He was still seated, lost between duty and love, his face buried in his palms, the air around him heavy with silence and guilt. The dim blue light from the tunnel computer glowed faintly against his eyes. He could still smell her perfume lingering in the air, that soft vanilla scent that once calmed him but now made his chest twist with rage. He had been in this same position countless times before, the line between justice and emotion, but never had it been this personal. Never had the enemy worn the face of the woman he loved.

  His phone buzzed on the dusty floor beside him. He glanced at the screen. Rita.

  “Not now, Rita,” he muttered, his voice rough and tired. “It’s not the right time.” He silenced the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  He leaned back against the wall, the cold concrete pressing into his spine. “She looks too innocent to have killed in cold blood,” he murmured to himself. “There has to be an explanation, there must be.” His voice was trembling, almost pleading. He ran a hand through his hair, his breath uneven. “She’s not a monster. She can’t be.”

  He looked around again, at the guns, the explosives, the coded files, the walls plastered with surveillance photos of victims and officers. A part of him wanted to scream, to break something, to undo the reality staring him in the face. “I’ll wait,” he whispered. “She’ll come back. She’ll find me here. She’ll explain everything.”

  But the silence pressed in too hard. Then, without warning, his phone buzzed again. A notification tone this time, not a call. Nathan’s eyes drifted reluctantly toward the glowing screen. He picked it up, and his heart froze.

  It was a message from Rita: “Nathan, where are you? Director Stephen has been shot dead.” The words hit him like a bullet to the chest. His mind went blank. For a moment, the world around him blurred, there was no air, no sound, just ringing in his ears. He blinked rapidly, but the message stayed there, cruel and permanent.

  His breath caught.

  “No!” he whispered. “No, no, no!” He staggered to his feet, stumbling toward the exit hatch. His pulse raced so violently he could hear it thundering in his ears. In an instant, he was in motion, rushing out of the tunnel, rushing through Nancy’s apartment, barely locking the door behind him. The night outside was cold, the wind cutting at his face as he sprinted to his car.

  The engine roared to life, and before he could think, he was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other fumbling for his phone. “Pick up, come on, Rita, pick up!” The line clicked. “Hello?” Rita’s voice came through, shaky, choked with tears. “Rita, where are you?” he demanded, his voice sharp with panic.

  “At the police station,” she sobbed. “Nathan, It's bad. Our Director is gone.” He pressed harder on the accelerator. The tires screeched. The city lights blurred past as his mind spiraled. His throat burned, and his grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

  Director Stephen was more than a superior. He was the man who had believed in him when no one else did, he was the one who saw something in the angry, reckless young detective and molded him into what he became. Six years under his guidance, six years of loyalty, of shared victories and quiet counsel.

  And now, he is gone.

  Tears welled in Nathan’s eyes, blurring the road. His jaw tightened, but he couldn’t stop the flood. “Not him,” he whispered. “Not Stephen.”

  He pulled up at the station in a screech of tires. Blue lights flashed in the distance; officers stood clustered near the building. The air reeked of gunpowder and blood.

  Nathan pushed through the crowd and froze.

  There, on the floor of the director’s office, lay Stephen’s body. His once proud face was now pale and lifeless, a bullet hole tearing through his skull. Blood trailed from his temple onto the tiled floor, forming a dark red halo beneath his head.

  Nathan’s knees buckled. He fell beside the body, his trembling hands hovering just above the man’s still chest. “No!” His cry tore through the silence. “Not you, Director Stephen! You were a good man!” He bowed his head, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. “You promised we’d finish this case together, you promised.” His words broke apart into ragged sobs.

  Around him, the others stood in stunned silence. Rita covered her mouth, trying not to cry out loud. Bobby leaned against the wall, his face ashen. The sound of the ambulance siren snapped through the quiet. Two medics rushed in, their faces grim. They knelt beside Stephen’s body, checking vitals they already knew weren’t there. Then, gently, they wrapped the director’s remains in white sheets and lifted him away.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Nathan didn’t move. He sat frozen, staring at the blood stain that remained. Only when Rita knelt beside him did he finally speak. “How did it happen?” His voice was low, cracked, like something fragile about to break.

  Rita wiped her eyes and took a shaky breath. “He was in his office. The lights went off. Bobby was still trying to fix them when we heard the gunshot.” Her lips trembled. “We ran in as soon as we heard it, but.” she stopped to stifle a sob. “but he was already on the floor, lying lifeless.”

  Nathan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with fury. “Who did this? How could anyone have gotten in here without being seen?”

  Rita didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her pocket and handed him a small folded paper. “We found this beside him.” Nathan took it with trembling fingers. He opened it slowly. His eyes scanned the bold, handwritten message: “October tenth, twenty fifteen. The orphan is back.”

  The air left his lungs. His entire body stiffened. His mind replayed the last few hours, the manholes, the secret tunnel, the cache of weapons. His voice faltered, but inside, his heart screamed the truth he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.

  Nancy.

  The realization burned like acid in his veins. He didn’t need more evidence. It all connected, the timing, the message, the method. He felt a sick twist in his stomach. “It was her,” he whispered under his breath. “It was Nancy. She killed my Director.”

  Rita’s eyes flicked toward him. “What did you say?” But Nathan didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the note, his face hardening, rage and heartbreak mixing into something unrecognizable.

  He stood suddenly, his movements sharp. “Prepare yourselves,” he said, his voice cold. “Track my phone at all times. By evening, we’ll have the murderer arrested.” Everyone turned to him in disbelief. The room fell silent. Even Rita, her tears not yet dry, looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “How are you going to get her in twelve hours?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Nathan’s eyes flicked to her, not with anger, but something darker, something determined. “Leave that to me,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, without another word, he turned and strode out. The doors slammed behind him, leaving a trail of silence and fear in his wake.

  Outside, the city was cloaked in dusk. Nathan’s shadow stretched long under the orange glow of the streetlights. His hands shook as he reached for his keys. Every thought in his head was a storm; images of Nancy’s smile, her laughter, her gentle touch, all colliding with the image of Stephen’s lifeless body.

  He climbed into the car, his reflection faintly visible in the rearview mirror; hollow eyes, clenched jaw, a man torn apart. His heart whispered one thing. His duty demanded another. By the time he started the engine, the lover was gone. Only the hunter remained.

  And somewhere out there in the city, in the shadows she knew so well, Nancy Oakham was walking into her home once again. She slept on her bed as if nothing had happened and when dawn broke, she woke up, dressed up and left for work like every normal human being.

  Nathan drove home in silence, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, fury boiling in his chest. The city lights blurred past, but he didn’t see them. All he could see was Stephen’s lifeless body sprawled across the office floor, the blood pooling, the blank stare, and behind that image, the haunting smile of Nancy Oakham.

  His throat tightened. “Why did you kill him?” he muttered, his voice low but trembling. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator as if speed could drown his thoughts. “Why, Nancy?” His voice cracked, and he slammed his palm against the steering wheel, once, twice, then again.

  “Damn it!” he roared, the sound tearing through the closed car. “You could’ve spared him. You could’ve spared this very one!” His eyes burned. “He was a good man. Stephen was.” His voice broke off, caught between rage and grief. “You could’ve spared him, and maybe I would’ve still believed in you!”

  He punched the steering again, the horn blaring into the night. “But now,” he growled through gritted teeth, “you’ve got no excuse. No reason left. Only a devil kills a man like Stephen.” The weight in his chest pressed down harder. The car’s hum was the only sound left until his phone vibrated on the passenger seat. Nathan glanced over, frowning, and when he saw the sender’s name, his heart clenched.

  Nancy.

  His pulse skipped. His fingers hesitated before unlocking the screen. “Good morning, sweet poet. I hope you have not forgotten our appointment?”

  He stared at the message for a long moment, his breath shallow. The audacity, the calmness of her tone, as if nothing had happened. He could almost hear her voice saying those words, soft and teasing. The same voice that used to whisper his name at night. The same hands that had caressed his face were now stained with blood.

  He clenched the phone so tight his knuckles cracked. Then, taking a deep breath, he forced his face straight and began typing back, every word stabbing at his heart. “Good morning, Angel. How could I forget the chance of seeing your beautiful face once again?

  He stared at what he’d written, his reflection faint in the screen. A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Beautiful face,” he muttered. “Yeah, a face of death.” His thumb hovered for a moment, but he hit send anyway.

  As the message went through, a strange calm settled over him. He tossed the phone onto the seat and whispered, “Enjoy your day, Nancy. Because today will be your last as a free woman, or as a killer.”

  When he arrived home, the silence was suffocating. The walls seemed to close in around him, carrying echoes of memories, her laughter, her soft humming when she stayed over, her voice calling his name. Every corner of his house reeked of her.

  He went straight to his bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, hoping sleep would bring some peace. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Stephen’s head jerk back from the bullet impact, the flash of blood, the sound that would not stop ringing.

  With a groan, he sat up and reached for the old wooden box on his nightstand. Inside lay the small silver necklace he hadn’t touched in months. His hand trembled as he picked it up. The pendant opened with a click, revealing Lia’s photograph, her smiling face frozen in time.

  His heart clenched.

  “I’m in pain, Lia,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I thought I fell in love with an angel, but she turned out to be a murderer.” He let out a dry, hollow laugh. “She played me for months. And i. I let her.”

  He rubbed his thumb against the photograph, tears threatening to fall. “I guess you’re the only angel God ever sent to earth. There was never another.” He took a shaky breath and slipped the necklace over his neck again. something he hadn’t done since he resolved to date Nancy. The metal felt cold against his skin, almost like judgment. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, clutching the pendant. “My stupid heart got your uncle Stephen killed. But don’t worry,” his jaw tightened. “I’ll avenge him. I’ll make things right.”

  The clock ticked. The wind howled faintly outside. But Nathan sat there, frozen in silence, a storm brewing in his chest.