The rain fell relentlessly that evening, drenching the streets in a Gray haze. Miss Raven, renowned oncologist and beloved paediatric cancer specialist, was already running late. The sound of her phone buzzing incessantly echoed in the car as she navigated through the wet roads. It was her family, calling to wish her a happy birthday, but the urgency in their voices made her heart race.
Though the storm raged outside, Raven decided to drive cautiously, believing that a slow, steady pace might get her home safely. Little did she know that fate had other plans for her.
Raven had built a career on her compassion, her calm demeanour, and her unparalleled ability to console parents and children alike as they battled the hardest fight of their lives. She was a beacon of hope in a world that often seemed full of darkness. But that night, the darkness would come for her.
Suddenly, the engine of her car sputtered, and with a jerk, the vehicle came to a complete stop. The rain drenched her within moments as she stepped out into the storm to assess the damage. Her hands trembling slightly, she moved to the front of the car, peering into the engine, trying to discern the problem. It was then that she felt a tap on her shoulder.
She spun around, but before she could make sense of what was happening, her vision blurred. In an instant, everything went dark.
The news flashed across the screen with cold finality: A dead body has been found near London Bridge. The footage was grainy, the location ominous. The authorities had confirmed that the victim, a 48-year-old woman, was murdered with brutal force. No CCTV cameras were nearby, making the crime even more chilling. The report continued: The woman, identified as a doctor who treated children with cancer, was found lifeless. Her hair had been removed. The voice of the reporter urged citizens to stay indoors until the police had more information on the case.
The storm outside seemed to echo the fear building in the city. The murderer was out there, and no one knew who would be next.
In the comfort of his studio apartment, the artist known as Whispering Abyss—or simply Ren—watched the news unfold. His expression remained unreadable, his mind focused on the television screen. The bell rang, signalling someone at his door.
"Mr. Ren," his assistant, Yukio, greeted him as he entered, his voice barely audible over the rainstorm outside. "The guests are arriving. The gala will begin soon."
Ren nodded silently, his thoughts elsewhere. As he made his way down the hallway of his luxurious gallery, Yukio handed him the guest list, a final reminder of the evening's significance. It was an important night—one where his reputation as an artist would be cemented, or perhaps rewritten.
When the moment arrived, Ren ascended the stage to a round of applause. The host's voice boomed through the microphone, introducing him to the eager crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's welcome one of the most celebrated artists of our time—Whispering Abyss!"
Ren took the microphone in his hand with the grace of someone who had been in the spotlight many times before. The crowd's cheers filled the room, but his voice remained steady and calm.
"Thank you all for coming," Ren began, his tone sincere. "It means a lot to me that you travelled from so many different places to see my work. Your support is the reason I can continue to create, to challenge history. I truly believe we can make a change together."
He paused, scanning the crowd. His eyes glinted with quiet satisfaction.
"And with that, I close my series Happy Ending," he continued. "But don't worry, I've already begun working on my next collection—Silence of Untold. I'm excited to share it with you soon."
The crowd erupted in applause, the energy electric. People surged around him, eager to ask questions and offer their congratulations. But Ren's focus was somewhere else entirely. He barely noticed the buzz of conversation as his assistant, Yukio, leaned in and whispered in his ear.
A subtle shift passed over Ren's face. His expression tightened, his mind instantly consumed by whatever Yukio had just told him. Without another word, Ren turned and made his way out of the hall, leaving the guests to murmur among themselves.
At the far end of the gallery, a man with a shadowed face watched Ren's departure, his eyes narrowing. As the crowd continued to celebrate, the man slipped away into the night.
Once he reached the quiet of his car, the man dialled a number, the tone of his voice low and steady as he spoke.
"It's done," he said. "I think I'm ready to take the job."
There was no doubt in his voice.