldn't shake the nagging thought that each one of them was holding up a mirror, forcing him to look at what might be lurking in his own soul. He was still just that terrified kid, staring through a crack in the door at his father, caught between love and horror.
The case files scattered across his desk blurred into an incoherent mess. The victims' faces stared up at him, eyes wide and pleading for answers he didn't have. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who saw through lies and unraveled the darkness. But some nights... some nights it felt like he was the liar, hiding the truth of what he really was.
"Dimitri?" Axel's voice cut through the silence, and Dimitri flinched. The door creaked open, and Axel stepped in slowly, eyes sharp and cautious. "You alright?"
Dimitri forced a smile, the effort leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Axel's gaze lingered, searching. It was the same look Axel gave him when he sensed the storm raging beneath Dimitri's calm exterior. The same look that said: I know you're lying, but I won't push.
"Because you look like you're ready to tear your own head off," Axel said softly, his tone a rare blend of concern and frustration.
Dimitri wanted to scoff, to brush it off. To pretend like he always did. But the words felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. "I'm fine," he murmured, staring down at the glass in his hand. "Just... tired."
"Yeah, I get it," Axel sighed. "But don't forget you're not alone in this. You never have to face it alone."
The words hit him harder than they should have, the kindness in them almost unbearable. Axel didn't know the truth, but he'd been a steady anchor in the years since they'd met. Even now, Axel's unwavering gaze seemed to say: I've got your back, no matter what. Dimitri swallowed against the tightness in his throat, nodding mutely. "Thanks, Axel. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," Axel said casually, his tone lightening. "Anyway, I didn't come in here to be your therapist. We've got leads to follow up on, starting with narrowing down our list of suspects."
His tone suddenly turned grave, "Two more victims have surfaced. That's two in a day. She's terrifyingly fast. We don't have much time."
The abrupt return to business was a welcome distraction for Dimitri. He furrowed his brow, the reality of their predicament weighing heavily on him. "The first body was just a practice run, but now that she's honing her skills, she's getting quicker. We've overlooked something... or someone. An anomaly. Maybe a family member of a victim, someone who was close enough to have survived but didn't show up on our radar."
Axel nodded thoughtfully. "You really think she could be a victim turned killer?"
Dimitri's gaze dropped back to the pages in front of him, the words blurring slightly. "I think trauma changes people in ways we can't always predict," he said softly. "And if she was close enough to witness Thanatos' killings, to know his M.O. inside and out... that's not something you just walk away from unscathed."
Axel's eyes held his for a long moment before he sighed, the lines on his face deepening with concern. "Alright. But don't push yourself too hard, okay? We can't afford to lose you to burnout—or worse."
Dimitri nodded, but as Axel left the room, the familiar emptiness returned, coiling around his chest like barbed wire.
What if I understand her a little too well?
The thought twisted deeper, and he welcomed the pain, letting it drown out everything else. Because no matter how far he ran, he couldn't escape the truth. He wasn't the one hunting monsters.
He was just trying to outrun the one he feared he'd eventually become.
His father's voice, low and eerily calm, floated up from the depths of his memory.
"We're not so different, are we, son?"
**************
The scent of iron hung heavy in the air, sharp and metallic. Emily Turner stood over the body, her lips curling into a small, almost reverent smile as she took in the sight of crimson spreading across the floorboards. The woman at her feet was twisted in a grotesque parody of life—arms splayed out, hair matted with blood, her expression frozen in a rictus of terror. But Emily? She was at peace. Calm. The carnage around her was not chaos but order, and she reveled in its quiet power.
She crouched slowly, her movements languid, almost graceful, and trailed a gloved finger through the pool of blood. It was still warm, the liquid clinging to her touch. Alive, she thought absently, even in death. Lifting her finger, she watched a droplet slide down, trailing along the curve of her knuckle before she rubbed it between her fingers. Like a child testing the texture of paint. Like an artist studying the nuances of her medium.
"You really tried, didn't you?" she murmured softly, her voice a singsong lilt that seemed to hang in the air long after the words were spoken. "Thought you could escape. Thought you could fight back." She tilted her head, examining the woman's lifeless face with a curious intensity.
"You wanted so much to live," she whispered, voice gentle, almost pitying. "But you didn't deserve it. Just like she didn't."
Emily's eyes narrowed, a dark glimmer sparking in their depths as she thought of her. That bitch who had spent months choking the life out of Emily, trapping her in a cage made of fists and harsh words. The bitch who made her believe she was weak, nothing more than a toy to be broken and discarded. Emily's gaze softened as she shifted, one hand resting delicately on the body's pale cheek.
"You reminded me of her, you know," she murmured softly. "It's why I chose you." She tilted her head, as if studying her handiwork, a slow smile creeping across her lips. The woman hadn't even screamed, not really. Not like Emily had expected. She'd begged, pleaded with broken words and sobbing breaths, just like she had done the night Thanatos came for them.
The memory burned vivid and bright behind Emily's eyes. She hadn't known what was happening at first, not when her girlfriend's screams filled the room, raw and shrill. She'd been tied to the bed, helpless, bruises blooming across her skin like grotesque flowers. But instead of fear, there was something else building inside her, something wild, something that buzzed and crackled like electricity. When Thanatos's blade had plunged into her girlfriend's chest, Emily's heart had soared. Every ounce of pain, of humiliation she'd swallowed down; it all poured out in a twisted, euphoric burst of freedom.
And the way Thanatos had looked at her afterward, blood splattered across his face like some kind of macabre war paint... He'd known. He'd seen what no one else did. That it wasn't relief or shock in her eyes, it was delight. Pure, unfiltered joy. The real her, bubbling up to the surface like a beast finally set loose.
"I thought you'd kill me too," she murmured absently, staring through the woman's empty gaze, lost in the memory. "But you didn't. You looked at me... and you let me go." A slow, shuddering breath escaped her lips, her pulse quickening as she recalled the way his eyes had lingered, appraising her, weighing her. He'd seen her. The person no one else ever saw.
She'd spent so much of her life in the shadows, hiding her impulses, pushing them down where no one could see. She was a "weird" child, they'd said, with her long silences and the way she stared unblinkingly at things that fascinated her. Animals. Insects. People.
They'd tried to medicate it out of her. Counsel her. Fix her. But the truth was, she had never been broken. This—she glanced around the room, the scent of blood heady and intoxicating—was what she'd always been meant for. A canvas painted in red.
She stared at the woman beneath her and felt a pang of something close to sympathy. Or maybe it was pity. Not for the victim, but for herself. For having wasted so much time trying to belong in a world that was never meant for her. But now she'd found it, this dark, thrilling space where the rules of life and death bent and warped at her command.
"Don't you see?" she whispered, leaning closer as if the dead woman could still hear her. "I was always like this. Always... waiting. And he" She paused, her lips parting in a grin that was all teeth and hunger. "Thanatos, he didn't make me what I am. He just showed me I wasn't alone."
The thrill of it all, the fear she'd seen in the woman's eyes as she realized there was no escape, the way her body had gone limp, the struggle fading into nothing, had been exhilarating. It was the truth of things, stripped bare. No lies. No pretenses. Just the purity of one life taken by another. The way it should be.
She took a step back, her gaze sweeping the room. It was almost a shame to leave it behind, but there were others. More people who needed to see her, understand her. She'd show him what he'd created, how she'd flourished in the wake of his brutality. She'd make him proud.
"You know," she said conversationally as if speaking to an old friend, "I never thought I'd understand Thanatos this well. But I think... I think I do now." Her smile widened; eyes gleaming with a feverish light. "He didn't destroy me. He saved me."
With that, Emily turned and disappeared into the night, leaving only the silence and the stench of death in her wake. The world outside seemed too bright, too loud, but she barely noticed. She had a purpose now, a goal that stretched out before her like a path lined in red. There were more people to meet. More art to create.
And God, wasn't it beautiful?