I was lying on my bed, practically buried under a pile of old case files and laundry I'd intended to get through a week ago. The clock ticked past six in the evening, but I was in no mood to move. The day had been a blur of mind-numbing paperwork and thin leads that had, unsurprisingly, led to nowhere. I'd made a half-hearted attempt to grab dinner from the fridge, but the lukewarm leftovers hadn't been worth the effort. I let my head fall back on the pillow, contemplating the serenity of a night spent doing absolutely nothing.
Then came the knock.
I ignored it, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and go away. But the knock persisted, louder and more insistent, until it became a steady thud.
"Jasper! Open up, it's Harper!" The unmistakable voice of Detective Harper boomed through the door. It was only a matter of time before he'd use his spare key, and I was in no state to face him. I hadn't changed out of my clothes in days, and the room was in an even worse state than I was.
I could practically see Harper and his sidekick, Officer Lee, exchanging glances outside, likely imagining the worst. With a groan, I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled over to the door, dodging piles of old takeout containers and a laundry basket I'd long since given up on.
The door flew open before I could even reach for the handle, and Harper stormed in, taking one look at me and shaking his head in disbelief. "Seriously, Jasper? You live like this?"
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," I muttered, ruffling my hair and trying to look a little less like I'd just rolled out of a dumpster.
Lee stepped in behind Harper, cringing as he looked around. "You know, there are things called cleaning services, right?" he offered, trying to sound helpful but failing miserably.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd both kindly leave my mess alone. I was having a wonderful evening of solitude, as you can see." I tried to edge back toward my bed, but Harper wasn't having any of it. He planted himself firmly in front of me, arms crossed.
"Nope. Marcus sent us. Said you've been hiding away like a recluse, and tonight, you're coming out with us whether you like it or not." Harper's tone left no room for argument.
I scoffed. "Do I look like the kind of guy who needs a night out? I was on the brink of a major breakthrough—"
"In what, laundry folding?" Harper cut me off, reaching over to lift a wrinkled shirt off my desk with two fingers, as if it were contaminated.
Lee, trying his best to suppress a grin, chimed in, "I mean, it might actually be an intervention at this point."
With that, Harper reached for me, pulling me off balance. "Let's go. You're coming out if I have to drag you kicking and screaming." He made an exaggerated attempt to hoist me up, and I yelped in mock horror, grabbing onto the bedpost.
"Alright, alright! Put me down, Harper!" I tried to sound firm, but Harper only smirked, seemingly enjoying himself a little too much. He let me go, and I stumbled back, patting down my crumpled shirt and attempting to regain a shred of dignity.
"What if I don't want to go?" I tried one last attempt, hoping the sheer determination in my eyes might convince them to abandon their mission.
Harper just chuckled, arms still crossed. "Tough luck. You've got five minutes to get yourself presentable, or we're coming in here to clean you up ourselves." He flashed a grin that told me he wasn't kidding.
I sighed, realizing resistance was futile. I glanced over at Lee, hoping for some backup, but he was busy trying not to laugh. "Fine, but you're buying the drinks," I grumbled, finally relenting as I shuffled toward my closet in search of something passable.
"Now that's the spirit!" Harper clapped me on the shoulder as he and Lee settled themselves into my pitiful excuse for a living room, watching with barely contained amusement as I rifled through clothes, grumbling under my breath the entire time.
After a few minutes, I emerged, tugging at the hem of a half-decent shirt and shooting Harper a death glare. He looked me over, approvingly. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I shrugged, still annoyed but beginning to accept the inevitable. "Let's just get this over with," I muttered, leading them toward the door with as much dignity as I could muster.
"Now you're talking." Harper patted my back as we headed out, and I couldn't help but wonder what I was in for. A night off wasn't exactly in my plans, but with Harper and Lee dragging me out, I had a feeling that staying at home might've actually been the safer option.
As we strolled through the lively streets of Eastbridge, the evening air buzzed with energy—a stark contrast to the chaotic mess that had been my room. Harper and Lee had other plans—after dragging me out of the house, they were now arguing over which club had the best drinks while I trailed behind, my reluctance hanging thick in the air.
"Seriously, Jasper," Harper called back, grinning as we neared the glowing sign of The Pulse, Eastbridge's infamous nightclub. "You're missing out.
This place is legendary! You can't just sit at home and brood over Cipher's every move."
Lee nodded vigorously. "Yeah, we know you're obsessed with the job, but you've gotta relax sometimes. Marcus practically ordered you to have some fun for once. We're just following orders here."
I rolled my eyes. "I'd hardly call this fun," I muttered, casting a skeptical glance toward the blaring neon lights.
"Lighten up, will ya? You might actually enjoy yourself," Harper said, pushing the door open and holding it as if to block my escape route.
Inside, The Pulse was a mess of strobing lights and booming bass, a place that could easily blind you and blow your eardrums all at once. Crowds moved like a tide around the floor, completely synchronized to the beat, and the bar was packed with people clamoring for drinks. I scanned the crowd, making mental notes of exits and the few familiar faces. I was halfway to regretting my decision when Harper and Lee finally peeled away, leaving me to fend for myself.
"Try not to look so miserable, will you?" Harper said with a laugh, already making a beeline for the bar.
I followed, resigned, and leaned against the counter as the bartender—a grizzled guy with a permanent scowl—sized me up before setting a glass down in front of me without a word.
I raised an eyebrow. "No menu?"
He snorted, barely looking up. "People who come here don't usually need one. First time?"
"Is it that obvious?" I muttered, taking a tentative sip. The liquor burned its way down, spreading warmth that settled like a heavy blanket over my tension.
The bartender chuckled, wiping a glass with a rag that looked like it had seen better days. "No offense, but you look like you'd rather be anywhere else. Or maybe you're just not a fan of people."
"Am I that transparent?" I replied, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth.
He shrugged. "I've been around long enough to know when someone's a square peg in a round hole. Your friends drag you out here?"
"Something like that," I muttered, watching as Harper and Lee disappeared into the crowd. I took another sip, feeling myself relax a bit more.
The bartender gave a knowing nod. "Well, drink up. You look like you need it more than most."
"Cheers to that," I replied, raising the glass slightly before downing the rest. Just as I set it down, I felt someone slip into the stool next to me.
I caught a glimpse of the figure in the mirror, face partially obscured under the dim lights. He didn't look at me at first, just ordered his drink, and I almost brushed it off as nothing. But something about him snagged at the back of my mind—a subtle alert in my gut that all wasn't quite right.
Finally, his gaze met mine in the reflection, and he gave a small, dangerous smile, a hint of teeth showing. He moved so quickly, I barely registered the shift before I felt the unmistakable pressure of a gun against my side.
"For the top ISI graduate, you're slipping," he whispered, his voice cutting through the music like a blade. He clicked the revolver's cylinder with a calculated flick of his wrist, ensuring I knew he meant business.
I glanced at him, completely unfazed, and raised my glass again, sipping leisurely. "You sure about that?" I replied. In the same motion, I shifted my posture, and his gaze flickered down to the blade now pressed under his ribs, held tight beneath my coat.
Lucian's grin only grew, and he let out a low chuckle. "Well, look who hasn't lost his touch after all."
I met his gaze head-on, cold and unwavering. "I could say the same for you." There was a hint of the old rivalry there, the playful edge to his tone, but the tension was real. Even now, years after our last encounter, he still tested me like we were back in the academy.
He pulled back the gun, slipping it back into his jacket, and I followed suit, retracting the blade but keeping my hand ready. His eyes sparkled with a familiar mischief, the kind that always meant trouble. He was just as unpredictable as ever, which only added to the uneasy excitement bubbling under my skin.
"So," he said casually, leaning back as if the threat had been nothing more than a greeting. "What's an ISI prodigy like you doing in a place like this? Not exactly your style, is it?"
"I could say the same," I shot back. "What brings you to Eastbridge? Old habits?"
"Just passing through," Lucian replied, his tone almost flippant. "Thought I'd see if you were still as sharp as I remember."
"You could've just asked. No need to flash the hardware," I said, finally allowing a hint of a smirk.
"Where's the fun in that?" he replied, his eyes narrowing. He gave me a long, measuring look, and I could feel the tension ease slightly, though not enough to completely relax. It was the kind of moment that could turn deadly with a single misstep, but we both knew the game too well to let it end like that.
The crowd was beginning to gather around the dance floor, and I could hear a new beat thumping through the speakers, almost in sync with the growing tension at the bar. Lucian's gaze was sharp as ever, but I had to admit—there was something in his eyes that hinted at something more than just rivalry.
"Never thought you'd pick up a gun, Lucian Stone," I said, voice flat but with a hint of an amused edge. "What happened to the 'ISI elite don't need firearms' lecture? Or was that just me?"
Lucian smirked, sliding the gun back into the hidden holster as if it were just another party trick. "Guess I grew out of it. Nexus doesn't exactly play by the same rules as your precious OTF. Maybe you'd know that if you'd joined us, Hayes." He leaned back, his smirk turning into something almost nostalgic. "We could have had fun, kept that competition alive, but you chose the boring route. Look at us now, having to run into each other like this."
I rolled my eyes. "And you joined just to keep tabs on me? I'd have guessed you had better things to do than chase after the one guy who actually beat you in scores."
Lucian let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Not just beat, but by a fraction. Tell me, how's it feel to be ISI's golden boy? A 98.9 out of
100. They'd say it's impossible. Next best thing they ever produced, though," he added with a lazy wave, "was me—Mr. 96.7."
"Not that I keep track," I replied with a grin.
He shrugged. "Why do you think I'm here, Hayes? Cipher. You know, that pattern of his? It's almost beautiful how he picks them off. Women in their twenties, specific types."
I gave him a sideways glance. "You think it's art, Stone?"
He met my gaze, the smirk replaced by a serious look. "I think it's more than just murder. It's like he's leaving breadcrumbs, taunting us both, and he knows we'll follow. But hey, look—," he gestured toward the crowd and the bartender who had just disappeared around the corner. "Looks like someone else has taken an interest."
As if on cue, a shriek pierced the air from a corner near the restrooms. The crowd gasped, and the thumping bass of the music dulled to a murmur. A young woman stumbled into view, her hands stained crimson, eyes wide with shock. The glint of a knife caught the dim lights of the club, and my heart raced.
"Guess we've got a mystery on our hands, Hayes," Lucian said, stepping closer. "Care to make it a race?"
I leaned closer, scanning the scene. The restroom door swung ajar, revealing a body sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood spreading across the tiles like a dark flower. A small group had already gathered, whispering nervously, their faces painted with horror.
Lucian turned to me, his competitive spark igniting. "What do we know? I want details—only what I need to know."
I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady despite the chaos. "Looks like a woman in her twenties, just like Cipher's victims. Stab wound, pretty deep. Whoever did this clearly wanted to send a message."
"Perfect," Lucian replied, his grin returning. "A crime in the making. Let's see who can solve this quicker."
I shook my head. "This isn't a game, Lucian. This is serious."
"Oh, but it's always been a game between us, hasn't it?" he shot back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You always liked competing with me. Remember the academy? It's why I joined Nexus. To keep the rivalry alive?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see how far I could push you."
Lucian chuckled, his gaze flickering toward the gathering crowd, then back to me. "Well, it looks like Cipher's trying to play us like pawns. Let's make our move before he gets the chance."
With that, we pushed through the throng of onlookers, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife—much like the weapon that had claimed the life of the young woman. The competitive edge between us crackled in the air, each step a reminder of our history and the stakes that lay ahead.