Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ragged breaths.

Panting, panting.

Lungs burning, shrieking.

You can't keep running. Your breath is burning, burning, searing brands of exhaustion tearing into your lungs, your legs, your sides. 

But you can’t stop. Stopping would be far worse. You desperately try to keep going, but your legs give out from beneath you.

You gasp, stumble, trip over cobble and feel sharp pangs of pain as the edges cut into your fingers. It is agony on all fronts- Your outsides pulsing in pain, your insides burning from exhaustion, your mind drowning in terror and confusion.

You try to get up- but he is too fast for you.

A force stomps on your back, driving out the breath from your lungs. Before you can reach out, your briefcase is kicked away, contents spilling out onto the puddles. LMD, Work Papers, Victorian History Books, all flung out into mush on the side of the road. You'd trade it all away for a chance to live a bit longer.

You don't get the chance. 

Another kick slams your chest onto the ground. You want to plead, to beg, to scream… but all you can do is gasp.

Then something cold pierces into your spine, and you lose all feeling.

It’s a grim morning that greeted the Mounted Police that day. 

“Three murders. Two males and a female, all separate cases.” The policeman, formerly from the mounted police, reports. He’s a scrawny, unkempt looking Feline, with bags under his eyes and a mouth that’s long forgotten how to smile. “Latest case was about a week ago, the past two a few days back. I wanted to get the news out sooner, but the chief had me quiet til’ now.”

“It’s appreciated, Jones.” Another former Mount answers. She’s hardly enthusiastic herself, but politics were politics, even when lives were at stake. The ones in the room certainly knew that well.

Here, in some far-flung corner of Victoria, gathered the remainders of the mounted police. There’s not a lot of them left that heeded the call, disbanded as they were. Some shuffled off to join other sections of Victoria's police force, some took up other jobs, others just gave up entirely. The ones that stayed were a bedraggled lot, beaten down, but still trying to do what little they could.

“Why do you think they’re connected?” One of the members asks, voicing the question everyone was thinking. “Even though I don’t like saying it… Infected killings keep happening. It could have been three separate incidents.”

"But that's the thing. The victims... They were uninfected."

It’s a real nasty shock to the lot of them. There’s murder on the streets, yes, but since when did the rich uninfected come down there? No, it’s an odd thing, a very odd thing for three uninfected murders, in so close a timespan too. The men glance around each other, but the policeman wasn’t finished just yet.

He flips three pictures around his fingers, like a dealer ready to shuffle and deal out cards. Only, there were no winning hands. With a flick, he deals out the dead.

"Oliver Jones, artist.” The first picture slides on the table. Young, unkempt man, bags around his eyes. “Stabbed in the gut, examiners say. Apprentice only found him the next morning.”

“Alexis Webb, editor.” Younger feline, orange hair and a killer smile. Probably had a full life ahead of her. “Found dead in her bedroom, throat slashed.”

“Albert Kingsley, Private Tutor.” Middle-aged man, with glasses and a neutral expression. “First one of the three. Found face-down in an alleyway, two stabs to the back.”
  
The rest of the dossier lands on the table with a thump. It’s a heavy thing to pick up and take home- especially so when none of them were even on the force anymore. The Mounts glance among themselves, wondering who among them would take it up.

"The police force here, they want to keep it all quiet. After the Glitter case, the last thing they want is for more news of civil unrest." He frowns at that- they all do. None of them liked the idea of just plugging their ears and letting this go on. "But at the same time, they want the killer behind bars. If someone important gets bumped off, it... Well, it wouldn't be pretty."

“I’ll do it!” The voice comes up with a raised hand. Getting up from her seat, Grani pulls herself up as far as her height would allow. A confident gait and a determined glare made up for her stature and more. "Former Mounted Police and Rhodes Island Officer, Grani, at your service! We're not gong to let them get away with this."

The policeman nods. He’d expected Grani to be the one answering the call, once everything was said and done. "If you get this done, the chief says he'll put in a good word to the higher ups for the mounted police to be reinstated."

Grani scoffs. "Tell him I'd do it regardless. This one's for all their families.”

She’s a good cop at heart, everyone knew. Maybe better than the boys with their badges. Bribes were far below her, coercion just as pointless. The shining example of an ideal cop, or at least as ideal as it got in this city. 

“Now, where do I start?"

It was… damp. Damp and humid.

Stepping into the crime scene, Grani could hear the sound of her footsteps splashing onto the puddles. The alleyway was a straight and narrow thing, no turns or openings in this choking path. The walls were high, lined with moss and slippery bricks- no ladders or railings. And no sign of the body, either. Officials must have taken the body and cleaned up the crime scene. 

Sunlight didn’t reach far in here, not when the walls stood too high and close to each other. The flashlight would have to do. Flicking on the device, Grani is rewarded with a steady beam of light, bouncing off the puddles and revealing white specks in the water.

Scrap paper. Too illegible to read, unfortunately. Getting back up, Grani began hunting for some other clue. There were also a few specks of blood staining the floor, almost unnoticeable, certainly too much hassle to clean. Aside from that, though, nothing. Anything else would have been taken for a proper report to the policemen, who then said they’d hand it back to her once they were done.

And… That was it. Not a lot of clues, no obvious red flag. Maybe if there was someone else here, like that old detective from Lungmen, they could find something she didn’t. But, truth be told… Grani wasn’t much of an investigator. No, she was a policewoman: Stopping thugs in their tracks and saving the lives of innocents. Hunting down murderers wasn’t something she had experience in.

“But if no one else will…” she mutters to herself. Who’d do it, if not for her? So think, Grani, think. What could she learn from this?

Well… There wasn’t a lot of blood. Which meant either a stabbing weapon, or Arts. Nothing loud, either, or it would have alerted the people in the houses. And… The alleyway was open. Which meant the victim hadn’t been cornered. But that didn’t mean…

Splash.

Grani’s ears twitch. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here! Or, at least, no officials. Who else would be coming? Getting back on her feet, she flicks her spear up, the blunt end ready to knock someone down. She checks around, senses primed and ready.

There. A figure in brown, wrapped up in several layers of clothes. Tall, male, no identifying marks like tails or feathers. Suspicious. Definitely suspicious, especially with the way they freeze at the sight of her. Quickly, Grani holds her spear out, ready for action. “Don’t move, Hands in the air!”

Naturally, they don’t listen. Instead, they sprint off, hurried steps launching droplets into the air. For a second there, Grani was left eating their dust.

But running’s a question her legs easily answer. Quick steps launch her out of the alleyway and into the deserted back streets, nimbly weaving past trash cans and dumpsters. The sunlight blinds her eyes, but a little thing like that’s nothing in the face of justice. In what felt like no time at all, she had easily caught up to the lumbering suspect. She leaps out, slams against his back, and has him pinned to the ground in short order.

The suspect grunts in pain, cap spilling off his head and into the water. He’s a dirty blonde, with Ursus ears and- wait a moment.

“Red?!”

“Grani?!”  

She practically throws herself off of him. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t-” 

“It’s -ow- all fine.” The Ursus spits out a bit of groundwater as he gets back up, his singular grunt of pain quickly fading. Despite the rough treatment, he didn’t look too hurt. “Guess I looked like a suspect?”

“A bit… Well, a lot.” She flicks her hand to and fro, as indecisive as the tail behind her. Red was a friendly face- well, as friendly as a face could get when it wasn’t wrapped up in three layers of cloth. Still, though they were friends, Grani was a cop first. The pleasantries could come later. “What are you doing here? And why did you run?”

“I’m an infected Ursus in Victoria, in the middle of a dark alleyway with someone bearing a weapon. Staying was dangerous. And as for the first question, officer…” Hands up, Red takes a few steps from her, before leaning back against the alley’s walls. “You’re here for the murders too, am I right?”

Now, that was an oddity. Red knew of the murders, but how? It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine that he’d kept track through a few connections. He always had that odd knack for appearing right where he was needed.

“Yeah.” Grani nods back, chalking it back up to that same uncanny habit. Something to ask him about later. “I guess that means you’re here for the same thing?”

He nods, the brim of his cap teetering over his eyes. “Odds are, if they can’t find a suspect, they’ll pin the killings on the infected.” The furrow on his face burrows a bit deeper, but he keeps eye contact. “It’s the obvious reaction, isn’t it? If a bunch of uninfected are killed, then the killer has to be from us infected.”

There’s a touch of resentment in that tone of his, like the bitter aftertaste of cheap drinks in the bar. It lingers in the air like a cigarette’s wisp, before being blown away.

“But the thing is, if that comes out, then it’s a good excuse to start harassing the folks at the infected district. I’m just here to try and wrap this whole thing up before it gets any worse.”

It’s a bold statement. Wrap it up. Like it’s all just an inconvenience to him, something he dealt with on the daily. Grani raises an eyebrow, meeting his stare head-on. “So, how do you plan on wrapping it up?”

“Catch the guy, stop more killings.” The glint in his eye’s confident, assured, like a card shark holding his cards close to chest. “I’m guessing you’re the one they put up to this case?”

“Mhm. Office politics and all- But I think they just want me to find the killer’s identity, then they’ll swoop in and handle the rest.” She kicks back, yawning a bit. Not that she misunderstood- it’d be a real feat to have your entire force disbanded without knowing there were some politics involved. It was just that she’d rather chase justice for those who needed it, instead of just herself.

“Well, that’s convenient.” Red mutters, getting back up off his feet. Tipping his cap to block off the sunlight, he looks her square in the eye. "Why don’t we pair up? You're not a local, and I wasn’t an officer. It’ll be easier if we teamed up."

And Grani knew that this was a peculiar offer. She meets a suspicious person at the crime scene, whose first impulse is to run away from her, and she’s supposed to just take his word for it? And even though they knew each other from Susie’s case, Red was anything other than open and honest. She hadn’t even known he could wield a weapon until that night. “How do I trust you?”

Red sighs. It’s a short sort of sigh, like he had expected her to say that. “You remember the guy’s name? The person who was stabbed here?”

“Albert Kingsley. Aged 53, died of stab wounds.”

“Private tutor to the Wakefields.” Red interjects. “One of the richer families here in Caledon. Recently bought out a few factories in the infected district, hired infected workers to staff them. Heard from some of them that their son’s in charge of this particular spearhead.”

Now, there was a name Grani didn’t recognize. Wakefields…“That explains why an Uninfected would be travelling down these alleyways…”

“Maybe, maybe not. Can’t say for sure.” Hands in his pockets, he starts walking back towards the crime scene, footsteps paced out with a sense of gravity. Pulling one hand out, he motions for Grani to follow. “Maybe you’d have learned that eventually, maybe not. All I know is that I’ve spent longer here than you. Wouldn’t that be useful?"

He waits for a reaction, but she's unsure herself. She wasn't here for politics, for infected citizens versus uninfected nobles or anything of that sort, and a personal crusade like that might mess with the investigation. She was just here to bring justice for the murders- no matter who did them or why.

But he must’ve sensed her hesitation, judging from the way he stopped speaking for a moment. “Though, if you don't agree, I'll keep on with my investigation, away from you. No pressure."

And without waiting for an answer, he’s already walking down the street, one hand raised in goodbye. The message was loud and clear: With or without you, I’m getting to the bottom of this.

She flicks her head back towards the crime scene. There it was, that filthy stain of civilization, like an unclean artery clogging up the rest of the city. It reeked of secrets and shadows, of answers painted over with cheap whitewash. And yet, from the outside looking in, it would have looked like just another alleyway in this city. What else would she miss, without a local guide?

And yet… A part of her wonders if she could trust a guy like him. Sure, they had teamed up to rescue Susie, and Quercus seemed to trust him fairly well. But from the few times they had worked together, it seemed fairly obvious that he was holding something close to chest. And now, with the recent murders… 

Best keep him closeby, then. Better under her sight than lurking away from view. With a nod, Grani accepts.

"... All right, then. Let's team up."

Chapter Text

The old goods plant at the corner of High Street and Crescent had always been around since recent memory, or at least Red's memory, ever since he came here from- but that was besides the point. It was an old thing- an antique, if buildings could be called those. And, like an antique, it should've been traded out for something more functional years ago, but luxuries like that didn't exactly come quickly for the infected. 

One thing's for certain, though. The old thing came for cheap, went for cheap, and got passed around between the noble families more than a playing card on a poker table. The current owners were the Wakefields, last Red checked. Bought it about a few weeks ago and didn't even bother changing the workforce. They just rehired all the workers the past company laid off in the sale. That's how Red learned about them, from said workers' careless whispers.

"Is that all?" Grani asks, her lead pencil scribbling down all the details as best she could.

"All I remember, at the least. All I'm going off is hearsay and rumors."

"It's a better place to start than nothing." Slipping the notepad into her coat, she dusts her hands off and looks straight at the factory. "All right, best behavior. No backtalk, no grumbling. We're just here to talk."

"All right. Let's talk." He tips his cap up, adjusts his scarf like a tie. That's about the most he could do, save running down to the tailors and begging for a suit.

The insides of the factory smelled like a porridge of steel and oil, the foul sort of slurry rich men hid under layers and layers of perfume. It's disgusting, but clean’s a word detectives like them hadn’t much use for.

As they walked inside, factory sounds bashed over and over, a percussion without the conductor. She'd catch faint traces of a pop song playing amidst the clanging, but one hammer smash was all it took to drown the warbling out.

"They're playing the pop music a bit loud, aren't they...?"

"It's that, or-" CLANG! "get drowned out by the machines. Just-" CLANG! "plug your ears a bit."

Ripping out two pages out of her notepad, Grani stuffs them into her lower set of ears, before covering the upper set with her hands. That muffled the clanging from ear-splitting to just ear-piercing, though she'd rather just be gone as soon as possible.

Thankfully, the office was only up on the second floor. Richer men had their little haunts as high up as they could put them. Liked pretending they were little birds, flying above all the filth below. Guess this one couldn't fly as high as the others.

Grani raps on the door, a one-two jab that's quicker than a blink. And just as quick, the door opens up, a wave of air-conditioned air blasting them open in the face. The manager, Mr. Wakefield, was staring them in the face.

He's a short sort of feline, young, handsome and dressed in that style of finery that made noble-girls blush and regular people roll their eyes. Long sleeves, long pants, every inch of skin covered up in fabrics that would probably shrivel and die if a speck of oil touched them. But his eyes, though- Sharp enough to pierce skin. In short, the very model of a businessman.

"So, what can I do you two for?" He asks. His voice is pleasant enough, like padded cotton on sharp coils.

"Rhodes Operator Grani, at your service." She holds her I.D up to his face. “We’re here to ask you about the Kingsley case.”

“I hope this isn't a bother?" Red asks, omitting his own role.

"No, not at all. One of the victims, a Mr. Kingsley, was my tutor!" He gives the two of them a good look-over, a glint of suspicion on his face. But the moment passes soon enough. "Well, come on in. No point wasting air!"

His office? It's the sort of dirty mirage you'd start finding cracks in, if you looked hard enough. Like how that painting's only half finished, or the rush-job cabinets in the corner. Or how the walls weren't fully soundproofed, so you'd still hear the thumping even from this cozy little hole.

Wakefield takes the seat on the other side of the desk. It's big, much bigger than the young man sitting in it. Imposing, ill-fitting, it all depended on your mood that day. There's only one other chair, a dinky wooden one without varnish. That one went to Grani, with Red leaning on a nearby wall instead. "What can you tell us about Mr. Kingsley?"

"We didn't talk much. Just our lessons."

"And why is that so?"

"Kingsley was... an indiscretious man." He draws out that thought nice and slowly, like a man unholstering a gun. "He had a sharp tongue, without the patience to temper it. Always had something to say about someone- especially the infected. He had things to say about the infected."

"Like...?"

"Bottom-feeders, vagrants… Grits.” The last insult flops on the ground like an oil stain. It’s not a kind word, to say the least.

Reminding an infected they were going to dust rarely was.

Grani takes it poorly, he can tell. Even without any loud shouts, he could tell from the way her tail flicks at those words, or how her fists clench a little. But it’s not their place to get angry, not here, not now.

"So, what's your stance?" Red asks, taking the heat off her. "If I may be so bold, of course."

"It's only natural, of course, for an Ursus to ask that." The tone in his voice is a genuine disdain, easily brought out and easily wielded. "The infected... They deserve our pity. Not our hatred. They were dealt a bad hand, and I intend to help the infected here, as much as I am able."

"And he thought differently?" Grani asks, her voice deceptively flat.

"Very much so. Wouldn't be surprised if he made enemies." The sounds of the factory, muffled as they were, still thumped like heartbeats against the walls. "You might call it bravery, if you were being kind. Brashness, if you weren't. Either way, he didn't much care about what he said, just that you listened and learned.”

"Can you think of anyone who might have hated him for that?"

"Someone he singled out, maybe?” Red follows up. ”Or someone he mistreated once?"

He stops speaking for a few moments, monotone fingers drumming on wood. It takes a little bit for him to answer, after thinking. "Afraid I don't know anyone. He tried to avoid Infected as best he could. Hid away in this office as much as possible."

"Do you live near him, by any chance?"

"No. I have an apartment in this district, a recent purchase for this venture." He raises an eyebrow at the question, as if she had just suggested something outlandish. "He would have never deigned to stay here."

Grani gets up, finished. There hadn't been much to ask, at least that they could think of. The important things were out of the way, at least.

"All right. That's all the questions we have."

"Thanks for having us along."

"Not a problem, not a problem." Wakefield escorts them out. "If you need anything else about Kingsley, just ask."

It’s funny, how easily people got used to things. A few blocks out of the factory was all it took for Grani to notice- The hammering was gone. It’s quiet now, that sort of dripping quiet that comes before a tempest. And while deductions were past her, Grani could at least read a body decently well. Or, at the least, she thought she could. But right now, watching Red walk down the street with barely a word, she couldn't understand his reaction at all.

He notices her confused stare. "Something wrong?" 

"You aren't angry." She answers. It's more of a statement of fact than a question.

"No. I'm used to it." And that should've been the end of it. An acknowledgement that life was hard, a sigh, and a dropping of the subject. 

Instead, Grani frowns, refusing to accept that answer. "That's... sad."

Red stops. Distant eyes scan over her, like a cold gust of rain hiding thunder. Was that an insult? A ploy for sympathy? Hard to tell, even from a person who'd always laid their cards out on the table.

"You should be mad. Not even a single word and they've already judged you?" She stands resolute, frowning, feeling the anger that should have been his. "That isn't fair. That isn't right."

"You grow numb."

The Ursus walks on. 

It's a lively hangout for cockroaches, their next stop. Leaky roof, molding walls, the perfect place for anything skittering or crawling. Neatly hopping over the puddles in the basement, Grani looks around the apartment complex. It was cheap, she thought, if the only measure of life was how low you could shave off your next rent bill. Sitting right on the border between the infected and uninfected districts, with this kind of atmosphere? Definitely cheap.

Heavy steps splash the puddle Grani hopped over. Shaking the droplets off his boots, Red glances at the elevator. Out of order- should have expected that much. At least the witness was only on the second floor. An old lady like the file said wouldn't be climbing much higher on the daily.

They don't speak much as they reach the apartment. No point in wasting words before the interview, after all. Before long, they’re standing in front of a dingy looking door, a rusted 143 flaking away on it’s front.

Grani raps on the door, the same one-two smack.

No response.

She tries again. 

One. 
Two. 
Three.

Water drips.

She glances at Red. His hands go to his hilt.

Drip. Drip.

Then, the door creaks open, a tiny crack in the molded wall. A wrinkled face peeks through, it’s patchy ear flicking nervously at the sight. “Who are you?”

“Grani, Rhodes Island Operator. And you would be Amelia…?”

The old lady doesn’t respond.

”We’re here to ask you about a murder case?”

“You don’t look like a Feline…”

“Kuranta, ma’am.“

"A-and he's a...?"

"Feline." Red cuts Grani off with a quick word. "Lost my tail in a fight."

"O-oh... I'm sorry, sonny. I thought you were..." The old woman’s ear flattens, before the door closes shut. "I'm sorry. Let me just undo the lock..."

The door falls shut behind her, almost fusing into the mildewed wall.

"Red." Grani turns from the doorway, punctuating her disappointment with a huff. “We can’t just lie to sweet old ladies like that.”

"Easier this way. No need to make things harder than they need to."

She shoots a dissatisfied glare back. 

She doesn't get to retaliate before the door clicks, though. An old wizened lady stands in the doorway, shaking like an old rafter in a storm. “Amelia. Thank you for coming…I've been scared... So, so scared..."

With that, she steps aside and lets them in.

It’s a common saying- home is where the heart is. And if the state of the home was any sign, The old lady’s heart’s been struggling for a good long while. The air’s unpleasantly chill, like stale rainwater festering in puddles, like rainwater not quite dried out. Sheets were messy, flowers wilted, and a thick layer of dust blanketed it all like a sleeper. The stove was probably the saddest part. There it sat, chilled and damp, wasting away with a cold kettle on top.

With a passing glance, Red makes his way over to the stove. "I'll go light it. You go on without me."

If he had anything to say about the room, he didn’t seem eager to share. Without another word, he walks off towards the stove.

“We should clean the table up a bit. Is that fine?”

As soon as the lady nodded, Grani got to work. It wasn’t much of a clean, if she was being honest. The debris of plates and glasses were stacked upon each other, and the withered flowers thrown into a nearby bin. She would have loved to do more, but now wasn’t the time to play housemaid.

As she cleared the plates away, they struck up a small conversation. Nothing major, nothing important. Just some minor details about her life, past cases, things one might discuss over some biscuits and coffee.

"You're such a nice girl…” The old lady clucked her appreciation, settling down into her newly freed table. ”A kind policewoman like you…I can tell you want to do the right thing. I can see it from your eyes.”

“Thank you, ma’am. But I don’t need praise-”

“But you’re from that Rhodes Island. Why would you help those Grits…?"  

The question’s a stab in the back, but felt like a cudgel to the head. Grani bites back the worst of the shock, but the smile on her face suddenly feels a lot stiffer than it should.

The old lady was still rambling on. "They crawl into every little crack and fester like roaches. Always taking from the others, always snatching things up from the normal people trying to live. Why, I bet one of them even killed that poor, poor man..."

She doesn’t know what to say. She wanted to stand up for the infected, but she was a witness. Without her help, the case would run cold. The victims wouldn’t get their justice- unless she waited. Unless she didn’t say anything.

"Any way to earn money, I suppose... Such a brave girl."

The rain speaks for Grani. It’s a droll sort of tempest, multitudes of droplets shattering like thoughts. And yet, there’s never any music in the rain, nor any justice in Grani’s next words. Or anything at all, really. A thousand different things she could say, and none seemed to be worth it.

"I'm back." Red says.

And he was. He sets down two cups of tea for them, nice and hot. He’d heard the entire spiel, of course- It would’ve been impossible to miss it in this tiny apartment. And yet, he pretended as if he hadn’t. As if the steaming of the kettle or the rain had somehow drowned it all out.

Pushing the cup towards her, he invites her to take a sip. "So, on that night, what did you hear, ma'am?"

"I... I don't rightly know if I HEARD anything..." She begins, a quiver in her voice. "It was quiet. So quiet. I didn't think there was anything at all, so late at night. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible, but then... I saw it. Just lying there like a sack of meat..."

The right thing to do, Grani didn’t know. But an interrogation was something she could handle. "What were you doing out so late?"

The old woman might have bristled at that, but Red beats her to the punch. "We're both a bit worried, ma'am. It's dangerous out in the streets at that time."

"Haha... You're right, you're right. Pardon me." She shakes her heads to herself, chuckling at her own temper. "The artist, Jones, he was killed too. After his death, they began auctioning off his paintings. Beautiful things, like flowers forever fresh… I wanted to see if I could take one home myself. Too bad I couldn’t afford any… too bad."

"And that’s when you saw the murder...? On the way back from the auction?”

"N-no. I only saw the body." She trembles at the memory, pathetic and small. "Splayed out in the alley I use to go home. I-it’s a quieter route, you know? I thought Silent meant safe, but…”

Pity’s an odd thing. Pity’s meant for good people on hard times, for people who didn’t deserve what they got. But pity’s moving her tongue anyways, no matter what she felt about the old woman. “Is that why you live like this?” Grani asks.

“... Yes.” She admits, like a confession from a filthy sinner. “I can’t help but feel worried…”

Grani didn’t want to stay any longer. Who would? It’s like feeling the ground crumble beneath you. Here’s someone lost and miserable, and she can’t do a single thing to help. And maybe she deserved it, or maybe she didn’t. It’s too much to think about, too soon. 

But Red keeps going in her place. He’s not as kind. “His clothes. What was he wearing? Do you remember?”

Amelia- That was her name. She’s struggling to keep going, practically a nervous wreck now. "They… They were fancy. The kind of clothes a professor might wear. Grey and Red and stained wi-"

"That's all." Grani cuts it short. Cuts herself short. Can’t take much more before she combusts herself. "Thank you for your time, Miss."

Red follows behind, deferring to her. When she says stop, they stop. He’s not in position to defy that.

But before they go, Amelia calls out to them. "You'll catch him, won't you...?"

Grani looks back. Mustering up the bits of energy she could hold, she flashes back a confident smile.

"Of course. Count on me."

The rain’s speaking for both of them. Unlike either detective, though, it’s got too much to say. Without an umbrella, they’re both waiting around the dingy lobby, watching the grey skies fall.

“Bad day for rain.” Red mutters. The lobby’s empty and the tenants all indoors, so he’d pulled his scarf down for a little bit. His face’s as impassive as the cobble the rain’s washing off of.

“Every day’s a bad day for rain.” Grani’s leaning on the doorway, just waiting.

Red flicks his eyes over. "So, what're you thinking, Miss?"

"Lots of things. Too many things." She turns her head, looks back up at those stairs. She’s not one for brooding, but the day hasn’t been pleasant. "Ugh..."

Red shrugs. From a pocket, he pulls out an old military canteen. "Not my favorite thing, but maybe it'll soothe those nerves."

It's warm to the touch. Grani takes a sniff of it, then freezes up in confusion. “You took the old lady's tea?!”

“She can’t finish it all herself.” Red shrugs matter-of-factly. “I’m sparing her from spoiled tea.”

On the one hand, Grani doubted the old lady would miss her tea. He’d brewed a whole kettle while they were talking, enough to make the whole room smell a lot better than it felt. On the other, she definitely didn’t remember either of them asking. 

She holds the canteen in her hands.

It’s warm.

Not like outside.

A sigh leaks out. Without a second thought, she hands the canteen back. "No thanks. Doesn’t feel right.”

The warmth's still dancing on her fingertips, though.

“More for me.” Red takes a long, slow sip. His eye's still watching her every move. “Something on your mind?”

Grani looks outside at the clouds. It's an excuse. An excuse not to meet that scanning eye. 

“No. Nothing.”

The rain keeps falling.

Chapter Text

It’s a cool sky that covered up the sun today. Perfect weather for a bite of bread, dunked into some coffee without losing that crisp outer crunch. She'd take a bite of that soggy mess, then lean back and soak in the warm sunlight.

It’s the little things that really kept her going, because the case sure wasn’t.

Gulping down the coffee-soaked delight, Grani stretches one arm, ear flicking comfortably in the chill air. Red should be coming around soon… And there! She waves her free arm over, inviting him to the free seat. He responds just the same as always, with a dip of his cap and a multipurpose grunt.

Not much of a speaker, but then again, neither was she.

In lieu of words, she instead pitches a bun at him with an underhand, sending it off in a lazy arc that ends in his palm. She can’t see past his scarf, but she’s willing to bet he’s smiling.

And sure enough, when Red tugs his scarf down to take a bite out of the bun, his lips are curled the tiniest bit. “Mm. Soft.” Speaking through his chews, he tilts his head at her. “Feeling better?”

“Right as rain!- But hopefully it doesn’t.”

That… wasn’t a lie. She’s better now, more fit for the job than yesterday. The gloom’s not gone anymore than the clouds aren’t looming, but it’s enough. It’s better than rain.

Better’s not good, but it’s sure as hell not dead.

And with that thought, Grani gets back on track. “Our target today’s the art studio about a few minute's walk from here. It’s on the uninfected side, so wrap up if you need to.”

Red tosses the last of the bun into his mouth, before pulling his scarf back up. “Got it. What’s got your eye on that place?”

“The art studio doubled as Jones’s personal home. He’s apparently a bit of a shut-in, or was, anyways.” Grani can’t imagine it. Living your entire life in a wooden box, without ever seeing the outside? Might as well be a bigger coffin, the way she sees it. “That’s how he got murdered. Dead in his apartment, only got checked on a few days after.”

Red looks down the street. It's not busy by any means, but that didn't mean it was deserted. “You’ll want to get into the crime scene, won’t you? What’s the plan?”

Grani blinks, a smile flickering brightly on her face. “I’ll figure it out as I go.”

"Doesn't seem like the best plan."

“I don’t know anything about the place, and I can’t know anything without alerting people.” She shrugs, downing the last of her coffee. “So we'll figure it out once we're there.”

Red nods. “Your call, boss.”

The art studio’s not too far off from the bakery. In fact, they almost missed it on their first go-around.

It’s not too different from the brown and grey surrounding it, just another brick in the muddy brown walls. The only sign it was there in the first place was a small signpost hanging off the doorway, neat and clean.

You’d hardly believe a murder’s taken place inside with how nondescript it is.

Not that it was completely free of mystery, though. The windows were dust free, the lights shining through steady. Paint's not flecking off, either. Definitely not the signs of an abandoned studio, by the looks of things.

A quick knock on the door’s all it takes to confirm Grani's suspicions. A feline woman, possibly some sort of caretaker, opens the door. She’s got a pleasant smile, and that's the entirety of Grani’s first impression. There wasn’t much else to say.

“Good morning! We’re investigators, here to inquire about Oliver Jones?”

That’s all it took to stiffen that smile, unfortunately enough. Friendly eyes quickly turned guarded and professional before either of them could get any other words in. “Unfortunately, the police have left here for over a week without further contact. Do either of you have a search warrant?”

Red glances at Grani, who visibly winces. Without missing a beat, he immediately swings the topic right around. “We didn’t mean his murder. You still have a few paintings for auction, yes?”

The attendant looks at him suspiciously. “Yes, a few.”

“We’re investigating Victorian Arts.” He jabs his thumb at Grani, completely nonchalant. “Her friend’s an Aegir. Big artist fan. We’re here on her behalf.”

“Yes- Laurentina…!” Grani hurriedly answers, remembering Skadi’s friend from later on in Rhodes Island. “She’s a… sculptor.”

The attendant looks at them with an eyebrow raised, but any other questions got pushed down by professionalism. “Very well. Right this way.”

Pretty’s not a word Grani uses often. It’s not a word she has much use for, after all. Pretty’s meant for things that are safe and docile. A park’s pretty. A flower’s pretty. A girl’s pretty.

Grani doesn’t get to see a lot of pretty things. If it was pretty, it was safe. And if it was safe, she wouldn’t be called in to help. She’s used to it by now.

Was the art gallery pretty? Hard to say. It’s a young upstart of a place, with fresh paintings bursting color over old brown, like mushrooms growing over rotten wood. Grani didn’t have much of an eye for art, but the paintings certainly… were. Calling them rainbows would've been an insult- They were already much brighter and colorful. She'd only seen scenes like these in nurseries, saccharine paintings easing the minds of hysterical kids. But that wasn’t here nor there, was it?

It’s a slow journey through the artist’s mind, their little tour. Nice and clean, with a word that bordered on pretty but wasn’t quite there.

Skadi would’ve hated it, she thinks. Too presentable, too whitewashed and dulled. She never hid her thoughts- hated it when others did. But this entire place reeked of bleach and soap, of darker sides scrubbed completely clean.

“And here is one of Jones’ finest works: The Prime of Victoria.”

It’s a good painting, that much’s an objective fact. A sprawling metropolis, with happy feline citizens helping each other with smiles on their faces. It’s a nice thought, but there’s something off about it, something she can’t put her finger on.

Then, it clicks.

Not a single lesion… They’re all healthy.

There’s the word she was looking for. Sanitised. Not safe, not secure. But sanitised, wrapping everything under a layer of gauze and hoping it healed right back up.

They weren’t going to get anywhere like this.

Suddenly, she feels a nudge.

Red had bumped into her, so casually it could've been an accident. But he’s not the kind for close contact, with how he’s already moving out of reach when she registered the hit.

Her eyes dart up, just in time to catch him tilting his head. It pointed at a doorway, a hint of cooler air wafting through it. That had to be the bedroom- There weren't very many other places it could've been. Judging from the way the door was left ajar, it wasn’t even locked. All she needed to do was slip in and back out.

She takes a step forward, and his eyes narrow.

He pointedly looks back at the tour guide, waiting. As soon as she starts explaining another painting, he silently shakes his head back at her. It’s risky, and if they were sending anyone in it ought to be him. 

But Grani pretends not to notice. She’s muscled through cut and scar before- a disapproving glare wouldn’t nearly be enough to stop her. Wordlessly, because words would’ve only slowed her down, she darts away, light feet barely making a sound on the carpets.

Red’s eyes widen, but he’s the one stuck there and not her. If he gave chase, the attendant would instantly get suspicious. He grits his teeth underneath the mask, thankful that his expression's well-hidden. 

Speaking of which. The attendant turns away from a nearby photo, glancing at the singular visitor. “Where did your friend go…?”

Red shrugs, jabbing his thumb in the opposite direction of the bedroom. “Some important business, I suppose."

“She seems a rather flighty girl, doesn’t she?”

“If that’s what you call it.” Red stuffs his hands back into his pockets. “Now, where were we?”

As the door slipped shut behind her, Grani breathed a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t much a fan of going behind people’s backs, but she wasn’t exactly afforded a lot of options.

She blinks in the dusty air, eyes adjusting to the dim sunlight. If out there’s a sanitised facade, in here’s the unflattering truth; wrinkled sheets, stained walls and all, where curtains hide away all the dirt and grime one’s piled up.

Now, what to look for, what to look for…? A murder weapon’s out of the question, The police would’ve taken it the first chance they got. Same goes for a body or any obvious clues, they’d have been in the dossier. Maybe just take a look around for now.

An empty easel was propped up right beside the bed, red splotches dotting the floor below. Maybe blood, maybe just paint. Couldn’t decide with how dim the room is, and it’s not like she could flick the lights on.

Frowning, Grani checks the lock on the door, but it’s intact. She had her suspicions from the way it was left open, but it worked just fine… That meant the door wasn’t forced open. 

Windows, unbroken. No other entry points, either- In fact, nothing suggested a break-in at all.

Grani stops, face contorting into a frown at a sudden question.

How had they gotten in…?

If the entrances weren’t forced, then they must have been opened willingly. But Jones had been a recluse, so who could have come in?

Someone he must have known. Or, at the least, someone he trusted. Otherwise, why would have they been let in, with no signs of struggle?

A jolt of inspiration strikes her. Check the correspondences, find out who he might have let in. There’s always the chance he might have used a terminal, but right now, anything was better than nothing.

The desk was right beside the bed, dust layered on top. She doesn’t pull too hard, just enough for her hands to slip in and search through touch. Wooden cylinders, flat metal discs, the edge of a dull point, the edges of some papers- there!

Tugging them out, she’s rewarded with a list of names and addresses- people he must have corresponded with. She doesn’t recognize the vast majority of them, but Alexis and Kingsley are among them, too. Rifling to a random page off the sheath, a passage catches her eye.

Surely you realize the importance of a healthy Victoria?

“Healthy…” Grani mutters, the words tasting like sand in her mouth.

The rest of it warbles on about how like people should band together because only like people could live alongside each other, before slowly waffling on about the rest of his daily habits. He visited a doctor regularly and enjoyed a healthy diet and encouraged the receiver to do the sa- She didn’t have time for this!

But she can’t take the letters with her. If people came back for them, she’d have too much trouble explaining. She had to memorize the important bits. Names- she could deal with names. Names and addresses, but not the contents.

She had to be quick about this.

The paintings go on and on.

Blemishless leaves and smiling faces, with palettes so saccharine they’d fit right on a propaganda piece. Maybe it’s hopeful, maybe it’s delusional. Red didn’t know. They lived in different worlds, after all.

He’s conscious of the way their walk’s slowing down now, how the paintings suddenly get rougher and less polished. They’re still presented just as happy, but each smile’s more and more deconstructed, as if running out of time.

Then it just… ends. A small bronze plaque caps off the art gallery like a bottlecap cuts off a beer bottle. An abrupt end to a hollow life. Engraved on the plaque were two simple sentences.

I want to live in a place where everyone is healthy. A place where nobody has to worry about sickness or pain.

He doesn’t speak. Not his place, not now. 

The attendant caps off their little tour with a final summation, the last word on his life. “And underneath all his eccentricities and artworks, Jones had one driving belief. Above all else, he dreamed of the idea of a healthy Victoria.”

“A Victoria without infected.” Red asks. He already knows the answer.

“Exactly. A Victoria where nobody had to suffer was his guiding dream."

He lets those words linger in the air, like a dash of bitterness into clear water. A world without infection was a world without suffering, was it? 

“It’s funny. I have the same sentiment.” His tone's eerily casual, as if discussing the weather. “I want a world where people do the right thing for once. Where the people I care about don’t need to hurt anymore."

The attendant smiles kindly. “That’s a nice sentiment.” 

If she knew what he was, she wouldn’t be smiling at all.

Red looks away, conscious of two approaching footsteps, muffled on the carpets as they were. He turns around and waves, just as Grani bounded up to them. With a spring in her step and nothing in her hands, she was the perfect picture of innocence.

“I’m back! My, um, Aegir friend wanted a closer look at the paintings.” An apologetic shrug’s the only concession she makes. It’s not the only one she needs, though, judging from the skeptical look on the attendant’s face. Thinking fast, she points at a nearby painting. “She, um… Wanted to buy something like this one.”

Incomplete- that’s the word she’d use to describe it. It’s a collection of vague shapes that may have looked like a flower if it was left to bloom. The circles were colorless, with dashes of black ink hinting at spaces where petals may have been.

“What an… odd choice.” The attendant raises an eyebrow, perplexed at the choice. “It’s unfinished.”

“I couldn’t tell.” Grani responds, earnest and undeterred. “Even if it’s incomplete, it's still pretty.”

“Very well.” She slowly accepts, obviously baffled at the choice. ”We couldn’t let a half-finished work go for full price, so we’ll give it to you at a discount. Is this acceptable?”

Grani grins, wide enough to cover up any hints of suspicion left still. “Of course!”

To Grani, thoughts are a fuzzy thing, like buzzing flies orbiting her. Catch one in her hands, and another lands on her flank and lets the first one slip through. There's a lot of things to think about, from Jones' correspondences to the painting in her arms to how Red had planned to slip in himself but she got in first or how it all connected and... 

Healthy. That word kept slipping back into her mind again, over and over. It was easy to forget that the infected weren't, when working at Rhodes. Glancing at Red, she wondered. "Hey, Red. How are you feeling?"

She couldn't tell the expression on his face, but Red's silence was proof enough of his attention.

"Do you feel faint, or weak, or..." She trails off, cautious of overstepping.

"I feel just like I always have." Red answers, unfazed. "You're worried?"

"It's just... How long do you get to live?" A bit of a frown creeps into her expression. "I know Rhodes Island can delay the symptoms, but... You aren't with them."

Red lets out a small sigh, looking up at the rooftops.

"Years. I've seen 7 or more years from others, people who barely got scraped. If worse, some months. People with major arteries cut don't tend to survive the week, but that's more from the blood loss." He says it factually, as if discussing his day job or a nice restaurant he's visited. "Hard to believe you haven't met an infected who died yet."

"In the force, they usually don't tell. They say someone's off for medical reasons, then we don't see them for months." She'd always believed they survived. If there was the smallest possibility, then there was the hope she'd hold on to. "Then in Rhodes Island, the infected can stay indefinitely without worsening their symptoms. I... I haven't seen a death from Oripathy, at least from someone I knew."

There was nothing else to say.

Silently, they reach the intersection. Grani had her temporary apartment to go back to, and Red... She didn't really know where he went after things were done. Did he have a home of his own?

As he turned towards the dim alleyway, Red stopped. He turns around, calls out once.

"I'm sick. I'm not dead. Remember the difference."

Chapter Text

August Johnston is a fairly ordinary woman. She wakes up at 6, eats a side of eggs and toast at 7, and commutes to work by 8. She travels by bike, staying on the main roads and keeping a wide berth of the infected district. She works as a store clerk, laughs with her coworkers, and keeps her own opinions unless asked for them.

Her store is Originum free and prides itself on that. The workers are healthy, the products sanitary, and the customers screened. It warms her heart, of course, knowing she was doing her part in keeping her neighbors safe and healthy. August Johnston was supposed to be a woman of kindness and integrity, after all.

So it's a shock one day when she finds a Mounted Policewoman at her door, all by her lonesome. You can see her first impression's tinged by a sudden jolt of anxiety, but even through that she could tell that the officer's an earnest sort of person. "Oh? Good afternoon, officer. What brings you here today?"

The officer blocks the doorway casually, tail swishing on the floor like a broom. She's a short Kuranta with a naive sort of disposition, likely the kind that preached justice more than she practiced it. "I'm here because of the Jones case. Can I take up a few minutes of your time?"

Their conversation waffles on for a good few moments, trailing to and fro like a gear pointlessly turning. You've always despised this sort of small talk, pointless pleasantries that only existed for the sake of existing. You've endured far too many false smiles already.

"But, oh, where are my manners?" August finally remembers, footsteps stepping aside. "Come in, come in!"

You can't keep watching. Instead, you go off sounds now. Two steps on the muffled carpet, then another pair trotting in. They stop for a moment, followed by a few chatters. Then both footsteps move again- Loud, louder, softer, softer.

And you stay in place, waiting for the moment.

The apartment is luxurious, at least by the standard of Caledon apartments. There's four rooms- a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen. A hallway leads past a creaking bathroom door and into the living room, a cozy nook with carpeted floors, as opposed to the hardwood hallway.

Walking past the bathroom and a portrait of a peony, Grani feels a tiny pang of envy. While she didn't go home too often, she would have liked to come home to such a cozy place like this.

August takes the seat next to the open window, the one next to the fire escape. She's facing the hallway, so Grani took the seat facing away from it. With a genuine smile, August offers her some tea. "So what would you like to know about Jones?"

Grani takes the tea, feeling the aroma curl around her nose. She takes a sip before answering. "Well... Why don't you start? What kind of person was Jones?" 

"Jones was... Oh, where do I begin?" She tilts her head, trying to sum up her thoughts. "He didn't deserve what was coming! He was a nice man- reclusive, but supportive! 

Grani's ear twitches. She couldn't be abrasive about this next part. "Did you and him agree on certain topics?"

"Why, certainly!" August smiles from ear to ear, gesturing to the wealth of flowers surrounding her. "We both shared a love for nature and- Oh, he was the one who recommended these particular tulips. We were both nature lovers down to our core. There's nothing quite as soothing as the smell of fresh nature, you know?"

"Really? I'm surprised you two knew each other, considering his introversion." Grani notes, watching as the cheery woman swayed her tail high. There couldn't have been a bigger mismatch between the recluse in the reports, and the extrovert here now. "How did you two meet?"

"Why, at the Society, of course!"

That grabs Grani's attention. "The society?"

She smiles patiently. "Oh, it's nothing grand. Just a collection of like-minded folk, all looking for a place to breathe easy."

That answers a few of Grani's questions already, but she needed to confirm a few more things. "Did this society involve another person named Albert Kingsley?"

"I... Don't know?" She frowns deeply, trying to remember anything of the sort. "It might have! The group's not the sort of thing to have listings and suchlike, and not all the members know each other. I don't doubt that Jones only attended when there were a few people at a time, same as me."

"So if not everyone knew each other, then what connected your group?"

She's silent for a few moments, lost in thought. After a bit, she answers. "I believe that it was the safety. Everyone vetted for each other, you know? We didn't have to constantly guess whether or not..."

"Whether or not they're infected." Grani finishes for her.

"Well... bluntly, yes." August slowly admits, the confession slowly dragging out of her throat. "I don't have to worry whenever I pull someone in for a hug or stay close, and that's the way I like it."

"... And everyone else follows?"

"Mhm. Why give so much time and effort for people doomed to die?" She shrugs nonchalantly, as if the choice to end so many lives was obvious. "It's cruel to say, but there's never been an infected that has been cured before."

"They're sick. Not dead."

"You're quite the optimist, aren't you? And I don't mean to say the infected are all filthy vagrants like some other members of the Society- I've known quite a few!" She leans back, places one arm on top of another. "I'm just saying that, well... We'd be better off if the dead just upped and died, right? Less mouths to feed..."

Grani's breathing gets funny. With an effort, she manages to keep the conversation flowing. "Being uninfected doesn't mean you're guaranteed a long-life, through... Some members I've worked with didn't make it."

"And that's a tragedy, but it's just the nature of your job, isn't it?"

"That's what I'm here to prevent!" Focus on the job. On her duty. An outburst right now could mean the difference between someone's life or death. "So, please... Any idea of who Jones might have made contact with or angered?"

"Goodness, no. The society was the only contact the poor man had with the outside world, save perhaps the grocery store and the art supplies." She waves her hand, dismissing the thought. "And why would anyone come after us? We've done nothing wrong..."

"Maybe so, but criminals aren't always logical. Please remind the other members to take safety precautions, ok? Lock their doors and windows, and remember emergency hotlines." Grani gets up off her seat, walking off. "I have to get back to the station now for a report. Stay safe."

"Of course!" 

The talk ends, none too encouraging. Deep in thought, Grani walks back out the hallway, deep in thought. The obvious link was there: The Society. Odds were that Kingsley had been a member of this society as well. 

That was good. She had a modus operandi now. She knew that the killer was targeting vocal uninfected, people that disliked or hated the infected. People like them would've joined the society, painting a target on their backs. She just needed to figure out where the next attack would take place.

The bathroom door creaks, snapping Grani out of thought. Too many thoughts were buzzing around her head, if she was getting snapped out by loud sounds now. She'd really prefer an out and out confrontation to all this thinking...

The next step now... Grani tries to reorient herself, stepping just outside the apartment. First, she had to tell Red what she knew. The uninfected districts would have been far too wary of him to bring along, so they had to split up for now. Next, alert the Caledon police to at-risk individuals. They were likely nobles and uninfected, so getting them to keep an eye out shouldn't be too difficult. The real issue was trying to identify who specifically was at risk- She'd need to wring out a list of members, somehow. 

The list she wrote down- could she trust it fully? It was all she remembered, not everything that was on there. If she could find someone to complete it, she could send in a list of at-risk individuals, but-

"HELP!"

The cry chills her blood, but her body reacts on instinct, backslamming into the door wide open, then leaping through the entrance. The hallway goes by in a blur of motion, unheeded as she dashes straight through. She doesn't even bother looking before her momentum slams her into the intruder, flinging someone back down onto the carpet with a loud-

THUMP! 

There's barely any time to comprehend anything before August scrambles back behind Grani, eyes wide in pain and terror. The policewoman hefts her spear, stance wide as she stands between victim and aggressor.

The intruder was a short man, dressed in unremarkable brown rags. Any identifying marks like species or skin tone were hidden underneath those rags, save for their eyes- bitter like a dagger's point. The knife in his hands dripped with fresh blood, streaking down the grey steel.

Grani's blood runs cold as she realizes- It was sheer luck. If she'd left immediately, they would have killed August without any resistance.

But she's here, and that's what counts.

"Lay down your weapon, now!" Grani barks, speartip pointed directly at them.

They hunch down, knife swaying dangerously. It dangles in the air, tip shaking, jerking motions constantly keeping her on alert.

Then, it darts forwards. Grani steps back to parry the blow, but it never falls. A feint! As she moves away from the nonexistent attack, the intruder jumps back, stumbling onto the fire escape just outside the window. A pot falls as he leaps up, shattering to the ground with a large crash.

Grani turns to August, quickly checking on her. The wound wasn't too deep, but the civilian looked too panicked to think. "Stay put, call emergency services, and lock your doors. Do you understand me?" She hated to leave behind someone in need of help, but if she let the murderer go free...

A terrified nod is all she receives before August begins wrapping her arm in a handkerchief.

That's all the reassurance Grani needs to rocket up the fire escape, swinging her momentum on the rusty pole, as she leaps up the stairway. Steady feet land on the concrete floor before the rust flakes even have time to land, before bursting after the retreating figure. He's thirty, twenty paces away, too pumped up on adrenalin and panic to rush down right now.

It's her advantage, Grani thinks, even as she leaps past a concrete box, sliding underneath an overhang and rolling out to inch ever closer. Just need to wear them out a bit more...

He turns the corner past a wall, and she follows right behind as a flash of light glints in her eye. 

Grani jerks her head to the side, feeling bits of her hair tug as the knife barely zips past her, clanging against the far side of the warehouse. But she barely looks aside to see the strands drifting away, even as she rushed forwards.

They had stopped for a second, maybe hoping that the knife would have killed her. They leap away in a panic at her approach, only five paces beyond her now and quickly faltering.

Exhaustion and fatigue were clear in their movements. They takes a final burst of energy as they leap into a rooftop garden, and they stumble. But Grani makes the leap with ease, stepping down onto the patio as she finally-

"Not another step!"

Terrified eyes cry a silent plea towards Grani. A gardener stood shock still, shears clattered on the floor next to her feet. The murderer was pinning her arm behind her back, using her as a shield and warning. Roughly, they hold her right next to the edge of the roof, bitter eyes glaring down onto Grani. No threats come out of his mouth- gravity would make them for him.

Grani stops, eyes shrinking, pulse quickening. Unconsciously, her eyes are drawn to the hostage.

She's terrified. Tail bristling, arms limp, irises shrunk. Her breathing's short and panicked, and her eyes wouldn't stop staring back. 

"h-hel-"

"Quiet!" The intruder shakes the gardener in response, threatening to send her straight over the edge.

Careful. Slowly, Grani takes a measured step forwards. "What do you want?"

"What I want? What I want?!" His voice scrapes in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a roar. "It's convenient for you, isn't it? Prancing around playing detective, pretending you care about goodness and kindness. But when it's us, you're just so HAPPY to turn a blind eye, aren't you?"

"She has nothing to do with this. Let her go."

"She has EVERYTHING to do with this! Each and EVERY person keeping their filthy mouths shut have just as much blood on their hands as me!"  "What happens if I drop her, officer? What then?"

His arm shakes in rage, and the victim's face goes even paler. 

"It'd be on the news. Everyone would point fingers, gasp and pretend they've never seen a death before. They'd all talk, and what does the talk boil down to? Back to the infection!"

An innocent life would die. Infected or not, a life was a life. Grani looks left, right. Was there anything? It's three paces to reach them, no obstacles in between. But three paces was too slow compared to the release of a hand.

"That's all we are, isn't it?! Grits! Vagrants! Bottom-feeders! So why even hide it?"

Or was it? Grani tunes out the rambling, focusing on the civilian. Three paces was too long, but one? One pace to grab her and pull her back? The murderer was unarmed- he'd be threatening her with a weapon if he wasn't. She could make one pace. She had to.

Grani hunches down, tenses her muscles. No running here- either the first jump would get her to the edge, or someone would die. She adjusts her foot, tries to quell the beating in her chest. Just one shot.

"Say something, damn it!" The murderer's frenzy finally reaches it's peak, arm shaking wildly. "Say something, or she dies!"

Grani glares him down.

"Not one more life."

She lunges.

The background leaps back, blurs, turns into muddled grey. It washes them all away in a blur of black and brown, save the two in sharp relief.

The murderer panicking, stumbling back down.

His arm losing it's grip, gravity ripping away his only threat.

Widened eyes screaming, a panicked hand flailing as the gardener topples over the edge.

Then contact, gripping on as tight as she could.

A pounding heart looks up at the policewoman, terror and hope flooding her expression. Grani first digs her heels into the ground, holding on, trying to slow them both down. Then, with a final burst of momentum, she swings. 

Pulling her back was never an option. She'd be going forward too fast, her momentum too uncontrollable. So, instead, she swings the gardener to the side, her heel as a fulcrum, flinging her back on solid ground. 

But to swing her back, she needed to swing herself outwards.

Her heel loses it's footing, momentum goes too far, and Grani tips over the edge.

The relief she felt was instantly ripped apart by an overwhelming surge of adrenalin. As her body sails out into the open air, her arm throws itself out, grabbing onto the ledge with every bit of might she could muster.

"Nggh!" The policewoman grunts, feeling spikes of pain on her fingers as they get dragged down onto the concrete. Her feet dangle out into empty space, stopped just in time from an unfortunate freefall. Her visor hadn't been so lucky- it had gotten jolted off her head, falling straight into the depths below. She takes a heavy breath, calming herself down. Then, hanging over the drop below, she calls back out to the rooftop. "A little help, miss?"

Shaking hands quickly grasp on to Grani's outstretched arm, pulling her upwards. Slowly, steadily, they drag her back up onto the rooftop.

"Phew... Thanks. Without you around, I'd have been-"

The hostage topples, collapsing on top of Grani in a pile of tangled legs. She's sobbing, tiny trickles of tears tapping her shoulder like stilted rainfall.

"I've got you! I've got you..." Grani herself is shaking, adrenaline and stress pouring out of her system with every tremble. She pulls them both up to a sitting position, slowly building up a confident face again. "It's all right, ma'am, it's all right..."

She looks around. No sign of the murderer- They likely took the first opportunity they had to flee. Giving chase was pointless without a line of sight, too, since there were too many routes they could have taken. No matter how she looked at it, this was still a complete failure on her part.

But the words Grani muttered still burned in her heart, knowing how close everything had been.

Not one more life.

Chapter Text

There's a lot of things Red doesn't know.

He doesn't know about the uninfected districts- he never had business there. He doesn't know about what Talulah was doing now, or how the other extremists reacted to Reunion's collapse, or how they’d ever drag themselves back out of the mess they were in.. He doesn't know why Rhodes Island stepped in, or how an organization like that hasn't torn itself apart already.

He doesn't know much about justice, or honor, or heroism. That's a luxury for the lords, not drifting outcasts like him. And, Grani- he knows the least about her. What made her tick, what made her act, what made her get up in the morning and think everything was going to turn out fine- it's all beyond him.

All he really knows is what's in front of him, and what needs doing.

What's in front of him right now's a familiar mildewed door in a familiar dingy apartment complex. They'd agreed that Grani would take the only lead they had. She'd wanted Red to come, but walking into an uninfected district looking like a vagrant wasn't going to do her any favors among the people there. So she left, and Red decided to just trawl over the past spots, maybe wring out some other piece of the puzzle.

So Red knocks on that mildewed door..

Knock, knock.

No response.

He leans back, foot tapping out a rhythm on the carpet. One, Two. One, Two. One, Two.

He knocks again.

Knock, knock.

Still nothing. 

A third cycle.

Still nothing.

Then, a door creaks open.

It's not the door in front of him. From two doors away, a baggy-eyed feline stepped out to check the commotion. "No point waiting around that door, pal. It’s empty. It's been empty past few days."

“... hm. What happened to the old lady?”

“How should I know?" The feline scoffs, shaking her head at Red. "Cleaners came in a few days ago. Aside from that, nothing."

"Thanks." 

The feline sits around, waiting, half expecting some sort of followup. When nothing arrived, she mutters something underneath her breath and gets back into her apartment.

Red waits a minute, two minutes, three, four. When it's clear that she's not coming back out, he kneels down in front of the doorway. No need to pick the lock- the deadbolt's exposed.  Slipping a metal file between the lock and the door, he heats the file enough to melt through the small bar of metal.

A slight singe drifts past the hallway, like the scent of a snuffed out cigar. But that's the only evidence he leaves behind as he pushes the doorway open.

It’s clean.

No broken walls, no toppled furniture, no pottery shards or blood stains. There's moss on the walls and patches of peeling paint, but nothing says anything about a fight. Not that there needed to be a fight, but it would've been the easiest thing to spot.

It's easy to lose track of yourself in here, when your footsteps don't even make sounds on the floor and the curtains don't let any light inside. It's easy to close your eyes and pretend nothing exists outside your neat little coffin, using your heartbeat as a timer until it ticks it's last. Shut your eyes and let the caricatures dance in your mind, until the songs drowned out the screams. 

It's a perishing sort of perfection.

Whatever happened in here was quick, Red guesses. A frail old woman like her wouldn't have put up much of a fight, even if there was one. For all he knew, the old lady had caught pneumonia and choked in her sleep.

After all, people died, young or old. Uninfection’s not a guarantee to an easy life.

His footsteps sound again, leading him to the bedroom. It's more of the same, that cloistering suffocation that shut out the world around you. The bed's nice and tidy, hardly a wrinkle on the sheets, and the drawer's as spick and span as you could hope for. There's hardly a trace left of a person at all, in fact- almost as if there had never been anyone living here.

He doublechecks- yes, this was the right place. Just with all the important details gone. The few decorations left were all generic enough to be anyone's, really.

A part of him wonders if that's intentional or not. What's the endgoal here? If death's the reason why, then why not make a show of it? Defy the odds, burn into the night and leave a scar on the society that cast you out. That's a route he knows a bit too well- a route everyone in Reunion had blazed before. But, no, it's as if there was never anyone here.

Something catches his eye- the only damage in this choking room.

It's another flower painting. Two gashes slash an X straight through the middle of the portrait, leaving flaps of the fabric to dangle. The cuts were jagged and blunt- each hack haphazardly cutting through the fabric before another ripped it further. 

Not the cuts of a well-maintained weapon, to be sure. If Red wanted to, he could take out his sword and rip straight through in a single well-placed swing. Getting stuck on such a soft material... It could mean a lot of things. But as a soldier, the first thing Red suspected was that the thing that slashed through wasn't a weapon- or at least, it wasn't designed to be one. 

After all, a kitchen knife looked dangerous only until it collapsed in your hand mid-swing.

And the painting... He remembered where it was from. The damage was proof enough for a murder, but maybe not a cover-up. But why, and how, Red didn't know. Still- it's another step closer to wrapping this thing up.

Red looks to the doorway. There's nothing in here left for him, no more clues to find. It's time to go.

Was it?

Old lady dies alone in her apartment, possibly murdered. Nobody's come looking for her, nobody's noticed she's gone. Just another person snuffed out, and not even a grave to her name. Maybe a few words would do?

He stops.

Then he shakes his head, leaving.

He's not Grani. No point honoring someone who would've spit on his grave.

It's late in the afternoon when he gets to the second stop- about the time people got off their shifts and either headed home or to the bar. 

His feet take him down a well-trodden road, round the bend and across the street, leading him straight to the bar. Not Quercus' place- that's about 30 minutes down the road. This one's a much rowdier sort of place- bad to unwind in, but great if he needed to see someone or just take in the rumors. Drunkards rarely held their tounges all too well.

It's during times like these he's glad Grani went off to the cleaner districts. She's a good person- too good of a person to pretend she was anything but. Much as it needed them, the world didn't want good people. It wanted people like it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots two men beckoning him over to a table next to a window- the two familiars he'd been looking for.

"Well, look here! It's Red!" The larger man, a dirty looking feline with an unkempt beard, beckoned him over. "Been a while, man. Still shackled on with that merchant band?"

"Yep." Red pops that last P like the cap on a bottle, taking a seat right next to the window. "They don't seem like they want to move just yet, though, so I'll be here a while."

The oil-stained man guffaws. "Look at you, man, all ragged and ruffled. Not that I blame you. First some nutjob count kidnaps a girl, and now there's a murder spree?" He slams his bottle on the table, then shakes his head, disgruntled. "Bad times to be living in Caledon, to be sure."

"Think the murderer also killed all those gangsters in the tunnel that one time?" The smaller man asks. He's a thin looking creature, with a whiplike tail and worn looking muscles. "I saw it on the papers. Apparently they all got scorched or something."

"Doubt it." Red shrugs. "Doesn't seem to be his MO?"

The mousy man twitches his nose. "How can you be so sure?"

"Nah, he's on to something." Setting down his tankard, the gruffer man quickly glances at today's newspaper. "The last cases have all been stabbings, so there's that."

"Great, just what I needed to hear. There's TWO nutjob murderers out there." The Zalak wails, downing another cup. With his constitution, he's already pretty tipsy.

"Pretty much." Red shrugs. "With any luck, they'll find each other and fight to the death."

The gruff man shakes his head. "It's nasty business, for sure, but not our problem. That's what Mr. Wakefield says, anyhow, and I ain't gonna be the one to argue against."

"Awful cold of him to say that." Red observes, keeping his tone conversational. "Didn't he know one of the guys who got stabbed?"

"Think he's just keeping it professional, being the boss and all. All I know is that it ain't our problem."

He lifts an eyebrow at that. Strange for a man to dismiss murders in his own town- even stranger that he'd have people following him.

"Well, I'm just saying." The man glances away, rubbing a bit of oil stain into his shirt. "If they're killing those high and mighty nobles, then they're not looking down at us. It's a tragedy, but it's not our tragedy."

"You're only saying that 'til he finds you in an alley and does a shanking!" He nervously takes a glance outside, looking at all the gathering shadows lurking. "Or the tunnel creep sets you on fire, one of them."

"Unless these damn stones fall off and I get a million shillings, I don't think it's a risk. Not much of a gangster, anyways. Now, my brother, though-" He begins, only to catch a glimpse of something outside. "Say, ain't that the boss?"

And yes, there he was- Mr. Wakefield himself, seemingly taking a shortcut back to his factory. It's a bit of a walk aways from here, and too dangerous to be taking alone with how dangerous the city was getting. Not someone you want to be leaving alone, was it? 

Sliding his chair back, Red looks out into the dusk, tips his cap in goodbye. He's not drunk a single thing, but the smell of alcohol's rubbed off on him anyways. "Lucky day. The way you've talk him up, I've been thinking of getting a job."

"About damn time, Red!" They call out, but his mind's long gone from them.

The shadows had grown long when Red steps out of the bar. Lantern light's no substitute for the sun, as evident from the dim alleyways that almost looked like a concrete maze. 

Caledon's a city, after all- a living, breathing thing with bustling street veins and drifting capillary alleyways where minute cells would rush to and fro. Slip away in the darkness, and who could track you without the lantern lights? 

"It's late out, isn't it?"  Red calls out, a good few feet away from Wakefield. He's standing straight underneath a lamppost, in plain sight. No point in sculking about like a common murderer, was there?

By luck, Wakefield was also standing underneath a lamppost, his own shadow pooling at his feet. The young noble stiffens at the call, then turns his head. "Really? I haven't noticed..."

Red walks closer, slipping between light and shadow, until they're both standing underneath the same flickering light.

"You already know it's not safe to walk alone this late, don't you?" Red points up at the wavering lampposts, too dim to light up any of the alleyways. "Let me walk you home."

Wakefield bristles at the thought, but to his credit, you could barely tell. Only the tiniest strands of fur raised off his tail, appearing slightly larger than it truly was. "I much appreciate the thought, but I'd rather not get into dark alleys with unfamiliar folk. You'll understand, I'm sure."

Red chuckles, a bit of the gruff Ursus accent leaking through his tone. "Of course, of course. That's why we're taking the safer route, right?"

Wakefield desperately looks like he wants to argue. And, of course, Red understood that. After all, slipping into a dim alley with a suspicious man after reports of a serial killer lurking about was borderline insanity- Which was why he suggested walking through the main streets instead. It was a longer walk back, which was all the better for him, wasn't it?

It takes a few seconds of consideration, but with a grunt, Wakefield accepts. With a turn, they move out of the more direct alleyway and back onto the main road. The lights here are brighter, more constant- better maintained by a government that still cared about keeping up appearances.

Wakefield wasn't much of a talker- or at least, not when he was unprepared. He mostly walked in silence, in that straight-backed, stiff gait one could expect from someone of highborn upbringing. Occasionally, he would glance at Red, before continuing that awkward, guarded stance.

No matter- Red fills in the silence, his footsteps carefully relaxed. "If you don't mind my asking, what's gotten you out so late?"

"Urgent business in the Ashbury district. Alongside visiting my family, I'd also have to settle a few clean-ups- one of which I'll have to come back to..." He rattles off. It's a fairly typical list of nobleman busywork that trails on like a conveyor belt- mechanical and rehearsed. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind answering the same question?"

"Was drinking with Bert and Elmer. You might know them- they'd be working in your operation." Red didn't really think that. It was... atypical, a factory head actually remembering the names of his employees. More typically, they'd just ignore all details not related to the production. "Saw you about to take a risky route back, so I thought I'd step in and put you back on a safer route. More eyes on you and all."

Wakefield sniffs the air, and his nose wrinkles. The smell of alcohol's proof enough of his first claim, at least. "I hope they haven't said anything unbecoming of me?"

"Not at all. Complimented your professionalism, in fact."

"Good, that's good." He nods, intentionally trying to lapse the conversation away.

They take a right, go past the cafe, head back into the infected district. Silence fills in where a stilted conversation should have been, but Red makes no attempt to fill it. 

There's a certain kind of fatigue to his movements, Red observes. Not overt enough to be noticeable, but it weighed down his footsteps, slouched his back a bit more than a proud noble would ever debase themselves. 

Wakefield catches his glance, then looks away. 

"We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, I admit." He gruffly begins, looking anywhere except the person he was speaking to. "But I can tell you're not the person I believed you were."

Red could guess what sort of person that was, but there's no point in going on the attack. He takes the backhanded compliment with a nod and a grunt. "I suppose. But why would you care?"

"Well..." Wakefield doesn't have an answer at hand- not that Red really expected one. It wasn't the sort of question you'd answer immediately. "It's simply the charitable thing to do, of course. No need to burn my bridges and all."

"I can see that." Red murmurs, noting their continuing conversation. "Unwilling to burn your bridges with either side, am I right?"

"It's what I believe in."

There's a certain sort of gravitas to that statement, enough that any normal person would have dropped the conversation then and there. After all, there's a certain inviolability that comes with belief, a certain threshold where you couldn't question another's foundations. To trespass belief is to question the soul, the very essence of a person. 

That being said, Red's not good at noblespeak.

"So you believed enough, that you were willing to defy your professor?"

"... No, to my great shame." And there was an emotion Red wasn't prepared for- genuine sadness. Not the overwrought, teary-eyed sadness that nobles and actors brought with tears and wailing, but a sort of tight-lipped emotion, the kind that one tried to hold back from strangers. "But I can't imagine another way this could have ended for him."

Red turns, his eyes falling on Wakefield. "Hm?"

"He was militant in his beliefs, argumentative to the last." That lamenting tone still tinges his voice, but there's a hint of something else in it now. "Maybe... maybe it was inevitable, wasn't it?"

"Maybe." Red answers. "The wrong words at the wrong time could be life or death."

"True enough, true enough." Wakefield glances askance at him, then back on the road.

There isn't much said after.

Chapter Text

The sky's threatening rain.

It’s looming overhead like vultures above the sand, the threat of a tempest that's not fallen yet. But the cold wind's blowing and the sun's not shining, so it's all flowing by in a haze that leaves the skin chilled and the ground moist.

Pitter. Pitter patter.

Was it rain? No, not yet. The pattering's from two footsteps upon stony ground, running past a city gone cold. It's fast as the wind, cold as the sky, grey as the stones. 

A final pitter, and the door blows open.

Grani's in the doorway. Her hair's grey as the clouds outside, a turmoil in her eyes as grim as the storm. The visor on her head filters faint light onto shaded eyes, a massive crack running through it like a bolt of lightning. Her words fly in before she even did, rumblings of an incoming storm.

"Red! We're moving, now!"

"What for?" The wind hadn't budged Red an inch. Taking his feet off the table, he tilts his cap back upwards. "Found anything useful?"

"We've been too busy playing detective to get anything done, and I'm not standing for it anymore!" She slams her hands down on the table like a thunderclap, the energy in her voice teetering between determination and delirium. "We're warning them all, now."

The bear looks up at the rumbling storm, one eye closed. He's weathered worse before, and he's not scared now.

"In the uninfected district?" He asks, tone low.

"I'll answer any questions they have." Grani shoots back, eyes already turned back out to the doorway. When he doesn't move, she stomps her foot. "Get up! We're wasting time!"

And that sealed it.

Red gets up. One piercing eye looks at Grani, the other hidden by the shadows of his cap. His voice comes in slowly, heavily, like the plodding footsteps of a heavy beast. "You're not thinking straight, are you? You aren't yourself."

"That doesn't matter." She answers quickly, far too quickly.

"It does when I'm working with you." Red tilts his cap back up, both eyes boring into her with calm silence. "I'm here of my own accord, remember? I'm not your lackey."

The implied threat stops Grani in her tracks, washing down her spine like the cold feeling of betrayal. She takes the statement with grit teeth, hair flying out as she swings her hand out, facing him with blazing eyes and bared teeth.

"Then I'll go without you! You can’t stop me!" 

Red doesn't move. There's no motion in his body and barely any in his eyes. Only cold, methodical statements, step after step. "And what about the police? You aren't police anymore, remember. You've gotten by off uniform and request, but that won't hold forever. It won't hold the moment you start making a ruckus and bringing attention they don't want."

"I'll find a way to make them listen!" She declares, demands, as if all it took was enough hope.

He knows it's not. "And what if they just don't?"

"Then I'll patrol until I catch him!" She stomps her foot and the floorboards rumble, like the stormclouds beyond them. "I can't... I can't just leave them helpless again!"

Red sighs.

"I see. I get what's going on now."

He takes a step forward.

Grani doesn't back down.

A second, a third.

He's much bigger than her. She's faster, yet he's stronger.

A fourth. A fifth.

She's never backed down in the face of strength.

They're standing in front of each other now.

She tenses, readying for an attack.

SNAP!

Grani jumps, blurred like a storm-tossed cloud. The sound of footsteps scratching on wood screeches out as she lands away from him, ready to dodge as he... As he...?

He... was just standing there, one hand raised, fingers still posed from the snap.

"What...?" She mutters, still tense and ready.

He doesn't move. 

"Look at yourself." He growls, voice dipping harshly.

Strands of grey hair dangle upon a backdrop of troubled eyes, swaying in the atmosphere of a thunderstorm yet looming. The crack in her visor shimmers in a mass of grey and black, and the person beneath never loosens up. Shoulders tense, eyes blazing, breaths barely stirred into a tempest as she trembles with terror and torment.

"You're jumpy, tired, picking fights with your allies. That's how you're gonna bring justice? Rush down the first road you see and pray the person you slam into's the bad guy?" Slowly, descending with each pulse of a heartbeat, he lowers his hand. "You're smarter than this. You're BETTER than this."

Grani takes a breath, and it is cold.

Cold wind blows in from the opened doorway, and Grani knows she could leave right now. Each heartbeat in a rapidly thumping pulse was just proof they were wasting time, time the murderer could be using to draw another blade, take another life, prove she’d faile-

"There's no time.” She growls, the pulse in her ears loud as a shriek. ”We have to go!"

"Go where? What's the plan? What's your plan?" Each question is fired with the efficiency of a ballista, heavy shots piercing through the illusion of optimism. "Is that what they need, Grani? A half-baked thought driven by blind devotion? A detective who leaps before she looks? A scream to send a city they loved into a bloody frenzy? Is that what they deserve?"

She meets his glare, just as unyielding as he was. "They deserve justice."

"Then give it, and think."

She's breathing.

Grani can hear herself breathing.

Slowly, thoughts seep into Grani’s mind, slipping through the haze that was clouding her vision.

What did the victims deserve?

Justice. Infected or uninfected, people deserved to be treated fairly. They deserved to live. They deserved to be protected by someone who could let them live.

Justice. Fairness. 

Even for herself.

She can’t pretend to keep going. She can’t pretend she’s invulnerable, or pin all the blame on herself, or gamble on a chance blindly and hope it’d all work out. She needed to be fair.

"Fine." Grani relents. She takes the visor off, and feels the weight of the world still riding on her shoulders. "Let’s talk."

What's the worst part of the job?

It's not the training. It's not the paperwork, it's not the hunts, it's not even the hospitals or the funerals.

The worst part of the job's the failure. It's having to glare down a corrupt chief in the eye and know you can't do anything. It's having to tell a terrified mother that you've done everything you could, that you've tried and will keep trying. It's having to admit you were only a hair's breadth away from ending this nightmare, and yet- you couldn't. And now, thanks to your failure, there's yet more people at risk.

It's retelling that story on the rooftops, and admitting you failed.

Grani finishes her recount with an exhale, deflating and feeling just a little bit smaller. One ear flicks down and hangs low as she waits for a response.

Red's breathing had shallowed at her tale, hands clenching into his palms as he realized just how close everything had been. "Damn it." He mutters, face twisting into a frown. "I should've gone with you."

He's feeling the exact same tension she was now, but Grani doesn't feel like holding it over him. The reality check was necessary, as much as they both hated it. "We both agreed it would be too risky to bring you up there."  

"That was a mistake." Red admits, brows furrowed. "But I don't blame your choice. You stopped a murder, and that's what counts."

The encouragement only earns a shake of the head from Grani. "Doesn't matter now, does it? He's still out there."

That much was true. The folds on Red's scarf shift among themselves as he leans back, recollecting his thoughts. "No telling what he's going to do, now that we have a profile on him. The smart thing would be to lay low, cover up his tracks and hope we give up."

But that was too far of a hope, Grani knew. "If he risked attacking a victim, I don't think he's going to stop now that I'm nowhere near him."

"That's what I'm worried about. He might get cocky." His cap shifts as he mulls on the thought, crossing his arms. "Get off the adrenalin high from the first clash, suddenly you think you're immortal. I've seen it before."

She frowns, mouth settling into a grim line. "We can't risk that. If he does that, he'd be caught, but..."

"A lot of bodies would follow first."

The possibility looms over them like a rumbling storm. Susie's case was already a grim reminder to the infected here- the streets were not safe, and the nobles would gladly pick them off one by one to line their own pockets. Now, the murders threatened to stir up the nobles themselves, remind them that they were not as safe in their comfortable little cabins as they liked.

Once both sides decided enough was enough... It was dreadful to think about.

"Still- I'm glad you're here. Even just catching a glimpse of him's plenty already." Red cuts off that line of thought, crossing his arms as he refocuses himself. "What did you notice?"

"They're not much of a fighter. They ran as soon as they saw me, threw a knife at me in a panic, and held a civilian hostage the minute I got close." Grani frowns, looking back. It was easy to tell that the murderer's scheme had fallen to bits the moment she had arrived. "But, even still... They already had a plan. They knew the layout of the apartment, the fire escapes, and had a route mapped out on the rooftop. They aren't going in blind..."

"When did they attack?"

"Before sunset, late afternoon. By the time I was calming Ms. Gardener down, night had just fallen, so it was too far to chase."

Red tenses at the mention of time, but keeps silent, waiting for Grani's next words.

She takes a little bit longer to follow up, digging through a small satchel she had brought along. 
"I did go back, and I found this."

From her bag, the policewoman takes out the shards of a broken knife. The fault line is jagged like mountains, pieces shattered off randomly, with only the base of the knife still hanging on to the hilt.

"That..."

"Yeah. It's an ordinary kitchen knife. Not an assassin's blade, not a military dagger, not for rituals- and definitely not even meant to be a weapon, if it shattered on the wall behind me."  She holds the hilt up, watching the exposed edges of the blade glint as she turns it in the light. "That explains why he was so eager to throw it."

"The branding." Red demands. "Check the branding."

Grani raises an eyebrow, but pulls her thumb off a part of the hilt. There's a print of a smiling cat winking while holding a spoon, the brand logo of a popular kitchenware set. "Skyfire has a set of these back in her dorm." Grani looks down on the brand logo, then frowns back at Red. "It's really nothing special- you can buy these off any silverware shop in the uninfected districts."

"Yep. It's a rich man's brand." Unsheathing his own blade, Red lets her look at the hilt. The symbol of the wings and talons was still inscribed, worn and faded as it was. "So the owner of the knife's a rich man, especially if he's chucking these out willy-nilly."

"That's circumstantial."

"That's a better lead than anything else we've got." He shrugs, putting his blade back in it's case. "Otherwise we're assuming that someone out there is murdering people just to rob the kitchen knives off their counters."

"We can't discount it, but..." The more Grani thought about it, the more it made sense. Petty theft and resale was an option, but not when the knives were bloodied. They must have entered the district somehow, and a person dressed as him would have been stopped by the police near instantly. And... "He did seem familiar with the layouts of the apartment. He had an escape route planned out, but he didn't account for me."

"You know more than me. Do apartment layouts differ between both districts?"

"... Yeah." Grani slowly admits. "The ones in the uninfected districts are built larger and nicer, so they can charge more, since the uninfected have stabler jobs. The ones here are more slapdash- just like Miss Amelia's apartment."

Red tenses at her name, and Grani catches the shift in his posture. She raises an eyebrow at him, the unsaid question clear.

He doesn't answer.

"... Red?"

He takes a few moments before breaking eye contact. "She's dead."

"What?!"

"I went to visit, apartment was empty. We saw her not too long ago, so it couldn't have been any later than our last visit."

Grani looks at him, straight in the eye. "Was it a Murder?"

He turns away, looking at the floor. "... I don't know." 

There's a flash of sorrow in her own eyes, quickly refocused into further determination. Gritting her teeth, Grani frowns. "We can't let this go on. We need to end this before anyone else ends up dead."

He nods, tugging his cap back on. "You're right. We need to go on the offensive."

"Then let's go visit-"

"Not like that." He shakes his head. "You're thinking like a cop- too defensive, too reactionary. We can't possibly protect every single person at risk right now, and we don't even know if they'd listen to us."

It's the same argument as before, repeated. And that same tension stirs up in her chest, like a pulse of energy constantly forcing her forwards. Silently, she calms herself down, tries to steel her nerves and hold them steady a bit more. 

"So what do you want to do?"

The wind blows. 

It blows past the doorway. It blows through the streets, through the windows, and up into the weathered rooftops. There it howls, up against the grey skies, whirling wild and free.

Red looks up. Whatever he saw, whatever thoughts he might have had or ideas he might have imagined, none of that is asked. Only a single thought comes through. "I want to see this escape route of his. Even a general idea's enough."

Grani nods, putting the broken hilt back into her bag. "No problem. I can twist a few arms and get you some papers, then nobody can question why you're there."

His gaze doesn't leave the sky. "It's the rooftops of the district, not the streets. As long as not too many people are up there, then you don't need to bother." And with that, he looks back down. "Just give me the address."

"All right." Grani looked up towards the blowing breeze, towards the rooftops that felt of cold ceramic and clammy hands. The sky's above, and for a brief second, she wonders if those victims were there too, looking down on them all.

"Anything's better than just giving up."

Chapter Text

The rooftops are always the most barren part of a city. Whether within the high-rises of Columbia, the dusty collections of Sargon or even the neon gleam of Kazimierz, the rooftops' are always the same: Just an imprint upon the sky, a shade of the city below.

It's just the same here. Grani didn't get a good look last time, with her senses all driven towards a single target, but Victoria's just the same as the rest. She's able to follow the streets she's so familiar with using her mind, wandering around the concrete platforms that jutted out into the sky. Some of them held green patches, others haphazard sheds and ventilations, others just the same flat floor she's standing on right now. 

Lucky the sun's not out today, either- There's no protection from the heat or chill out here. Just the free winds, dancing above a city grown cold. Sitting upon a ledge as the clouds flowed by, Grani watches the people milling below. Until, out of the corner of her eye, she spots movement, a brown dot upon the rooftops, slowly inching it's way towards her. It's an easy guess to say that was Red, unchanged as always.

But a thought flits in Grani's mind.

Who WAS Red?

He'd introduced himself as Susie's friend when they went to rescue her, said he used to be an Ursus Guard before defecting. At the time, Grani thought that was enough- he was just picking up a weapon for a rescue, same as all of them. But now he's here, casually chasing down a murderer, trespassing over rooftops like it was nobody's business. Was it more than friendship that had driven him? Was there something she was missing?

Questions for later, then, when it was all said and done. Getting off the high-rise rooftop’s edge, she quickly makes her way over to Red, waving at him from her higher platform. "So you really did clamber all the way up here, all on your own."

From a ledge below, too high to jump, Red looks up at her. "I won't answer, and you can have your plausible deniability."  

"No need. You have your papers, right?" Taking out an official letter for his entrance, Grani lets it flutter in her hand for a bit before dropping it towards him. "See? Catch."

They fall perfectly into his hand. He gives them a cursory glance before stuffing them into a pocket, never to be seen again. "Thanks," He mutters, before looking upwards at the ledge where she stood, framed against a backdrop of grey clouds. "A bit of a hand up, please?"

In lieu of an answer, she extends a hand he takes easily. With a small grunt, she pulls, and he feels himself being lifted up. He's calloused, with a heavy build that didn't make him particularly easy to lift, but Grani's stronger than she looks. In no time at all, he’s pulled up to the higher ground and greeted with a satisfied smirk.

“You really are full of surprises, Grani.” He mutters, the most sign of surprise he’d ever let show. "Well, then. Lead the way."

Leaps between the rooftops were hardly as death-defying as they might have seemed. Many of the buildings in the uninfected district shared the same heights, clustered together as they were. They're as close together as cars upon a busy street, always just a hop away from another  platform.

Landing upon slanted rooftop tiles, Grani stumbles on the uneven ground before finding her footing, with Red taking a safer path to her left. Their pace ambles across like the grazing clouds, only glimpsing and being glimpsed by the milling crowds below. 

Spotting a familiar cluster of greenery, Grani directs them towards it. "And that's the garden I lost him at. I nearly slipped at that edge, and by the time I got my footing he was long gone."

They approach, but don't drop down into the garden for fear of disturbing it further. Instead, they take a wide berth, trying to track the simplest route away, the path of least resistance. Grabbing on a rusty ladder, Grani feels brown flakes crumbling in her hands as she climbs up to a higher perch, lightly tapping on the rungs as she scurries up. Red follows behind, stopping behind her to get a clearer view of the surroundings.

The direction the murderer ran was back towards the border, towards the industrial section that bordered the apartments. They track the likeliest path in relative silence, the cold of wind and stone chilling the warmth of conversation. But curiosity was creeping up on Grani like vines upon stone, the mystery of Red’s interference being too strange to discount. After another hop off a platform, she speaks. "I’ve been wondering- Why didn't you let me accompany you up here? You didn't need to break the law."

"They wouldn't have let me in anyways. Don't worry yourself on my account."

"You say that like I can just stop following the law."

The statement flies off into the open air, never bouncing into the retort Grani expected. If he had heard her, Red doesn't answer just yet. His scarf shuffles in the wind as he looks out at the city, coat fluttering in the cold air.

"Does it bother you?" He slowly asks, his pace stalling with his tone. "Holding up rules for people you know are wrong. Holding up rules that ARE wrong."

The policewoman shakes her head. "Right and wrong don't change for the sick and the healthy, and neither do I. I'll stand up for the people who need protecting, no matter what."

He goes silent, the sound of his footsteps being the only proof he's still here. Then, after a long, heavy silence, he speaks.

"Do you know about Reunion?"

Grani's first thought doesn't go to that infamous white mask, like everyone else might. She instead remembers the giant that had helped her and Carol, all that time ago. She remembers that desperate betrayal they had attempted just to survive, and the miraculous outcome afterwards. 

But how does she say that, when the world itself condemned Reunion, knew them from their murders and massacres? She frowns, and her frown is read as a refusal.

"They were the people who launched an attack on Lungmen. Infected scum from Ursus, thrown out and left to die." Red keeps his voice light, measured, like he was just recounting another dull afternoon. "And against, innocents who'd never lifted a finger against them, living their own peaceful lives."

The air is still. The sounds of the city are far below, the clouds above. Footsteps tap a rhythm into the silence, the given choice as gentle as sweet poison.

"Which side would you take?" Red asks, a hint of something slipping into his voice. But his walk is passive, and his face is still.

The choice is between the innocent and the desperate. The ones never given a chance to live, and the ones they'd rip that chance from. Hopping past a gap, Grani can see the mulling crowd below them, the waiting faces of people she'd sworn to protect. She remembers the faces of the infected long ago, despair turned to joy when they were given a second chance to live. And now, above them all, she's forced to choose between them both.

"I'd find a way to make them both happy." She finally answers, with a frown. "Neither side deserves to die, so I won't be the judge."

He nods his head, taps footsteps on stone. An answer doesn't come for a while, only a simple hum as he mulls over that answer. Then, as the grey clouds float all around them, he speaks again. "And if you were in Lungmen, trapped in-between desperate murderers and innocent collaborators... What would you do?"

Her expression only grows more determined. "I'd stop the fight. Fight, if I must, but never kill."

He scoffs. "And how would you do that?"

Blind faith. 

That answer, unbidden, floats in Grani's mind.

The world never had certainties. Victory or justice were never perfectly within reach, evil never banished completely. Each step taken's never guaranteed the last, nor the next, nor the next. But while there's still a chance and a choice, then there's always the hope good wins out.

Then, as the world falls back into motion, Grani realizes she had said her answer out loud.

Red's expression's as unreadable as ever. He digests those words without a hint of a smile or a frown, looking up to the clouds. Then, finally, he speaks again.

"It's your choice, what you believe in. But between you and me?" Red tilts his head, and feels his voice drop down lower than before. 

"You really are an optimist at heart."

She raises an eyebrow at that, but the conversation's already dead when it reaches him. 

Landing on a puddle, Grani catches a glimpse of  a falling droplet, flying off the buildings' edge. Unconsciously, she follows it's arc, looking back out. And there, on a lower rooftop, she sees a small speck. A ramshackle shed languished in the midday sun, it's doorway half-open. 

"I think I see something." She mutters, pointing at the distant speck. "Follow me."

Red gives her a long, lingering look, then nods. Without another word, they move towards the shack. 

Shacks like these weren't all too uncommon when it came to the industrial areas. Compared to the apartments, where nobles had decided that any space not being living space was worthless to them, the industrial areas were mostly repurposed as extensions of storage if they weren't left alone. It still remained mostly concrete here, closer to the ground, but here and there shacks would haphazardly jut out of the scape like brown mushrooms.

They're on the side of High Street, by Grani's estimate, in-between the industrial zone and the poorest apartments. Hopping onto the rooftop, Grani takes a good look at the particular shack that had caught her eye. It's dilapidated and weathered- that part's normal. It's doorway was swung wide open, however, and that certainly wasn't.

"No sign of forced entry.... and no marks of any companies."

"Doubt any company would have just left this here forgotten. At least, not without putting a big old chain around the place."

"Guess I'll have a look inside, then."

Grani does just that, and is met with a layer of darkness. The clouded sunlight's far from enough to light up the shack, even throwing the rotted door as wide as possible. Sticking her head back out, she glances at Red.

"Geez, it's dark. Did you bring a light?"

Red takes out a small knife, holding it up in the air. It shines in the darkness for a fraction of a second, before suddenly bursting into flame. In an instant, the shadows are thrown back, vagueness blasted away for an orange-tinted shimmer.

"Whoa!" Grani flinches at the sudden burst of heat, blinking in the light. "I... Uh... forgot you could do that."

"Then I'd say I'm doing a pretty good job being a model citizen, wouldn't you say?" Using the light as a makeshift torch, Red waves it in the air for a little while, singeing away a few cobwebs. 

"As long as you don't commit any more counts of breaking and entering." Now able to see better, Grani takes a good look around. It's sparse, as shacks go, with the rotted walls bare and barren. There are scratches on the walls, going from old to freshly marked, in a regularity that's hard to call a coincidence. The only shelf in the room was caked with dust and scattered with what long ago could have been called tools, but now were only useless pieces, stained with rust and shame.

One breath in this place fills the lungs with dust and traps the mind between wood and shadow, wavering, flickering as unsteady fire in the wind. Red steps in further, and the shadows fall back- but not all of them.

Grani frowns, and approaches that lingering patch of black. What had blended into the shadows was a simple black bag, a ratty duffel bag with it's zipper glinting silver in the firelight. She turns to Red, who nods and holds his makeshift torch closer.

zippppp...

The sound is long and drawn out, as if the bag itself felt shame in it's contents. The first thing Grani feels as she rifles through the bag is a patch of rough fabric. Pulling it out, she's greeted with a stained towel, deep patches of red almost drowning out the last few patches of white.

Red tenses slightly, his grip of the light wavering. "Throw that away, now. Don't know what other diseases might be in that thing."

Grani drops the stained towel back on top of the shelf, revulsed. Then, searching through the bag again, she's greeted with a familiar set of rags.

"Blech." She mutters as she pulls them out. They smelled terrible, and she's fairly certain they're unwashed. "At least we know the clothes were definitely used."

Red checks the rags, before shaking his head. "Hmph. It's more Halloween costume than actual wear."

"How can you tell?"

He points the knife at the bag, scattering sparks of light across the dark room. "For one, he's leaving it in a duffel bag in a shed instead of actually wearing it." Then, he points back at the non-descript rags again. "The clothes don't have any affiliations with any other factions or look like traditional wear from any land, either."

"Sargon?"

He shakes his head, pulls his scarf down a little bit for Grani to compare. The Ursus Scarf was heavy and thick in fabric- It had to have been just to survive this long. "Sargonians have lighter, breezier wear, Ursus Outcasts have thicker. The fabric here is Victorian, yet the outfit doesn't belong to anyone."

"So the only reason these exist is as a disguise..."

"And a poor one at that. Like someone who had no idea what people like us would actually wear." Red shakes his head slowly, a frown etching on his face. "What else is in there?"

The rags took up most of the space in the bag. On the bottom, the final layers of defense stripped away, a single brown notebook lay dormant, surrounded by half-opened pieces of folded paper she assumes were letters. A bit hesitantly, Grani takes the journal in her hands, feeling the hard brown cardboard covers. Then, she opens it, flipping to a random page.

It hurts.

It hurts and there's no one to go to.

They're digging into my skin. Everytime I move my arm, they cut into me and draw blood. 

There's a towel in my hands- It smells like iron and vomit. I can't throw it out- it's evidence, proof that I'm not healthy like them. I need to get rid of it soon, but... Fire makes smoke, trash can be dug through. One hint and it's over.

There's nobody to go to.

If I tell them, I might, I might as well slit give up. I can't.

I have to do something, anything.

Grani flips through the rest of the notebook, trying to find any identifying marks. "There's nothing on a name. No identity, no crest. It's all talking to himself."

"No use, then. Check the letters?"

That statement brings a pause to Grani, for a brief second. No use? A journal like this would help them decipher just what the murderer was like. They would have motivations, reasoning, an idea of what their killer was like. Why would he dismiss it so easily?

She frowns, tucks that question away with the journal. The letters are all of different handwritings, of different papers and with different inks. It's impossible to read them all in the wavering firelight, so she instead checks the recipient-

Kingsley.

Something stirs in her gut. She checks a second letter-

Kingsley.

A third, Kingsley. Fourth, fifth, all the same.

Every single one of those scattered letters was addressed towards Albert Kingsley.

Scrap papers.

There were scrap papers in the alleyway. 

 "... That's it. That's how he knew." Grani whispers, the weight of the revelation dawning on her. Then, in a burst of motion, she checks some of the recipients- 

Webb. 

Jones. 

Johnston.

"The murderer killed Kingsley." Her hands are shaking. Excitement, rage, terror? She wished she knew. "He took the letters on him, found the names of people he agreed with. Then, one by one, he went through, killing everyone he'd ever talked with."

"And that's why he was the first, wandering through an infected district. Once he had a list of names, he could target specific people in districts outside where he was." Red mutters grimly, following her train of thought. "Who else is there? We need to know."

"And the next person- That can't be right..."  

There, flickering in the wavering glow of orange fire, black ink encircles a singular name, the text below unreadable.

Councilor Angst

"One of the councilors? That's a bridge too far." Red dismissively mutters, before a fresh wave of worry sets in. "Unless... Is he planning to go out in a blaze of glory?"

"It... It doesn't make sense. Councilor Angst is one of the people pushing for Infected rights... Why? Why target him?"

"If he was a sensible person, he wouldn't have turned to murder." He shakes his head, his grip on the light tightening harder. "If word gets out of an infected trying to murder a councilor, especially one trying to help the other infected... We'd be treated no better than outcasts again."

The fire in his hands wavers, growing dim. Shadows encroach for the duration of a moment, before the steady light reestablishes itself. Then, it shifts wildly, it's wielder turning right back to the doorway.

"If he comes back, he'll know we've been here. There won't be a second chance."

Grani grips the letters, breathing a calm breath. The names of the living and the dead are folded once, twice, tucked into a safe place. Then, rising back up, she looks towards the winds, eyes reflecting the dim firelight.

"Do or die."

Chapter Text

It's finally begun to rain.

It smells of wet earth and cold winds. Trickles of rainwater drip down stony streets, flowing down like commuters hurrying by. They trickle past closed storefronts, quiet factories and dim alleys. They trickle past small gardens, weathered statues and aged estates. They trickle past a single small bus stop, where a small Kuranta looks up at the clouds, her tail swishing on her lap.

It's cool, but not cold. That's what Grani thinks, as she waits by the bus stop and the drizzle occasionally sends scattered droplets at her. The clouds have been threatening rain for so long that it's almost a relief when they drop. She hopes that's not a bad omen, but Grani's not superstitious. As long as they all worked together and everything went well, it would all be over soon. 

And with that thought, Grani looks up to the sky, taking a deep breath of the raining air. A droplet of rain slips through a crack in the roof, then a crack in her visor, to finally slide down her nose. Then, it splashes back down onto the concrete, joining the stream.

And when Grani looks back up , she sees Red once again, walking down the alley with an umbrella in hand. She waves towards him with an outstretched hand, up until he finally reaches the bench she's sitting on. He joins her on the other edge of the bench. He's distant enough to feel, but close enough that the rain wouldn't drown her voice out.

She takes a nervous, shallow breath. The anticipation of this moment is drumming on her chest, the culmination of this long chase. "It's hard to believe, but this is it. After this, we'll be finished, one way or the other. Aren't you excited?"

His scarf flutters, the extent of his reaction. If there's a fire in him, it's burning low.

"Of course, it won't be perfect, but we can change things. We don't have to worry about random killings anymore. We can maybe convince the nobles to treat the infected better, once they're all relieved. Maybe they'll even reinstate the mounted police!" The golden dream shimmers in her mind a moment, before the rainwater washes it away. "But even if they don't, I'll be happy. As long as it all goes back to normal, then nobody here's going to suffer, not on my watch."

"And you'll be content with that?"

"I'll have to be." She grins again, but this time it's only half as vibrant as it once was. "I wish it hadn't happened at all, but a wish won't bring back the dead. All we can do is grant them justice."

"Justice, huh..." His voice trails off into the sky as his hands fidget, pulling a small match out. A few seconds of holding it, and it lights on it's own, warming his fingertips. "Justice is simple, Miss. Tooth for a tooth. Eye for an eye." He flicks the smoldering match away, extinguishing the faint light in cold rainwater as it seeps down into the stones. "That's what they all say, anyways. You're right or you're wrong."

"Maybe." Grani answers, the smile of her face changing into a halfhearted frown instead. "Justice isn't just punishment, that's how I see it. It's about making sure everyone gets the same chance to live as everyone else. And as long as everyone does the right thing... we'll all get that chance, right?"

He scoffs. "But there isn't a right thing. You can only pay back what you've been given. Life for a life, kindness for kindness, hurt for hurt."  

He sighs, and that sigh is carried away by the streams of rainwater, washing down the dirty stone streets.

"We'll never stop hurting one another, infected and uninfected. Not while we live together."

"Aren't we proof you're wrong? You're infected, I'm not. I'm from Kazimierz, you're from Ursus. And yet, we've made it right up to the edge of this case." Grani turns to face him. There she sat, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye. "That's got to mean something to you, right?"

He shrugs.

Their conversation sputters, dying out as it's washed away by the gentle rain. The silence between covers them like raindrops, clammy and cold. They wait longer underneath the storm's gaze, where time seemed to both slip away like raindrops and linger like the clouds. Waiting, watching, hoping in the cold that something would happen.

Until a passerby starts to approach, hidden underneath an umbrella and the rain's veil. And yet, even underneath the rainfall, it felt oddly warm, uncomfortably so. Grani perks up at the sensation, recognizing it well.  As they come closer, she sits up straighter, anticipating their approach until they finally arrive. From beneath the umbrella's brim, two eyes emerge as Skyfire looks down at them.

"Grani. We received your message. I understand why you didn't do it through official channels, but you ought to be more judicious next time." The tip of her tail curls and uncurls, twitching ever so slightly. "You're lucky Councilor Angst is a reasonable person."

Grani winces. "Sorry, sorry! It was an emergency, is all."  

And Skyfire's expression turns more guarded as she regards the second person on the bench, the shade of his brim still lingering on Red's eyes. "I understand you're also working alongside her, Sir..."

"I won't cause any trouble. I'm here just for her sake."

The frown on her face said enough about her thoughts on that, but it was the gradually pooling heat that alarmed Grani. Getting up off her seat, she points her thumb back out at the road Skyfire had just come from. "Can we talk somewhere less... wet, at least? We're all going to soak to the bone out here."

"Very well. The Councilor won't be able to greet with you, but we may discuss the rest of the plans in his residence."

Your arm is shaking.

It's never been the same since the accident. That feeling has always been there, that sinking, rusting feeling, like the digging of claws underneath your skin. It's not safe to dig them out at work, not at home, nowhere except this forsaken shack in the middle of nowhere.

The deed's already done. It smells like iron and the butcher's market in here and the small pile of red-stained rocks make you want to puke, but it's done. The lesions won't pierce your suit, at least. Nobody's going to know.

You're safe, for now. The tip of your knife is trembling, but you're numb to the pain. You can't afford to scream. You can't afford to cry. All the wealth in the world can't save you, no. It only doomed you, after all. Eyes from below and eyes from around and eyes from above all digging into your skin, grasping little fingers searching for any crack to pull you apart and feast on the insides. 

And they won't bury you, no, not among the flowers and with a gravestone to remember you by. They'll find your corpse and burn you, or burn you alive, send the King's Wand after you and char you until you're nothing but ash, until they've burned away the rot that is you and left only their healthy city.

You have to find them first. Stab out the fingers, poke out the eyes. Cull them before they cull you, it's the only way.

You tie the bandage around your arm. There's not much life left to live, but you don't want to let go. You can pretend to be healthy a bit longer.
 

"... And that's the gist of it." 

The first impression a visitor would get of the lobby was warmth.

A crackling fireplace warmed a cushy carpet, where clean-cut wood formed sturdy chairs and a single elegant tea table. If one were smarter or more versed in the ways of the nobility, maybe they could have identified the kind of wood the table was, the make of the carpet or the craftsman who had carved the fireplace. Maybe they could have lost themselves in endless details, constantly circling about pointless topics until time no longer held meaning.

But they didn't. Reality was on their doorstep now, the clouds gathered and the storm looming. As the wind whirled outside and the fire crackled within, Skyfire takes a shallow breath. "I see. It's graver than I feared, if people are being attacked in their homes."

"And what do you intend to do about it?"

She takes a second to answer, a second too long.  "I'll speak to Ang- The councillor. If I can convince him to spare more concern for himself..."

There's a tiny scoff to her right, a brief puff of air that tousled a scarf and dissipated into the air. But when Grani turned to check, Red was just sitting there, the same as ever.

"It would be difficult, especially with this timing." Skyfire continues. "His campaign naturally requires meetings upon meetings, convincing other nobles of the benefits of his. He's set to meet with one of the Wakefields tonight, in fact. Meetings upon meetings just for the chance of change."

"Typical." Red grunts, too loud to slip unnoticed.

The air is still warm, but no longer comfortable. Skyfire raises an eyebrow, mouth contorting into a frown. "Excuse me?"

He knows he's been caught. One foot shuffles on the strands of the carpet, one eye facing her as the other is hidden. "If you aren't able to convince him, what then? Are we going to risk the city's peace over a single noble's decision?"

"When the decision involves his life or death, yes." Skyfire retorts firmly, a hint of heat slowly beginning to swell all around her. "Whatever experiences you may have had with the other nobles, rest assured that Councillor Angst is different."

A flicker of something flashes in Red's eye, hidden in his cap and stifled well by his tone. He stops his motions, but his head's still unbowed. "Forgive me. I'm just a common vagrant, after all. What do I know about how nobility works?"

The vitriol in his tone said exactly what he thought about that idea, but there was simply no polite way to call him out on it. Instead, Skyfire takes a moment to calm herself, creases in her clothes shifting as she takes a breath. "As long as you let me handle it, then rest assured that all will be fine."

Unconsciously, Grani tightens her fist. They couldn't afford this right now. They couldn't be snapping at each other's throats so close to the end. On impulse, she gets up, hoping to split them apart before things got worse. "We can't stay idle, either, so-"

"But you'll have to." Skyfire shakes her head. "If the Councilor asks for further details, it would be better if you two were here to convince him. And even if this turns out for nothing, Councillor Angst would still speak with you, Grani."

The Kuranta blinks, surprised. "What for?"

Skyfire shoots a glance at Red, who takes the hint. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he walks out the room, leaving the two of them alone. The fire in the room crackles slowly, the only sound in the room.

Skyfire waits a moment, two moments. The ears on her head twitch, as if straining to catch any sound, any evidence of sneaking or scurrying she could find. When nothing arrives, she lets a breath go, but the ambience in the room grows no cooler. "Nothing big. It's just that your perspective would be useful for certain positions he'd like to take. The testimony of an active patroller like yourself would be vital for him."

Grani waits for a follow-up, something that warranted this secrecy, but nothing came. Tilting her head, she raises an eyebrow at the request. "Is that all? I guess I'll go settle i-"

"But it's not all, Grani." Skyfire pulls her back down, her grip on Grani's arm tight with anxiousness. "Do you realize how risky you've been taking this entire situation?"

The edge in Skyfire's tone cuts Grani, unexpected as it was. "I've followed protocols and tried to keep civilians safe. Isn't that enough?"

"Allow me to rephrase. Do you truly, from the bottom of your heart, trust the person standing right outside this room?"

The weight in her question should have given Grani pause, but it doesn't. She answers as earnestly as ever. "I had my early suspicions, but he's helped me along ever since Susie's case. I know he's rough, but he's a good guy deep down. Trust me."

"You don't consider it suspicious at all?"

"I know for a fact he isn't the Murderer, Skyfire. He wasn't there during the chase, and he's given me his motivations. He wants the streets safe as much as we both do."

Skyfire takes a deep breath. "I didn't want to bring it up, but- The tunnel murders."

The fire is soft, distant. It is not absent.

"You ought to remember the incident. Not long after Susie's case, scorched bodies were found in one of the old maintenance tunnels, soon identified as gangsters under Bishmer's payroll. This terrified the noblemen worse than anything that had happened before- the fact that there were revenge killings from a population they long considered pacified. To avoid other angered citizens from joining in, the nobles brushed these cases under the rug and hoped the police force here would solve it, but..." The shadows from the fireplace waver and grow upon her face, flickering orange contrasting against the light in her eyes.  "The perpetrator was never caught. That's why this second case is so important to the police here- They fear that either the first killer had returned, or that the second one was inspired by the first."

"I remember. That's why the first thing I always do is check for arts. Nobody was going to mourn those gangsters, given the outcry over Susie, but..." The subtext clicks, and Grani stifles a gasp. "Sky, you've barely even known Red and you're calling him a murderer? Won't you just hear him out, at least?"

"This IS hearing him out, Grani. I heard your calls, and I will help. But I cannot trust a stranger with something this important." Her tone is final, her glare unchanging. "And, for the record, I doubt he would be anyone important. Fire is a powerful arts, and so my suspicions fall to a caster- certainly not someone of his ilk."  

And the room goes cold.

Fire, she thinks. She had seen Red use fire, to illuminate that darkened shack. And before then, she had silently recalled one of Susie's anecdotes, him showing off a little fire as his arts. And the sword- his sword. He carried it around everywhere, disguised within that case of his. He was a former soldier, she knew, but hadn't he retired? Did he ever say he had?

She had never made the connection, because it was Red. Just Susie's friend, the gruff Ursus who took a lot of side-jobs. Grani thought she knew him and that what she knew was enough. He worked with a lot of the infected in Caledon, and Susie was one of them. But if those gangsters were involved with Susie's case, then would he have-

A hand touches her shoulder. Warm fingers brush on her shoulder as Skyfire brings Grani right back to reality. "Please, listen. I'm trying to be serious." Seeing her stir again, Skyfire pins her with her gaze. "All I'm asking from you is your caution. There are a lot of questions left unanswered, for both of us, I'm sure. Just... Remember your main goal, Grani."

"To..." She hesitates. "To bring justice."

"To maintain ORDER. There's no justice when the streets are riled and killing wantonly is an option."

"I'll keep it in mind." She half-heartedly replies, her mind already burning with new questions. But the thought of Red and Skyfire meeting again and the distant possibility of this all being a coincidence brings her back to reality. "Just... Promise me you'll hear him out."

"If fate allows, I promise."

One wrap. One, two, three. Roll it tight, tight enough to numb your arm. Hide it underneath wrap upon wrap upon wrap, hope that the blood is stifled underneath and doesn't stain your suit. Try to lift your shoulder to slip the gauze underneath, grit your teeth as spikes of pain stab white-hot into them, stifle your throat- choke it, if you have to. Make it quick, wrap and wrap and wrap until it's tied too tight to slip away.

Then, your suit. Dark crimson, to buy yourself  time. Perfect and pristine, nice and washed. Slip it on, take a breath. Clean up your hair, your face, the stains on your fingers with towels you've yet to burn. It won't see much use after today, you think. You've never taken a life in this suit yet- you doubt you ever will after. 

Glance into a mirror. A young face stares back. Some might have called it handsome, but you call it gaunt, pale. It's supposed to be the prime of your youth, right now. Days of gallavanting at galas and dances with devils, all lost with a moment's indiscretion.  There's not much of a life ahead of you after this.

There's not much of a life at all. Not without tearing it all down.

It's soft, so unfairly soft. 

As they enter the guest bedroom where they'd be bunking for the next few days, Grani has to force herself to stay awake as she settles on one of two beds. The bed cushion feels like it's curling around her limbs as she lies down, almost successfully distracting her from the major question at hand. 

Grani didn't need to ask right away, no. The idea kind of hurt a bit, that a person her friend had trusted, a person she had trusted could just go ahead and kill and pretend as if nothing was wrong. She almost didn't want to ask, but want was nothing compared to need.

But still, not right now. 

Red's taken one of the chairs, dragging it right next to the sealed off balcony. Back turned to Grani, he just sat down by the curtains of that glass door, watching as the raindrops slid down the pane. Or was he watching, waiting for something beyond the veil of moisture? Grani didn't know.

"You should sleep."

He doesn't turn to face her. "I'd... rather not."

"You sure?" She asks, for her sake as much as his. "It's like lying on a dream."

"That's why I don't want to to."

"If you don't rest up, you won't have energy to chase them down."

"Trust me. I can muster." He grunts, keeping a low tone to avoid taxing his energy. "Between the two of us, you're the sprinter. You need more energy than me."

"I guess neither of us are sleeping, then." Propping herself up, Grani sits with one leg held up to her chest, the other still laid out on the bed. The question in her mind lingered heavy, like a weight she couldn't carry for much longer. "How do I even start this conversation...?"

"By saying something." He quietly snarks, the closest he'd ever get to cracking a joke.

Still, that was true. Nothing would change if she didn't move. And so, tensing her muscles slightly, Grani finally asks the question that was searing into her mind. "That night, before Susie left in the tunnels. You still remember, don't you?"

Red remembered- Of course he did. A glint in his eye lights the shadow of his cap, a contrast to the darkening skies outside. "I didn't do much, but yes. Avoided some goons and distracted some others so she could get running." He tilts his cap again, and the glint is covered. "Really, you and Quercus did more."

"But was that all you did?"  

Raindrops patter.

No answer comes forth, so Grani keeps talking. "We didn't see you for a day. Susie didn't see you at all when it as time to leave. We all assumed you just had some urgent business that day, but..." She trails off, waiting, watching, hoping for a response that would never come. But when he fails to answer, she keeps going. "Three days later, we found bodies in the tunnel. They belonged to the same gang identified with Bishmer, but they weren't from our rescue of Susie. They were dead, scorched almost to the point of being unidentifiable."

He's deathly quiet now, with the silence of a man who knows he's been caught in the act. There's not a trace of incredulity or surprise in his eye, just the heavy anticipation that came from a suspect before the judge.

"All I want is an explanation. Just tell me what you were busy with that day, so busy you wouldn't see Susie off. I want to hear you out."

I want to believe it's a misunderstanding.

His eyes are guarded, silent. A backdrop of clouds veil the sky behind him, flashes of lightning contrasting the shadow that surrounded him, that became him. He is a cloud in a sea of storms, an unassuming wisp hiding a bolt of lightning. And, right now, as she stared his one visible eye down, Grani felt more than ever just how little she even knew about him.

He breaks eye contact first, the pale glint in his eye fading slightly. "You deserve better than a lie. It was me."

Her breath stifles. She can't tell if she's shocked, angry, or if the suspicion she had tried to suppress ever since Skyfire's words had numbed her to it all. All she knows is that there's a pool of cold water in the base if her stomach, and she hates the feeling.

"When we found those tunnels, I wanted to take a look inside, see what else they might have been hiding. Maybe there would have been something worth salvaging, or someone we overlooked." His expression is straight, flat, but the tip of his finger wouldn't stop fidgeting. "They wouldn't go without a fight. I was just protecting myself."

"You didn't go out of your way to kill them? If they had chosen to back down, you'd have let them live?"

"Who's to say? They didn't, and I didn't."

One ear flattens down on her head as Grani frowns. "That's not an answer, Red."

His scarf flutters as Red takes a breath, the lightning strikes outside giving brief glimpses of the face beneath. "I know you pretty well, Grani- or at least, I hope. I know you know what's right and what's not, and that you won't back down off what you believe." Another strike, and his eye glints white under the thunder's glare. 

"So look me in the eye and tell me that they didn't deserve it."

And she does. Her face is framed against the storm, staring it head on. Lightning shines on her face, sharp and bold. "If they're guilty, then we'd know. They'd be punished and sent to jail."

"And are you going to be satisfied with that?" He challenges, and the storm clouds rumble behind him. "They'll go to jail, they'll come back out. Whatever's convinced them to go around kidnapping and killing won't have stopped. Nothing's going to be solved by putting everyone in a place you can't see and covering your ears until they crawl back out."

"So I'll stop them again, and again, and again. As many times as it takes to make them change. As many times as it takes to make them see reason."

"But they won't, Grani." His voice deepens, that indifferent tone giving way to a hint of anger. "Not everyone is like you. If you put yourself out there like that, then you'll just be hurting yourself. Over, and over, and over, until..."

"But that's my duty." She decides, no, has already decided. Her choice was already made the moment she joined the police, and no force in the world would dissuade her from it. "I have to believe that people can change, that there's always the chance they get better. If I decide, right then and there, what kind of person they are... Then I'd be no better than them."

And so they are. A Policewoman, and a Vagrant. A Kuranta from Victoria, and an Ursus from an unknown land. An Uninfected, and an Infected. Despite everything, they were still here.

He has nothing else to say. Maybe it was her hopeful imagination, but for a split second, she almost saw a hint of regret in his eye.

"I won't arrest you." She finally answers. "I really believe it was self-defense. But I can't just let it go unresolved, either. We'll go to the police station, ask a few questions and file a report. You'll need to be filed as a person of interest, but... you can go free right after. That's fair."

"All right. Do what you believe in." He leans deep into his chair, as if all the tension and stress had deflated that guard of his, leaving a tired man in it's wake. "I won't stop you."

That... was it, then? After this whole business was over, they could close that case too. Everything would finally be handled, and she could finally-

YAWN...

A long, slow yawn slowly forces it's way to the surface, the pattering of raindrops on the window growing louder in it's ambience. Her legs felt so heavy, too heavy to move. When was the last time she had laid down like this...?

"I'll take first watch." Red pulls his chair back around to the window, turning back to the driveway. "Don't worry about me."

"But-" An embarrassed, tired smile grows on her face as Grani finally takes the offer. She slowly sinks into the bed, feeling the warm embrace that was already nipping at the edges of her consciousness. "Wake me up in four hours, okay? Then we'll switch and you can take your rest."

And amidst the pattering of raindrops, the curling embrace of the bed, and the exhaustion that was settling in ever since that last fateful confrontation, Grani finally falls asleep.

One. Two. One. Two.

There's a certain rhythm to the sound of sleeping. It's a soft rise and fall, a consistent rhythm of ins and outs. No pause or intensifying that came with being awake, no strain that came with measuring each breath.

She's really asleep, then. Red looks back over his shoulder, turning away from the window. Grani's sprawled out over the bed, gently snoring in the same position she was talking to him with, not too long ago. As if she just closed her eyes and that was all it took.

The thought weighed on him, even as he turned back to the window. She closed her eyes, believing that when she'd open them again, Red would still be there, watching the rain outside the window. Or maybe she expected him to be shaking her awake, fresh and ready to take on the world.

A light shining in the driveway catches his attention, slowly approaching the front of the house. It's well-hidden, almost covered by the rooftops that blocked his vision and the falling rain, but it's there. 

So it's time, then.

Red gets up softly, making no unnecessary noise. His footsteps on the carpet are muffled as he walks past the bed, too soft to hear. He's by the doorway now.

He stops. He looks back.

Grani is still there, sleeping. 

There's a moment of hesitation. He steps back, approaching her silently. Then, taking the blanket by her side, he throws it over her form. It settles upon Grani like mist, gently covering her.

Grani was a good person. A just person, even.

The world needed more people like her, people to protect others like Susie, people with wide smiles and long spears and a fiery determination to always do the right thing, no matter what. If there had been someone like her in Ursus, someone like her in Reunion, someone willing to speak out against the terrible choices there... Maybe things would have been different.

But there were still limits, things Grani and people like Grani couldn't do, after all. 

What would come next was one of them.

As he leaves the room, Red twists the doorknob. But as he exits, his hand doesn't leave the doorknob just yet.

Unlike proper casters, Red's arts didn't manifest in actual flame, but heat. A caster, with proper training, could cast actual flames, using their innate arts as fuel for their attacks. People like him, however, could only brute force this, inefficiently channeling their own arts and superheating objects instead. This trick was what allowed him to set pieces of metal, such as swords, ablaze.

As it stood, a doorknob was a piece of metal.

He holds it for a second longer than necessary, melting the inner pins while leaving the exterior untouched. Then, with a twist, he tests the doorknob, noting the little clink as it failed to turn. 

He then pulls on the door, hearing the silent click that followed. By his estimate, this wouldn't stall her for long, but just barely enough. If he was lucky, he could handle this business, then run back and tell her that the murderer had fatally hurt themselves in an accident. 

If not... He hated to disappoint Grani, but this world was unkind. 

He spends a few tense minutes roaming the hallways until he finds his target- Skyfire. Red makes no attempt to hide himself, standing straight in the middle of the hallway. The caster regards him with that same cautious glare she had given him before, the question on her mind darting out like a bullet. "Where's Grani?"

"Sleeping." Red answers, well-rehearsed and steady. "The past few days have not been kind to her, have they?"

"And you?" She asks, the distrust in her face clearly evident.

"I'll be in your sight the entire time."

She doesn't even bother answering him, turning right around on her heel and marching straight to the guest quarters. Red follows behind, keeping pace, until they both reach the door. She tries to twist the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge.

Red speaks, his voice calm and measured. "As I said, sleeping. Put your ear to the door and try to listen in with those Feline ears, if you mistrust me so much."

She does just that, focusing in on the sounds within the room. If she focused, she could feel the calm breathing he had heard not too long ago. "Hm. She really is asleep..."  

She frowns to herself at that, as if she had no other choice but to trust him. But still, she retreats from the doorway, looking off at their destination. "If you want to oversee the Councilor by yourself, follow me. I'll be watching your every move."

"But of course." Red nods. Casually, he touches the doorknob, one finger on the metal. "The doorknob's a bit warm, isn't it?"

Skyfire blinks in surprise. "My. I could have sworn my arts were completely under control. I suppose that I'm feeling a bit tense, too." Skyfire takes a deep breath, running through a calming exercise. "I hope that's not an issue."

"Not at all." Red answers.

Chapter Text

Rain hammers upon ceramic rooftops.

Even a mansion of this size wasn't free of the outside world. Cold air sept through closed windows, through fogged glass and flames lit to hold in heat. The pattering pulse of piercing rain still whispered in everyone's ear- audible, yet ignorable. Here was shelter and safety. Isolation, it was not.

The room they were meeting in was a calm, if sterile place. A large window was positioned to the side, to look upon the sprawling rooftops. Not that there was much to look at, with the falling rain veiling the city under a mask of rainwater. No, he'd better just look at the two noblemen instead- He was supposed to be guarding one of them, after all.

There were four people in the room. First, the Councillor, Angst. He was a wizened sort, Red thinks, with shrewd eyes unclouded by age. Skyfire had seemingly briefed Angst beforehand on the threat, judging from the lack of surprise on his face when Red had tailed Skyfire into the room. He'd only given Red a strange look- not judging, but as if he had a suspicion confirmed just from a small glance at him.

Red resolved to stay away from him.

Next, Skyfire. She was positioned primly to the side of Angst, dutifully watching him. Occasionally, a suspicious glare would worm it's way towards Red, a quick glance that waited for him to suddenly snap and attack, before she would catch herself and turn her attention back towards the meeting. Not that Red resented the suspicion- he'd be doing the same if their roles were reversed.

Red himself leaned on a pillar, a good lunge away from either of them. He wasn't allowed to come any closer, on Skyfire's order, but being allowed into the room was concession enough. He'd been asked to keep his scarf down for this, but one look at the tip of his mouth was all the convincing they needed to keep it on.

Unconsciously, his hand moves to the same area. The tip of something sharp pokes him.

Never mind that, then. Pulling his hand back down, Red looks back at the last person: Wakefield. He's still the very model of a young nobleman, proper on all fronts. Looking at him now, nobody would have suspected him of anything.

Murder, least of all.

Red's careful to avert his eyes, only giving the speakers silent glances when he was sure they had forgotten him. 

How long had he known? Not long at all, really. He'd only had suspicions, small pieces that all pointed towards a direction.

The first one was the flower paintings. They'd all come from a particular artist, one of the victims. Barring the artist's studio, he'd only seen two of them: The one in Wakefield's office was half-finished, and the one in Amelia's apartment had been torn to shreds. He'd wondered why a person would display an unfinished painting, but if it had been taken from a dead man... Well, that would explain things, wouldn't it?

Still, that wasn't enough. There were plenty of artists in Caledon, too many to assume they had all sourced their paintings from one person. But then Red had encountered Wakefield, walking down through the infected districts on his own. Based off Grani's report and the escape route, the murderer had run right off from here and towards the infected districts. And, wouldn't you know it, he had met Wakefield there after, slinking through the alleyways.

The duffel bag was a clue as well. There was no good way to explain the change of clothes otherwise, but a hideaway to rip off his rags would have done it. The second floor office was too low down to reach the roof without a fire escape, so he'd likely still need to slink about the alleyways after changing, in clothes that didn't smell of blood and sweat.

And that's all well and good, but that still wasn't enough. Wakefield still had a reason to be in the infected districts, and it wasn't as if his was the only factory in the area of the hideaway. And, as Grani said, the killer was infected. 

But that's just the trick, isn't it? Why's a Victorian Noble living in an infected factory district, close to the mildewed apartments that went for cheap? Why's he campaigning for infected rights against everyone surrounding him, down to his teachers?  Why was the disguise so poorly put together, and the lesions being cut out so haphazardly, if the infected here knew at least how not to make the disease any worse?

Simple. It's because that Victorian Noble's infected himself. He's trapped- shunted away to a cheap office in a cheap building, and no way to reach out and buy medicines or anything. Shops had shopkeepers, and they had eyes and a mouth, too. He's got no one to learn from, nobody to go to, and nothing to hope for.

And with that, Red's pupil shifts, ears tuning back in to the conversation.

"I'm sure you understand, Councillor, that healthy eating campaigns and cleanup drives will not be the solution to our problems."

"Of course not. We both see how ineffective halfhearted programs like these can be, after all." Angst replies, calm and collected."Fortunately, I have contacts who specialize in Oripathy, ones that will be capable of bringing proper reforms."

A glint of interest from Wakefield is squashed under layers of suspicion. "Forgive me for being suspicious, but as far as I am aware, any claims of an Oripathy cure have been pure hogwash. What specialists could even manage Oripathy?"

"The same ones that Enciodes Silverash entrusted his sister to, The Radiant Knight openly supported, and Rhine Labs have collaborated with." Angst answers, letting his voice linger for a moment. "Rhodes Island.

Something seems to change. His breathing rises up, his eyes widen ever so slightly. The shadow that had long gripped his face and cast gloom over his eyes seemed to lessen, ever so slightly.  In this mire that had surrounded him, there seemed to be a saving grace, a means to save face and life.

"W... Well, that is impressive, yes." He stammers, quite uncharacteristically. "They're the manufacturers of this medicine?"

"Why, yes. I have it on good record that they're quite noblehearted themselves. Your support towards them, I'm sure, would not be wasted."

"Of... Of course." He mutters, almost speaking to himself. "I just have to meet them in person. As surety, you understand. I can't trust them unless I meet them and we have discussions..."

There's a change in his demeanor, a slight shift in tone that Red is all too familiar with. There's a speck of hope, a hint of a path for the cornered beast. There's a way to flee the trap that the world had built around him.

It's a violent surge of hope, one that told him there was still a chance at life.

What if he relents? What if he takes the collaboration, stops his attacks? 

Would that be redemption enough?

There's no answer for Red. At least, no answer beyond the blade weighing on his back. 

But Wakefield is speaking again, a frantic madness in his eyes. "So, how soon can I come into contact with them? I'm sure we're both aware that the situation is urgent."

"A week, at most." A flash of pity shines in Angst's eyes. "You'd still have to be tested, of course. For your own health and safety."

"And... They'd keep the results."

"Only for your own safety." It seemed Angst has seen it too, that strangeness in his behavior. "They cure more than Oripathy, too, if this changes your mind. A check-up from them would be quite a boon, believe me."

"There's no way around it? No method for me to keep my results?"

"I'm afraid not." Angst answers, slowly. "You have to trust that no harm will come to you."

And here's the crossroads. Wake could declare himself an infected, and tear himself away from everything he's ever known. Accept that the life he had now was as good as dead, that the only chance he had left was to sever all ties. He would lose everything, but he could live. He could turn back.

Or he could throw himself into the abyss, with all his finery. Bring a bloody retribution that aids nobody but himself, satisfies that self-serving vengeance as he throws the life he called worthless away.

His grip tightens.

His breathing goes irregular.

Until...

"I can't."

That speck of hope is gone. The only light left is the glint on the knife he draws, flashing on the tabletop as it darts towards it's victim.

Light runs low.

Lightning flashes outside, cracks in the inviolable sky.

Arts desperately glimmer, coalescence too late to reach anyone.

The piercing tip lunges, madness casting away any chance at life.

And a blazing arc swings, intercepting the strike in a singular motion.

The knife shatters, melted pieces scattering everywhere. One shard flies through the window, shattering it as a wild gust of wind fires raindrops inside like a barrage. Angst staggers back as the rain strikes him, but he's unharmed. 

The same cannot be said for Wakefield. The sudden interception had flung him off to the other side of the room, hand burnt and knife completely shattered. His digs into his coat for another one, but Red was already lunging over him, a blazing sword in hand.

He swings, but-

"Stand DOWN!"

The staff glints, and for a second, all is dark.

Then shadow is consumed by light as a blinding flash blasts outwards, shattering the silence with an eruption of arts.

A loud explosion shatters the reverie.

Leaping awake, Grani instinctively turns to the source of the noise. Through the window, she narrowly catches glimpse of the aftermath of an explosion as smoke belches out of a gaping hole in the wall.

Red- where was Red? Left, right- He's not here! 

No time to worry about that- move! Grani runs to the door, but the handle wouldn't move. Locked? No, she was inside! She tries to unlock it, but the lock wouldn't budge.

Something primal rises from inside. She wouldn't be trapped away and forced to watch! Her heel slams into the door, but it holds.

That rising warmth flares into her chest further as another kick drives into the door. She trusted him! THEY trusted him! So why?! 

The next kick is even stronger, but the door still stands.

So what was she supposed to do? Stand by, just the same as before? Plug her ears yet again and wait for a rescue? Turn away, just the same as all the other times?

"I won't!"

A steel boot shatters through the wood as the doorway cracks open, flinging the threshold straight off it's hinge as she darts right through, darting straight through the bits of half-melted doorknob stinging her. 

Whatever was waiting for her in the smoke, she'd face it, right here, right now!

It wasn't lethal, but it stung like hell. 

Tearing a burning sleeve off his arm, Red does a quick check on himself. His mouth tastes like iron and his eyes blinked from the ashes, but he wasn't dead just yet. The smoke from Skyfire's blast had flooded the room, leaving everything covered in ashen veil- or at least the sections that aren't being washed away by the rain. The window had been blown wide open by the blast, leaving only pieces of jagged glass shining.

Wakefield had been blown back towards the window, cuts of glass and shrapnel cutting and bleeding into his skin. He looked just like Red felt- they both got caught in that blast.  But as the smoke was clearing, Wakefield knew this was his only chance. Before Red could pin him down, he leaps through the window and into the rainfall. Red turns to follow him, but-

"Not another muscle!"

Glints of light break through the smoke as they clear, the deadly glimmer aimed at him now. At this range, even a near miss would be enough to incapacitate him.

Red grits his teeth. He'd assumed a caster would have taken more time before another attack, but she was fast, dangerously so. 

The smoke clears, revealing furious amber eyes, burning as bright as the blaze of her staff. She holds her weapon steady, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"You're going to let a murderer live because you think I'm a villain? Is that really-"

"Quiet!" She growls, tail bristled and eyes deadly.  "I know you're either Reunion or an Ursus Spy. Either way, you're in no position to bargain." She takes a few steps forward, holding her weapon tight. "I know how heartless you people are. Nothing's sacred to you."

"You're wasting time." Red growls, the glint of firelight reflecting on his eye. "Let me go, or live with the murders you'll find later on."

"As if you have any right to talk, murderer. Drop the weapon and lie flat on the ground, or you'll meet the fate you've long deserved."

But before Red could risk a dodge, the doorway flings itself wide open, smoke swirling around it. From it, Grani's voice rings out. 

"Skyfire!" 

Skyfire turns her eyes, and that split-second of distraction was all he needed.

Red swings his sword out, the silver arc narrowly striking the tip of her staff and redirecting the blast, sending an explosion straight into a wall.

"Agh- no!" She fires a second blast out, but Redblade narrowly dodges it as he runs out onto the roofs, quickly gaining ground as he runs out of range.

Another spark ignites the tip of her staff, but a sudden tug pulls her back as Grani rushes up ahead of her.

"Now's not the time, Sky!" Grani points to the fallen Councillor, then glares into Skyfire's eyes. "Bandage up Angst, then call the guards and fan out- don't let them get away!"

Skyfire desperately looks out to the crashing rainstorm, then back at Grani. "I... Fine! Go!"

That's all the signal Grani needs to plunge into the wall of rain, pushing past the freezing shock as her body heats up from the exertion, footsteps shattering the pooling puddles. The voids below her feet mean nothing as she leaps over the gaps, the raindrops themselves seemingly falling sideways as she barrels right through them.

There's a dim light at the edge of her vision, firelight borne by a harsh hand as it ran from her.

Gritting her teeth as the rainwater shatters down on her like bullets, she runs out towards the radiance. Her visor staves off the worst of the rainfall as it drizzles down on her, but her breaths feel moist with rainwater as it splashes around her feet and fills the very air she breathed. 

But the rooftops did not extend forever. Wakefield's path cuts off, desperate footsteps kicking a raindrops into the abyss below. He barely stops himself from falling off completely, before turning to face the reaper.

His mouth twists, no, cracks into a desperate smile. "We... We're on the same side! You have to understand! You've seen this rotten city from the ground up! You've killed for it!"

Wakefield sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the rotten city below.

"Nothing will change! Killing is the only way we can live! If we don't cut the nobles down, they'll do nothing but watch us die!"

"And if we attack, they'll turn their blades on US." The flames on Red's blade riot and roar, a consuming inferno that swallowed whole the raindrops upon it. He points it at Wakefield, the shadows on his face revealing a deadly glare. "You do not speak for the infected of this city. "

"Then if I can't speak as a noble, and I can't speak as an infected, then what am I?!"

But the reaper lunges, the blazing brand descending down as-

A sturdy bar of iron holds back his blade, two hands holding back his strike with every ounce of strength they can muster. Gray hair flings wildly as Grani looks her partner dead in the eye, teeth bared as she holds him back.

"He speaks as a person." The firelight burns on her face as well, steel-grey determination tempered against the storm. "One with the right to live."

And with that, she quickly twists her spear around like a staff, throwing Red's sword off her and landing a blow on his arm with the blunt end. She twirls it around, momentum constantly shifting, as she waits for another attack.

First business first- incapacitate Red. Between the two of them, he's the bigger threat right now.

He doesn't act immediately, standing there. But the light Grani had been using flickers as his sword extinguishes itself, cold steel melding into shadow. The sudden dissolving of the world into faded silhouettes leaves her dumbfounded for a second, but the howling wind signals her as-

CLANG!

Another crushing blow hits the guard of her pole arm before swiftly disengaging. 

Without the glimmer of flames, she could barely track which way his attacks were coming from. Instinct parries a blow, deflects another, eye and hand moving faster than her brain can comprehend. She can't take him on in a contest of strength and speed didn't matter when she was purely on the defensive, but her reaction time could at least barely hold off his assault.

Raindrops swing towards her as a mighty blow lands directly on her guard, the force of the blow sliding her back a few steps as the slick rainwater betrays her, footing under threat of collapsing beneath her. But the attack is dead-center, the flat of the blade trembling as it made headway against her spear's hilt. She can't slide the attack off, not without risking her fingers. All she can do is brace as the heavy strike pushes her back.

But Wakefield- he had seen the deadlock. As soon as both of them clash, he darts to the side, past the now unguarded side and away from the ledge. A panicked gust of wind, and he was gone.

But Grani only has a few moments to react before a sudden surge of strength goes into their lock, Red pushing against her with nothing but pure brute force. She feels the wind rushing behind her as she's thrown back, moments before slamming her spear into the ground and stopping the momentum.

But he was already moving as well, sword reignited as he jumps past the gaps and towards the murderer. Wiping the rainwater out of her eyes, Grani feels the breath in her body burn hot as she jets off after them.

She tries to run past Red, but he leaps forward, twisting in midair as the blazing blade swings low. The rainwater pooled below evaporates with a mighty hiss, a burst of steam swelling and enveloping her entire vision. She charges through, but they had made a turn in the mist- now distantly ahead in this fatal race of theirs. 

Without even slowing down, Grani slams her spear into the ceramic again, using the pole as a pivot to swing her right back into the race. She makes a giant leap as the staff twists in her hands, a massive overhead strike that-

SLAM

-he barely blocks, flames vanished as he barely puts his guard up. He slides back against the concrete as she slides forward for a split second, eyes and weapons locked, before he throws his sword up and flings a kick that she blocks, but without anything to anchor her she flies off and barely lands safely. The rain she had so glibly ignored before was hammering down even harder, nerves growing cold as the wind chilled the water coating her. 

But that wouldn't stop her. Her breath's burning in her chest, the only warmth she needs. 
 
She sees the base of a ladder in front of her, Red just barely reaching the top. A hint of a red eye glints behind his cap before a wall of flame cuts him off, his blade cleaving through the ladder as Red kicks it down. Gritting her teeth, Grani dodges the falling steel as she bounds to another rooftop adjacent, trying to keep pace with them from a lower elevation.

She can't get up there right now, but she can keep pace. The glow of his blade was reignited as it blazed against the rainstorm, guiding her eyes as footsteps fly across pavement and air, searching for platforms higher and higher. Past a ledge, up a fire escape, through a rickety platform until she's one jump away from the top.

She makes a leap, but her legs fall short as she begins to plummet. One arm launches out and snags the ledge, but sharp jolts of pain lance through her fingers and arm as she barely stops.

"Ggh!" She grits her teeth as she dangles above the edge, but the pulse in her blood roars as Grani pulls herself back up. Her feet find the rain-swept ground as she runs ever forwards, searching for the light that signaled death. And, as if in response, it burned even brighter as the sound of shattering metal rang out, bits of molten steel flying through the air like shooting stars.

She runs up, and as her pulse pounded louder and louder, it felt like time itself had slowed down. The world before her had grown clear and sharp, like a moment caught in a snapshot.

The unjust blade towers above, descending like an executioner's axe.

The suspect cowers below, sentenced even before a trial.

Frantic footsteps splash against the rain, swifter than the north wind.

And a final, desperate lunge, feet ascending off the ground in a reckless gamble.

But she makes it.

Grani collides with Wakefield first, head and shoulders slamming straight into the side of his gut as they both sail out of the way of the blade. It cuts into empty air, it's wielder only catching glimpse of a silver streak as the blade strikes the floor and melts the pavement.

The wind flapping behind her, Grani's eyes widen as triumph gives way to panic, them sailing off the ledge and into a nearby windo-

CRACK

Sharp gashes of pain cause Grani to wince in pain as they smash straight through glass and into the open air, a brief second of vertigo jolting through before a heavy slam against the concrete almost sends her into shock. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts but she has to stay awake.

Teeth bare as she forces herself back upright, staggering to her feet as she pushes herself up with her arm. It's not broken, luckily, but she shouldn't be using it anymore than necessary.

Silently, she checks behind her. Wakefield was knocked unconscious by the fall, but he was still breathing. At least now, he wouldn't be running anymore. That only left-

A heavy thump echoes throughout the warehouse.

In the middle of the concrete floor, moonlight  pours through the shattered window and  illuminates the battered silhouette, now at eye level with her. Heavy footsteps pace forward, slow, steady, accompanied only by the sound of metal scraping stone.

She can't fight him. It's taking all her strength to stand up. Each breath feels like a struggle to push out, each blink of her eyes a gamble against closing entirely. The rainwater is in her clothes, on her skin, sapping the warmth around her as it poured down and she felt colder and colder.

She's still standing. She's still here.

It's all she can do.

Red steps forward, out of the moonlight. He's subsumed by shadow, the flame on his sword only illuminating the folds of his clothes and the cold of his glare. The blade in his hands scrapes against the concrete, the final knell of an executioner. 

His gaze looks to the crumpled body, still breathing, and Grani, still standing in his way. The flames on his blade slowly falter as the rainwater washes it away, the only light left the glint in his one visible eye.

"Stand down, Red." Grani grips her spear tighter, hoping against hope that there was some well deep inside her, something left to give her one last burst of energy. "I'm begging you. Please, stand down."

And from the dark, a voice answers.

"You can leave." He rasps, his voice jagged as it breaks in-between breaths. "Just walk out the door and let me do my job. He'll never take another life again."

"And where does that leave you? I don't want to fight you, Red."

"I don't want to, either."

But he doesn't let go of his sword.

Grani holds her spear tight, firmly in place. She stands tall, as a policewoman, no, as a knight should. "I'm standing against you. I'm protecting a murderer. Does that make me evil, Red? Is that the justification you need?" She tightens her grip, hoping she stood firmer than she felt. "Because both you and I know I'm not leaving."

Was it vengeance in his eyes? Was it bitterness? From this distance, all she could see was the ember-red glow of his eye as his words fall out. "This won't change Caledon for the better, Grani. Either they let him go because he's a nobleman, or they pin it on his infection and take revenge on us."

"And when they do, I'll stand with you. If they choose to take revenge, I'll fight them, every step of the way." She wipes the rain from her eyes, the light within shining steadfast. "Just the same as here, against the same injustice."

"This isn't injustice, Grani. This is a necessity." Embers trail across the edge of the blade, barely suppressed. "It's his life or ours."

"It's his life. His choices, his consequences. You aren't part of that."  

But Red is still there. His blade is sharp, and his gaze is cold. And Grani knows she can't forever stand here, countering his questions. Voice sharpening, she goes on the attack.

"Is this what Susie would want? Do you think she'd be happy, knowing you're slaughtering people without a second thought?"

The mention of Susie lights something in his eye, a split-second of a light spark that falls back into darkness. "I'm doing this so that she never has to." His voice hardens, almost coming off as growls. "Thousands of people like Susie get beaten down every day because of selfish people like him, people who've never considered anything beyond their own skin."

"And is that how you'll justify this?" Grani demands, voice low. She knows the one she is defending is unjust, a murderer of their own. And yet- "Eye for an eye just means we'll all go blind. Killing him won't answer anything."

"So what's your plan, then? Put it on the news, same as what happened to Susie? Get the noblemen all riled up just like before?" His voice hardens, tightens with a truth long known. "Infected and uninfected, it won't change. We'll never stop hurting each other, Grani. Accept it."

"I refuse."  She growls, a surge of defiance rising within her as her voice rings out, burning with all the energy she can muster. "People can be blind. People can try to build up walls and shut out voices and hole themselves away. But that doesn't mean that the world will let them. It doesn't mean that we're free to hide away and prove them right!"

He doesn't say anything as the lightning flashes outside, but for a split-second, the shadows are banished from his face. The glare of a cornered young man looks back at her, tight, desperate. Then the lightning dissipates, gaze falling back into darkness.

The thunder crackles behind her, but Grani's voice calls out louder. "And as long as I'm standing here, you're wrong. Because it means there's still someone to stay your hand. Someone to prevent you from making the wrong choice."

"Then if I'm just a murderer in your eyes, then fight me like one." Red takes a step forward, the red glow below his cap glinting. "Because if you won't move, then I will."

That's his ultimatum, then. But Grani has yet to make hers'.

"When I joined the guard, I made a promise. I said I'd protect the weak and face the unjust. That I'd stand for what's right, no matter what." 

Grani stands proud against him, defiant. Hopeless, exhausted. Each and every trick played, all plans shattered and lost.

But she's still standing.

 "I'm keeping that oath."

"Then move."

Grani shifts her footing, putting the weight back on her feet instead of her spear. 

Then, deliberately, she opens her palm out, letting the spear clang on the ground. The wind blows through her hand, through her ponytail that flies out like a defiant banner, through the shattered window and the city she protected.

She's emptyhanded now, standing against the man she once called a friend. 

"You'll have to kill me."

This was it. Her final gamble.

This was no longer a fight, a desperate clash of arms where each step invited death. This was no longer righteous retribution on a worthess soul, or a justified killing for the sake of the many.

It would be murder. Plain and simple.

And she watches, waiting with bated breath for his judgement. Was this worth it? How much would he burn away to protect his vision of this city? The life of a murderer was forfeit- was the life of an innocent? 

Was her blood worth it?

"... Fine. You win."  

Those words come out as a whisper, before a small clang resounds. The pale blade falls to the ground, followed by a heavier thump as Red drops down on the ground himself. He tugs his scarf away, throws it on the floor. Beneath is a tired man, soaked, scarred, beaten down and exhausted. He barely looks at his sword, lying just out of reach. 

But Grani was still standing. Her breaths were coming in, heavy and quick. Her heart pounds in her chest, thumping relentlessly, and her vision is indistinct. The words take a few seconds to reach her, followed by a few more.

"I... I don't want to kill you, Grani. Is that so hard to believe?"

And only then does it register- she's won. She's managed to talk him down. There'd be no murder, not today.

It's only then when she allows her legs to give way, to drop her guard and sink to the ground, breathing hard as she tries to prevent herself from falling asleep. It's taking her conscious effort to not close her eyes, not to surrender to the exhaustion and slip into unconsciousness.

They spend a few moments like this, slipped into an uneasy truce. Without his coverings, Grani could see the crystals that had formed on the side of his cheek, the scars and cuts that belied a  harsh life. This has been the clearest she had ever seen him, battered and scarred as he was.

Red breaks the silence first. His voice is haggard, only loud enough for her to hear. "... Now what?" 

"Skyfire's on her way. She's not going to forgive you." She answers, the vibrance in her voice gone. "You should make yourself scarce before she arrives."

"And you?"

She's tired. She's tired, and heavy, beaten and battered, cold and wet and there's nothing left for her to give. Droplets of water were slowly hitting the ground, darkening the concrete. Not raindrops, not when they were inside, not when she's too tired to hold them back anymore. 

She did it. She solved the case. This was the happy ending.

So why did her chest feel so heavy?

Slowly, Red realizes she wouldn't be answering. That there wasn't the strength left to. Silently, he staggers to his feet. He takes his sword up, sheathing it back before she could misunderstand, before slowly walking away, leaving them behind.

But he stops. Words come out as his back remains turned, as if too ashamed to face her.

"... Quercus' place. Two days from now. If you want to talk." He stops, as if uncertain of himself, but says one last thing. "I'll forgive you if you don't."

Amidst the tears that were threatening to pour out, Grani chuckles softly, finding one last bit of energy left. "Shouldn't I be the one forgiving you...?"

"... Yeah." Red admits, slowly. "You're right."

He turns around again.

He opens his mouth.

But there was nothing else to say.

Chapter Text

The next few days go about in a haze.

Grani hadn't been fully cognizant when Skyfire had arrived. She had managed to get to her feet and secure the unconscious Wakefield, but that was the extent of her memory. The rest of it- Skyfire's arrival, transport back to the mansion, the immediate aftermath... It had all melded together in a slurry of sensations much like mud on her shoe. Skyfire had handled a lot of the things Grani wasn't in the state to do- immediate reports and legal paperwork.

"It's the least I could do as thanks." She had said.

There were more words said, praise for her valor and questioning to where the other murderer had gone. Grani didn't have an answer to give for that. It would be easy to say he had vanished in the night, or that him leaping into the rainfall was just a daring escape and that they had never clashed. It would be easy, but it wouldn't be right, simply because it wasn't true.

Red had betrayed her. Gone behind her back and attempted to kill someone.

They had left her alone in the guest bedroom once it was clear she wasn't ready to talk. Skyfire had left last, giving her a glance of pity before leaving. 

And so the two days passed. 

She was still staying at the mansion, in the guest bedroom Angst had provided until they could get all the legal proceedings done. Convenient for her to stay here for now, they said. Just in case she needed to testify for something, after all.

They said nothing about the other witness. Replaced the damaged doorknob pretty quickly, painted over the cracks in the frame from when she had kicked it down. Grani apologized, of course, but they had waved it off as trivial compared to what she did after.

Really, they were waving a lot of things off. Nobody had been sent out to hunt Red, nobody to alert anyone else. Grani was silently thankful for that. She thinks. It's hard for her to think about Red at the moment, hard to reconcile the quiet yet polite man at the bar to the streetwise guide that had accompanied her, and finally to that hateful Avenger, bearing a flaming brand for his own execution of justice.

She wonders if she has to tell Susie. She doesn't quite want to, to be honest to herself. Susie didn't need any more trouble in her head, not after what happened last time. She might even blame herself if she learned about the tunnel murders, and Grani didn't want that.

She'll have to know eventually, but not now. Not until-

But the train of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door. The doorknob fidgets as it twists right open, the tip of a cat ear first poking through before Skyfire follows it in. She twists the doorknob once or twice, just to make sure it worked, before giving her attention over to Grani.

"How are you doing?" She asks, with the twist of a smile that hadn't grown there naturally. Carefully, she pulls up a chair to sit next to her, leaving the bed all to Grani.

"Good! Good." Grani answers, maybe a bit faster than she'd like. Impulsiveness was a vice she hadn't grown out of just yet, unfortunately. "I'm just glad the whole case is over now..."

But the mention of that brings a tension to the air, instead of the lightheartedness Grani had hoped for. Skyfire's tail curls and uncurls around the chair leg as she looks away. "Well, not quite. There's still a choice to make." 

That final word, choice- it had been the last thing Grani had expected to hear. Not much liking the implication of the word, she slips into a frown. "A... choice?"

Sky clearly hadn't wanted to jump into it so fast. It was a heavy topic to drop on someone, especially if the person was still resting after such a chase like that. But, still, it was too late to turn back now. "Wakefield is currently waiting in a private ward. We haven't turned him in to the Caledon Police Force yet." Skyfire shifts slightly, before looking Grani in the eye. "Angst believes that the decision should go to you."

But Grani's own eyes furrow further, not quite following. "Decision? Sky, I'm not a judge. My only job was to arrest him and let the courts judge."

"He's infected. He could be sent to Rhodes Island under medical reasons, if you deem his condition severe enough. Or he could be sent to jail, serving a life sentence. He's attacked a councillor- None of his family members would be willing to risk their positions saving him." 

It was much more than a medical report, Grani knew. The conditions of jail would practically be a death sentence, with how the jails were operated. He would only have a scant few years left to live as the oripathy went completely unchecked.

Maybe that was fair. The victims had lives, too, and he had cut them short as well. Let him pay with his own life. But was that justice, or just the part of herself that wanted some sort of retribution?

She didn't know. She wasn't ready to do this, not yet.

Let her be a little bit selfish, just this once.

"Give me a day."

Skyfire sighs, warming ever so slightly. "All right. A day, then."

Grani flashes back a half-hearted smile even as she gets off the bed, slipping her coat and visor back on. There was still someone she needed to talk to, before all this ended. Someone she needed to see.

But as her fingertips touch the doorknob, Sky's voice calls out.

"Just... Don’t hesitate, please. Make the right choice."

All it took to recognize Quercus' bar was its smell.

There's a herbal scent that lingers around the place, never quite going away. On busy days, the smell of alcohol would overwhelm but never quite extinguish it, always reminding you with a whiff of fragrance in the smallest of places, just barely out of reach. When it was empty, though, the smell of morning dew and fresh herbs ran free, the scent of Quercus' work drifting all throughout the building.

Grani had wondered whether the bar would have been empty, but the smell of a fresh field of grass quickly answers her question. Inside the bar, the warm lights were on and the fireplace was crackling, a pleasant sort of warmth compared to the gloom of outside. A bouncy ragtime tune put the finishing touches on the place, as if she'd finally found a place to throw her shoes in the rack and kick her feet up.

Hm. Grani mulls on this, even as she sets her spear back down on the rack outside. She'd love to do just that, really. Pushing the door open, she hears fragments of a conversation drifting through the bubbly tune.

"For a while, it felt as if you lost your way."

"... I've been losing my way my entire life, marm."

"But at least you haven't lost yourself, and you're here right now. Isn't that something?" Quercus' ears twitch at the sound of the creaking door, as she turns and beams at the newcomer. "Grani! Good to see you."

Both eyes fall on Grani as she waves back, strands of her tail trailing on the floor as footsteps clop forwards. Red makes eye contact, but neither of them take the first word.

It's funny. To Grani, he's always been so hard to read, always just a faint step ahead of her, always a veil of some kind that hid his intentions away. The only person who could read him at all was Susie, and once she had left there was nothing to do but trust him.

But right now, she was almost certain that the feeling in his bones was shame, or something similar. He sits there, waiting, like a man before the judge.

"Take all the time you want. The bar's closed for the day." Quercus finishes wiping specks of something off the countertop before giving Grani a small smile. "I was just here to keep him company. Don't be too harsh, all right?"

And with that, she leaves. Now alone, Grani pulls up the bar stool one space away from him, more distant than she was before.

"Are you hurt?" Red asks, still facing away. A silent side-eye scans her quickly, looking for any injuries or bruises.

"I'm fine." She says this with a lack of luster, the half-hearted mumble people used to get others off their case. "Just a bit sore. I'll be fine."

He hums, mulls. 

There's a heaviness in the air that she can't quite place. It's an old adage, but it feels just like rainclouds, holding up the drops until they couldn't anymore. Grani's tired of it. She's tired of all the doubletalk and held cards, of all the things that people thought but refused to say to her face. She's tired of being called a fool for holding to what's right, and she's...

She's tired.

She's just so very tired.

"How long were you planning on it?"

Red's eyes widen slightly, his iris darting away. He takes a moment, as well as a small swig of the drink on the counter.  "... Ever since that alleyway. I thought I'd be helping you along, up until we'd split ways. Didn't think we'd actually come to blows."

"And you could live with that?" She asks, maybe a bit sharper than intended. Not that it matters. She had the right to be angry. "You were just going to sit there until we met again and pretend that nothing had happened?"

"... We wouldn't have met again, if I had my way."

The weight of that statement bears down on them both. The frown on Grani's face slowly loosens as she looks at him. He's staring down at the glass, looking at the rippling contents instead of anywhere else. There's not a glint in his eye, not even the self-righteous flare of someone convinced they at least were doing the right thing. 

For a split-second, Grani just wonders what exactly Red was, and how he got here. Did he care or not? Were they ever really friends, or had he just planned on using her all this time? If he hadn't cared at all, they wouldn't be having this conversation, but if he did care, then why was he so willing to let them all go?

"This fight isn't yours alone, either. You know that, right?" Her anger hadn't faded away, not completely. But it felt like some weight in her chest had loosened slightly. "You can't just be a lone wolf the whole time. Not everything can be up to you."

He thinks about this, arms rested on the countertop. "In the end, that's the difference between you and me." He sighs, and for a moment, Grani could feel the weariness in his bones. "You think we all want the same thing, in the end. That we can rely on each other and they can rely on us. That as long as we're all fighting for the same thing, we can trust each other wholeheartedly."

"And you believed the only person you could ever trust was yourself."

Red just shrugs in acceptance, a motion in his shoulders that doesn't even reach his arms. "I don't want to tell you that you've done wrong. Far from it. You've held on to your morals, and that's more than a lot of us can say about ourselves." 

"Does the guilt ever eat on you?" She asks, though it's plain to see. Seeing's one thing, hearing it's another.

"... Sometimes." He admits. "We close our eyes and pretend that the people we ignore have stopped being people. We put names on them and they put names on us, labels drowning out the people until all that's left are targets." He drinks the last of the dregs, downing his cup and slamming it onto the table. "That's the easiest way to take a life. To forget you're taking it in the first place."

The air's heavy. Descriptions of infected and uninfected and noble and commoner dance in the air, piles of tangled names and labels drowning out the ones beneath.

"... You still remember my question? About Reunion?" Red asks, and Grani nods. "Think about it again. Desperate thieves, and innocent collaborators. What would you do?"

She understands the question now, better than she could have before. They're facing the exact same thing right now, after all. The city had left Wakefield to die- so was he right in lashing right back out? 

Grani sighs deeply. She'd never wanted to be a judge, really. "... What would you?"

Her eyes go to him as he blinks, a bit surprised. Slowly, he shifts himself away ever so slightly, arms crossed on the countertop as he stares down on it, not quite seeing her.

"I've thought about it. Quite a lot, in fact." He begins. His words come out slowly, almost like an confession. "Life isn't a justification, just a motive. Self-defense only goes so far. I understand why he's done it- better than anyone. But I also know that burning it all down just leaves you with ashes."

There's a kind of strangeness in his tone, an ache that hadn't fully left him. He's still speaking, but Grani wasn't sure it was towards her anymore.

"... I can't let it happen again. Can't let another self-righteous murderer burn a city down just because they thought it was the only choice. Can't let our... those mistakes be repeated all over again." He sighs, catching himself with a shake of his head. "If it were up to me... You already know."

"But that isn't fair, either. Stepping back and letting yourself be trodden over your entire life can't be. Even if the victims never cry out, someone has to." Grani answers, with all the confidence of someone who's seen both sides. But it's short lived, as she remembers who they were talking about. "I just... I just wish he didn't take the path he did. This would have been so much easier otherwise."

A difficult silence falls. 

Wakefield wasn't right. Reunion wasn't, either, not when they had marched into Chernobog and massacred so many. Even Big Bob hadn't been in the right, either, when he decided to double-cross her for the treasure. That was plain as day to see, and plain for the law to decide.

And yet, she had chosen to spare him. She chose to believe that he was a good person- that he would choose to do the right thing if the world would allow him. That, if the world would let them, people would always do what was right.

... Did she still believe that?

"You've seen both sides." Red turns to her, and his scarf shifts. The smallest hint of an originum shard peeks out over the fabric, the hint of his imperfection. "Think there's any hope left for us?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? If he had asked her this, at the beginning of this case, she would've answered quickly, so quickly. It wouldn't even have been a question, much less the massive one that loomed over her now. Was there hope? Was there still a chance at peace?

"I still believe so. I still believe in people like us. As long as there's people like you and people like me... Then there's always the chance we can talk things out." A small breath leaves her nose as she steels herself. "People like Angst exist, people who can see past all the fearmongering and break through. Things can still change. We can still change things."

Red's eyes widen ever so slightly, before gently closing. He turns back away, lowering his head a little as he hesitates to answer. 

"You really are an optimist. But... I don't think that's a weakness." He loosens his shoulders, a breath slowly dispersing. Grani can't see his face, but she could almost imagine a small smile beneath the scarf. 

She wants to say something, but doesn't know what. Does she thank him? Warn him? Ask him about Susie, or what to tell her? Would he care, if she asked?  She should be mad, should be relieved, should uphold the law and arrest him but spare his life and let him go. What happens now?

A small nudge brings her back. Retracting his elbow, Red gives her a small glance.

"Don't waste any more breath on me. Spend it on the things that matter." He waits for a moment, as if expecting her to respond immediately. When she doesn’t, he goes on, his voice low and steady. "You've always known what was right- better than me, to be honest. And, right now, you've seen both sides of the coin. Infected, Uninfected, Noble, Commoner, you've heard us all. Whatever you choose to do... I trust it." He stops, waiting, as if wanting to say more himself. But, as always, he leaves with half an answer and a few veiled words. "I'm sure you still have things to finish, so I won't waste any more of your time. It's been fun, Grani."

Grani blinks.

She smiles.

"... It sure has, Red."

It smells of antiseptic and detergent.

Pushing the glass doors open, Grani feels a burst of air-conditioned wind wash over her as she sees crisscrossed grids of white. The clinic was empty and clean, well maintained but rarely used.  There's a looming sense of hollowness to the entire thing, as if the clinic itself hadn't fulfilled the one thing it was designed for.

Pages flip to a close as Skyfire spots her. Putting the report away, she walks up to Grani, the latent heat around her making the chill a little more manageable. "He's in Room 1. He's handcuffed to the bed and your chair's just out of reach, but still, be careful." She crosses her arms, looking out the window. "I'll wait out here until you're done."

"Sure." Grani nods, but she doesn't go just yet. Instead, she turns her head, looking back. "And, Ethel."

Skyfire looks up, eyes slightly widened.

"Thanks, really." She tilts her head, giving a little tired smile. "Couldn't have done it without you."

And in response, Skyfire gives a small smile back. "... I'm just doing my job. Go on, get your interrogation over with."

And with that little hint of encouragement, Grani heads inwards.

The clinic isn't too large. Just two measly rooms, well maintained, or at least maintained just enough to keep appearances. After all, why would the healthy need healing? Why spare resources on the dying? The reasoning didn't make much sense, but neither did the world.

Still, he's in the left ward, just an unlocked door away from a resolution. Grani walks up, puts her hand on the hollow plastic. The questions in her mind are neatly loaded and primed, and she feels about as ready as she'll ever be. The talk's not necessary, not by a long shot, but after all that's happened, a little bit of closure is justified.

Without hesitation, she pushes the door open. 

Wakefield's awake. There's no response, or acknowledgement of her existence. If he stares out the window, looking towards the sky, maybe he could pretend this was all a falsehood. Maybe she would leave, and he could be left alone to die on his own terms.

But she's done playing along with the whims of others. Coming closer, she gestures to his shoulder. "Let me see."

"See what...?"

"The lesions." She replies. "I've been around other infected before. I can check for you."

He is motionless for the span of a second, short sleeves drifting by the fan as resentment bubbles beneath. Hands grip the fabric as he jerks up the  sleeve of his hospital gown, and Grani crouches down to check on it.

It takes her a moment to find them, and that was a moment too long. There, on his shoulder, a few black specks were affixed to his skin, like grains of black sand. All around it, gashes and scars littered what should have been smooth skin, more horrifying than the actual lesions themselves. The thought that a person could do this to themselves... It made her sick.

"These aren't too far along." Grani tells him, and that was true. But, at the same time, it felt far likelier that he would cut an artery of his on accident after frantically cutting out every lesion he could. "A few suppressants every day could have slowed these..."

If the assessment brings him any joy, he does not show it. Most likely, it did not. The severity of the infection mattered less than the state of being infected. Whether or not death was months away or tomorrow did not matter in the eyes of Caledon- all that mattered is that you would die.

Grani knows that. Her face is calm, brows slightly furrowed as she stares down the person behind all this chaos. There's a glint in her eye as she looks him right in his own, a speck of life that still remains unextinguished. She knows the reason behind, but he should at least have the chance to explain himself.

"Why?"

"You know why." He answers. There isn't a light in his eye or a flit in his voice anymore, just a monotone acceptance. "You've spoken to the people of this city. You've seen how they treat people like me. There was never another choice."

"And to you, that was reason enough...?" A flicker of righteous anger smoulders within, but not enough to burn. She regards him, waiting, watching, hoping for an explanation.

"I know it was wrong. I know people like you think I'm scum, that I've never thought of anything beyond my own skin." His voice tightens, hardening slightly. "What else could I have done? Wait until the lesions grew too big and they outcasted me? Pray for mercy I know isn't there?"

"Their names. Do you even remember them?"

She whispers, and yet it sounded louder than a shriek. His voice wavers and halts, broken by the weight of that one statement. He doesn't understand. He doesn't want to understand. A blank stare is all he can offer.

"You've read them on the letters, planned for their deaths. Can you remember them?" She asks, and it's such a simple question. "They're gone now, after all."

The beeping of the monitor lingers as the room drains of words. Silence is the only defense against the questions at hand, and it is frail against the truth they both knew. He looks away, bares his shoulder as he turns his face. What good was a motive as a shield?

"Did life get any easier, after you killed them? Because, if anything, people only grew more scared." Her eyes go to the sand-like specks on his shoulder, those tiny hints of imperfection. "Do you think they'll be scared of you as a nobleman? Or as an infected?"

The answer was obvious. Infection overrode everything else a person had, everything they were. Knight, soldier, noble, mercenary, none of it mattered. If you were an infected, your titles were as good as ash on your fingertips- just the burnt remains of something you used to be.

Did you accomplish anything beyond killing innocents?

His reaction is muted. Deep below, he knows this, has known it deep within in a lurking corner of his mind he'd tried to drown out with each plunge of his knife. There is no solution, there is no escape. But anything was better than nothing, any step forward a salve for a mind trapped in a withering body.

He knows this. He knows, and yet he went through with it. And now he's here.

"What do you think you deserve?"

He has an answer, knows it clear as day. If he were to judge himself now, he knows the verdict he'd give. But the last hint of self-preservation holds his tongue back, one final act of cowardice."... Why even bother asking me?" He mutters, turning away. "Just lock me up already. Go make your report and leave me to die."

"... That would be the easiest way." She answers, even as she silently admits it to herself. Just turn her back away, wash her hands clean, and let the system leave him rot. Let him face the crimes he committed and endure what he put on others. But... something held her back.

Some would call it mercy. Some would call it softness.

But to her, this would be the closest thing to justice.

"It's not the one you're taking."

And, for the first time in their stilted conversation, his eyes widen. Resignation gives way to shock, then cold fear as the future he thought he knew wavers. Even in death, there was at least the comfort of certainty, but not here. Nothing but the terrifying unknown.

But Grani's mind was made up. It had already been, as soon as she saw the lesions, and all that was left was her judgement. "Your crimes will go on public record. Each and every murder you've committed, each and every person you've chosen to kill. They will all know it was you, and they will know they don't have to fear you anymore. And... They'll know why you did it. They'll know what you are."

The implications are clear as day- This was the end of his life. He would be disgraced and outcasted, disowned by every one of his family and peers. That inevitability, long put off, was now settling in with each beep of the heartbeat tracker, growing louder and louder.

"That's the only way you'll be allowed to leave for treatment." Grani states, as the sunlight pours in from the window. It is blinding, harsh, just like the world outside. To be judged like this would be to be cast into that world, stony and unyielding. It was exile, in all but name- thrown to a landship he had never known and forced to rely on the graces of people who knew what he was. "If the records don't list you as an infected, you won't be allowed to leave. You'll lose everything, but it's the only way for you to live."

"You- You can't." He mutters, voice growing ever more frantic. "My family, my life-"

"You'll be alive. You'll have a chance to try and make things right."

Grani lowers her voice, eyes boring straight into him. 

"Isn't that better than what you've given them?"

Was that the right thing to do? 

The question weighs on Grani's mind as pattering footsteps trot out of the clinic, wandering out onto the streets. There's no clear goal for her, not right now. There's nowhere to go, and nothing to do.

... Nothing to do. That was right. The case was over- both cases, she hoped. There wouldn't be any more killings, and the people could go back to their lives. Their lives would all go back to normal. 

That still rankles on Grani, even as she looks upwards at the towering rooftops and remembers that desperate chase. In a weird way, she almost understood where Red was coming from. The circumstances wouldn't change. Infected and uninfected would continue to hurt one another, the latter pushing the former and the former lashing back out. No matter if she'd arrested him, let Red kill him, let him go, or any other option she could have taken, the fact was that the city had been the one to push him to this edge.

Edge. The thought brings her pause, as her footsteps slow down. She had dangled over edges too many times these past few days. Hands reach up, unclipping the visor as she brings it down to look at. It's still cracked, the fault line running through it like a thunderbolt. A bit like her, maybe. She hadn't made it out unchanged, either, and it still feels so heavy. 

An impulse stirs within, and both hands push on it a little, just to see if it would snap in two. But cracked as it was, it still holds steady- Just like her. Weathered, a bit battered, but still standing. 

That gives her a bit of hope. She's changed the mind of one person. Maybe, with the judgement call she'd made, she could change two. And, little as it was, that was a victory. People could change for the better. And, maybe... that would be enough to make a difference.

After all, she’s no judge. It’s not up to her to change the fates of the world or find solutions to problems that have haunted the world since before she was born. All she has is two feet, a city to guard, and the chance to help one more person.

She looks up. The rain had stopped, sunbeams slowly peeking through the clouds. The clouds that had veiled the city were dissipating, light piercing through the grey ceiling. The storm had passed, the air was fresh, and at least for tonight, everyone could rest easy.

And so Grani walks on, towards a more hopeful tomorrow.