Berkeley knew the plan. Lay low, stay hidden, avoid unnecessary risks. Hime's instructions had been clear. But the weight of his own curiosity gnawed at him, sharper than any warning she had given. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Kazuki's sudden involvement, the increasing presence of Venus Hunters in Kyouten—it all felt too connected.
And so, against his better judgment, he found himself moving through the labyrinthine streets of the Shadow District, his path leading him to one of Venus's old meeting places. The dim light of the evening offered some cover, the misty rain masking his movements. Berkeley's steps were light, his senses sharp, but even his experience couldn't prepare him for what lay ahead.
The alley leading to the meeting place was eerily quiet, the shadows seeming to shift and breathe. Berkeley's instincts screamed at him to turn back, but he pressed on, his curiosity outweighing his caution. The building loomed ahead, a forgotten warehouse with boarded-up windows and peeling paint. He slipped inside, his movements practiced and deliberate.
The air inside was heavy with dust and the faint tang of mildew. Berkeley's sharp eyes scanned the room, looking for signs of recent activity. Footprints in the dirt. Scattered papers. A half-burned cigarette in an ashtray. Someone had been here recently.
But he wasn't alone.
The sudden scrape of a boot against the concrete floor sent a jolt through him. Berkeley turned, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife hidden in his coat. Before he could react, a sharp blow struck the back of his head, and the world tilted violently. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard.
Berkeley's consciousness flickered, pain radiating through his skull as he was dragged across the floor. He came to fully when a bucket of cold water was thrown over his face, the shock jolting him awake. Blinking against the harsh light, he found himself bound to a chair, his arms pulled tightly behind him.
In the dimly lit room, shadows moved like specters. The faces surrounding him were unfamiliar, but their intent was clear. These were Venus Hunters, their reputation preceding them. Among them stood a man with a commanding presence, his tailored suit and calm demeanor at odds with the brutality of his subordinates.
Theon.
"Berkeley," Theon said, his voice smooth, almost disarmingly polite. "I must admit, you've proven quite elusive. But even the cleverest rats find themselves caught eventually."
Berkeley forced a smirk, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Flattering," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll be sure to remember that when I write my memoirs."
Theon's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "You've been quite the enigma, haven't you? A face for Venus, a voice for secrets. But the thing about masks is they always slip eventually."
One of the Hunters stepped forward and landed a punch across Berkeley's jaw. The force snapped his head to the side, but he laughed, the sound rasping from his throat.
"You hit like a child," he said, spitting blood onto the floor. "Is that all you've got?"
Theon raised a hand, signaling his men to stop. "Enough," he said, his tone calm. He crouched to meet Berkeley's gaze. "Let's make this simple. Tell me where Venus is, and perhaps I'll let you crawl out of here with some semblance of dignity."
Berkeley's grin faltered for the briefest moment, but his defiance didn't waver. "Venus? That's me," he said, his voice hardening. "Everything you've ever heard, everything you've ever dealt with—that's all me. So if you want Venus, here I am. Do your worst."
Theon's smirk returned, colder this time. "Ah, but you see, Berkeley, I don't believe you. You're clever, yes. Cunning, even. But you're not Venus. You're a frontman. A useful one, perhaps, but not the real deal."
The room grew colder, the weight of Theon's words sinking in. Berkeley's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He couldn't let them see his fear.
"I'll admit," Theon continued, standing again, "you've been difficult to track. Your movements are erratic, your patterns inconsistent. Quite the ghost, aren't you? But ghosts leave traces."
He gestured to one of his men, who handed him a folder. Theon flipped it open, revealing photographs, surveillance notes, and maps marked with red circles.
"We've been watching you," Theon said, his voice almost conversational. "Days of following your steps, piecing together your trail. But you've led us nowhere. So now, we'll do it differently."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "We'll revisit every place you've been. One by one. And perhaps, along the way, we'll find her. The real Venus."
Berkeley's composure cracked, his face twisting with fury. "Leave her out of this," he snarled, his voice raw. "You want me? Fine. But you so much as breathe in her direction, and I'll…"
Theon cut him off with a sharp laugh. "You'll what? Protect her? From here?" He gestured to Berkeley's bound form. "You're in no position to make threats."
The room fell silent, save for the faint drip of water from a leak in the ceiling. Berkeley's breaths came heavy and ragged, his body trembling with barely contained rage.
"Take him away," Theon ordered, his tone dismissive. "We have work to do."
Two of the Hunters grabbed Berkeley, dragging him toward the exit. He struggled against their grip, his mind racing. He had to warn Hime, had to find a way to stop this. But for now, he could only endure. The game wasn't over yet.