Thomas knew he was in serious trouble as he peered at the amazing view below him. Despite the sixteen year old's distaste for America, he couldn't deny that from above, the country was simply beautiful in the nighttime. Shimmering lights shined from every window and building, creating the image of an entire city, living and breathing right below him. Each building, each light, contained another person, simply living their life. Each person had a loved one, a story, a life.
For a brief moment, Thomas allowed himself to admire the scene. It was rare—too rare—that he had the luxury of time to take in such beauty. And yet, as much as the lights below entranced him, his mind refused to settle. He wasn't here to admire the view. There was work to do. Important work. And when he finished he would have to deal with the consequences from his father.
The city below seemed to darken, and in that moment, the world didn't feel beautiful at all.
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Two months earlier.
A harsh barked order dragged Thomas from his drifting thoughts back to the stuffy, cramped classroom.
Professor: Mr. Hunter, perhaps you'd care to actually attend class today?
Thomas, seated near the back, shot the man a winning grin, giving a lazy salute in response. But in reality, he was only half there. Today was the last day of term, and he was already mentally halfway out the door. He had something big lined up, something that made all of this—the lectures, the exams, the endless rules—fade into background noise.
As soon as class ended, he was off, sprinting down the hallway with a reckless abandon that had other students stumbling aside, some of them barely avoiding his path as he whipped past. He skidded around the corner, nearly plowing straight into two figures heading the opposite direction.
???: Whoa, watch it!
The boy in front, Leo, grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, steadying him with a half-exasperated look.
Leo: What are you, training for the Olympics?
Thomas blinked, then burst out laughing.
Thomas: Oi, didn't see you there, Leo! And Megan too!
He scratched the back of his head, eyes closed in a mock-apologetic smile, before popping them open again with a mischievous glint.
Thomas: Just call it… 'speed coursework avoidance' training. Pretty sure I'll qualify for the finals.
Megan raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into an amused smirk.
Megan: So, what's the plan now, Mister Speed Demon? Freedom's right there, don't you want to celebrate a bit?
Thomas hesitated, glancing down at the phone clutched in his hand. A text flashed on the screen, one he'd been waiting on for what felt like ages.
Right. Just go.
Thomas: I'd love to, honestly.
He said, giving them a dramatic sigh.
Thomas: But I've got… you know, things. Very urgent, very mysterious things.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial wink.
Thomas: Dangerous things. Probably illegal. I'd tell you more, but then I'd have to… well, you know.
Leo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk.
Leo: You're full of it, Thomas.
Thomas: Completely. And proudly. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'll send you both postcards from the underworld.
Leo and Megan shared a look, exasperated but undeniably amused. Leo threw an arm around Thomas's shoulders, leaning in as he said.
Leo: At least let us in on it before you go gallivanting off on whatever adventure you think you're on. Let's do something stupid together, like we promised.
Thomas laughed, peeling himself away.
Thomas: Trust me, mate, this is the height of stupidity. But next time, yeah?
And before they could respond, he spun on his heel, giving them a lazy salute as he took off once more, his laughter trailing behind him down the hall.
There won't be a next time.
Next year, his father would send him somewhere else. Probably somewhere further. He'd never see them again.
The smile lingered on his face as he left, though it dimmed a little. He loved his friends, sure, but this was different.
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As Thomas arrived, huffing and puffing, he glanced around at his chosen meeting spot—a dimly lit, abandoned garage on the far side of town, a place he'd come across a while back but never expected to actually use. The lights overhead flickered, casting long, eerie shadows over the walls, making the space feel almost like it was breathing, as if it too knew how shady this meeting was. Clutching his suitcase tightly, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. His provisions were packed, his outfit switched to something a bit more "business-professional," and, most importantly, he'd arrived just barely on time.
As his footsteps echoed against the cold concrete floor, Thomas's eyes fell on the man seated in front of him. He was alone, in the middle of the room, perched on a single foldable chair, an envelope resting in his lap. His small, gray hairs and wrinkled face gave him an air of weariness, but the look in his eyes was cold, calculating. This wasn't a man to trifle with.
Thomas tried for his usual charm, plastering on a cheeky grin as he nodded at the bare-bones setup.
Thomas: Real cozy. How are you today.
The man didn't even blink. Instead, he looked at Thomas with a mixture of irritation and pity, as if he were watching a child about to touch a hot stove. Silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. Thomas fidgeted, the grin slipping ever so slightly from his face.
Finally, the man spoke, his voice low and gravelly.
Negotiator: You realize it's impolite to begin negotiations without a proper greeting?
Thomas's heart thudded in his chest, his bravado wavering. He quickly straightened, forcing a bit more formality into his tone.
Thomas: My apologies, Thomas Martin.
The man stared at Thomas's hand but made no move to shake it. Instead, he scoffed, his eyes narrowing.
Negotiator: Showing up here alone, with that…is dangerous, especially for what you're here to get. What does a boy like you need with information like this?
He nodded toward the suitcase Thomas clutched.
Thomas: I'm afraid that's not really any of your business.
The man's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a frown.
Negotiator: You truly don't understand a thing about negotiation, do you?
Swallowing, Thomas let out a shaky breath, deciding to drop the pretense.
Thomas: I need that envelope, I have things to do. People to help. I'm not here for games or tricks; I'm here to make a difference. Is that really such a crime?"
The man's lips twitched into a bitter smile.
Negotiator: Helping people, is it? Tell yourself that if you want. But you're lying, and you know it. Beneath that noble nonsense, there's something more.
Thomas: Maybe you just don't get the concept of nobility. Maybe that's why you're so set on tearing me down.
The man let out a deep, rumbling laugh, as if Thomas had just told the world's funniest joke.
Negotiator: Boy, you haven't the faintest idea how this works.
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Negotiator: Doesn't matter, I don't care what you do with it. I want my pay.
Thomas: 10,000 pounds.
Thomas said confidently, believing it more than fair. He waited for the man's nod, but instead, he got another scoff and a raised eyebrow.
Negotiator: 50,000.
The man replied smoothly, a faint, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Thomas froze, his mind racing. But he needed that information—desperately. He pushed down his pride, the anger simmering in his chest, and forced out the word he knew the man wanted to hear.
Thomas: Deal.
The man's grin widened, dark amusement filling his eyes.
Negotiator: Maybe I should've asked for 100,000.
Thomas's lip curled in irritation, but he didn't argue. He pulled out the briefcase, opening it to retrieve the necessary amount. As he counted, his focus broke as he heard a rustle of fabric. He barely had time to process before the man lunged, pressing a cold knife to Thomas's throat, his voice a low snarl.
Negotiator: Last rule of negotiation, boy. Never walk in blind and alone.
His grip tightened, eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. He expected Thomas to panic, to beg. But Thomas's expression remained calm, his scowl barely shifting.
Thomas: Who says I came alone?
A sharp crack split the air, and the man screamed as a bullet tore through his arm. Blood spattered across the ground as he fell back, clutching his wounded limb, his face contorted in agony. As the man writhed on the floor, Thomas barely glanced his way, instead taking a measured step forward to grab the envelope, now within his reach.
From above, a figure dropped down from the rafters, landing heavily beside him. The African girl looked barely older than Thomas, but there was something in her posture, her gaze, that was anything but youthful. Her arm—mechanical, glinting in the dim light—shifted back into place, the muzzle still smoking slightly from the shot.
Thomas: Thank you, Olivia.
Thomas said casually, as if they were simply wrapping up a transaction at a shop. His voice held no trace of fear, only quiet confidence.
The man on the floor struggled to sit up, his eyes wild with terror as he took in the mechanical girl and her transformed arm. He could only manage a strangled gasp, horror distorting his features.
Negotiator: What… what are you?
But Thomas didn't spare him a second glance, envelope now safely tucked under his arm. He turned back to the man, his tone formal, almost pleasant, as he gave a short bow.
Thomas: And with that, our negotiation is complete. Thank you for your service.
As he walked away, Olivia beside him, he didn't look back. The man's desperate curses followed him, but Thomas's mind was already on the envelope in his hand.
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Thomas barely hid a scowl as he approached Hunter Tower, a looming fortress that seemed to drink in the London night rather than reflect it. The lights from other buildings were muted against its dark facade, and despite its grandeur, the place always felt more prison than home.
???: Ah, Mr. Hunter! Back so soon?
A staff member at the front entrance greeted him with a too-wide smile, his eyes gleaming with a forced enthusiasm.
Thomas raised an eyebrow and returned a slight smirk.
Thomas: Missed me, did you?
He continued his way through the lobby, meeting more smiles and nods, and, for each, he had a quip ready, his humor skating just below the surface. But his mind was elsewhere, on the envelope in his pocket, on the burning questions that wouldn't let him rest. This was no time for banter.
Finally, he and Olivia made their way to the elevator, only to find it already occupied. Zachary, the man in the wheelchair, raised an eyebrow when he saw them.
Zachary: Thomas. Olivia. So, how did your little… outing go?
Thomas gave him a lopsided grin, trying to keep the mood light.
Thomas: Olivia only had to fire one bullet this time. That's progress, isn't it?
Zachary's frown deepened.
Zachary: You take these situations too lightly, Thomas. You think just because you get through them unscathed, you're invincible.
Thomas shrugged, unfazed.
Thomas: Well, I'll be heading to my room. I have some information to go through.
Zachary, however, wasn't done.
Zachary: Before that, there's a letter from your father. He's expecting you. I can take you up myself, or you can go and see him directly.
Thomas scoffed, making no attempt to hide his disdain.
Thomas: As tempting as that is, I'll pass. Whatever the old man has to say, I doubt it's anything I'd care to hear.
Zachary watched him for a moment before sighing, letting the matter drop. Thomas pressed the button, and the elevator doors slid shut, whisking him and Olivia up through the dozen floors separating him from his study.
Once they reached his floor, Thomas stepped into the hallway, each step quieter as he neared his private study. The room felt like his only real sanctuary, a place where he could think, a place where everything made sense—at least in comparison to the chaos that had taken over his life.
Inside, he took a quick, appreciative glance at the meticulously organized shelves, each one lined with books, files, and supplies. No chaos here. This was his space, his order.
He sat down at his desk and, almost reverently, unfolded the envelope. As he began reading, his eyes widened.
Game start.
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Thomas's investigation began with the painstaking task of combing through police reports, autopsy findings, and witness statements. Each victim bore peculiar, localized burn marks—a detail both intriguing and baffling. It wasn't just the burns that piqued his interest; it was their seemingly inexplicable nature, defying logical explanations offered by forensic experts.
Burn marks… but no fire. How?
Forensics had no answers. No logical explanation. But Thomas knew better than to rely solely on logic. He wasn't the brightest, no—but he was relentless. Where others saw a dead end, Thomas saw an opportunity to dig deeper.
Weeks of investigation turned up little in the way of leads. The breakthrough came unexpectedly one late, coffee-fueled night at his cluttered desk. Sifting through the witness statements again, Thomas noticed a pattern he had previously overlooked. Each victim had been reported wearing a distinctive golden watch with a snake pattern. It was a minor detail, easily missed in the broader context of the investigation, but for Thomas, it was the thread he'd been searching for.
He dug deeper into the history of the watch, tracing its origins and previous owners, but each trail ended as it began. Frustrated but undeterred, Thomas expanded his search, reaching out to contacts within the antiques and collectibles world. He learned of the watch's rumored connections to ancient rituals and its appearance in various historical periods of turmoil and strife, but concrete evidence remained elusive.
As weeks turned into months, Thomas's obsession with the case grew. He attended estate sales, auctions, and collectors' shows, hoping to find anything related to the watch or its mysterious effects. His father's estate became a maze of boxes filled with notes, photographs, and artifacts, each a piece of the puzzle he was slowly assembling.
The investigation's slow pace was a source of frustration for Thomas, accustomed to more straightforward cases. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was on the brink of uncovering something monumental.
Were the people with the golden watches being targeted? Were the watches some kind of curse? Was this some kind of suicidal cult? All these questions, however, seemed to be useless as he couldn't seem to find anything else about the flame victims. All records of their names, identities, or lives seemed to have been erased from the internet. It was as if they had never existed, or as if someone was trying to make it look like they had never existed. Thomas knew a challenge when he saw one, and decided to work even harder to crack this case.
After nearly two months, however, Thomas began to lose hope. Each lead or clue he found seemed to lead to a dead end, and with nothing to go off, it would be almost impossible to find out the cause of the deaths, especially considering his victims were in an entirely different country.
And then, one morning, as the early light filtered through his window, it came to him. The breakthrough he'd been waiting for.
Olivia: You know John will have your head for this when he finds out you're gone.
As Thomas finished the preparations for his trip, he thought about the consequences of his actions and shuddered. The only person he felt he could tell about his plan was Olivia Violet, partly because he knew she would try to talk sense into him, and partly because he knew even if she didn't support his plan, she wouldn't stop him.
Thomas: I don't care what my father does, this is way more important than whatever boarding school he wants to send me to.
Olivia: I know you want to help people but there are other ways besides this. I mean, if what you discovered is actually real, you could be dealing with some extremely dangerous junk you know. Did it ever occur to you that the lot who sent the message are the ones behind the string of mysterious deaths?
Thomas didn't answer for a while, instead staring intently at the briefcase packed in front of him. He knew that this would be a huge risk, and he knew that he didn't want to die. The idea of simply passing from existence terrified him more than most else.
But sitting by—doing nothing—wasn't an option. He couldn't just wait around for someone else to figure it out. How could he?
Thomas: You know, Violet… I've been thinking a lot lately. I've had everything handed to me. A cushy life, fancy schools, and I still managed to find a way to screw it all up.
Olivia: I-
He scratched the back of his neck, his grin fading slightly but still present, like he was trying to keep the mood light despite the gravity of the situation.
Thomas: And now, here I am, chasing something I can barely wrap my head around. I mean, it's not like I woke up one day thinking, 'Hey, wouldn't it be cool to and risk my life in another country?' But if I don't... then what's left?
His voice dropped slightly, the humor thinning out as his words turned more serious, but the absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. He gave a small shrug.
Thomas: Honestly, if my life were a movie, I'd be the guy in the background who trips over his own feet during a big chase scene. I know I'm not some hero. I know I'm probably going to screw this up. But... if there's one thing I can do, just one thing, it's this.
He exhaled, his smile softening but still there, like a layer of armor against the doubt trying to creep in.
Thomas: I'm scared, Olivia. Terrified, actually. But if I turn my back on this—on the one thing I can do, the one thing that scares me most—I'll never be able to live with myself.
Olivia:-
Thomas: And besides…
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As Thomas stared through the plane window he thought about the last few months of his life. He had spent so much time and effort focusing on this case. Perhaps the deaths were merely a coincidence. Logically, the deaths didn't even make sense and seemed like something straight out of fiction. Thomas considered just reporting the findings to the police, wondering if this was simply something bigger than him, but he dismissed these thoughts at once.
He wasn't doing this to have fun or to joke around. Because he knew about the horrors that awaited him in this city, it was his responsibility to stop them. Even if nobody believed in the story about the black flame, he knew it was real, and was determined to get to the bottom of it.
This was his purpose.
To save Mason Heartson.