I walked toward Vestière Noir again.


    All eyes were on me. The crowd’s gaze closed in around me like the petals of a flower. But the real danger… was hidden within those petals. And I wasn’t even aware of it yet.


    The white sign…


    The wind rustled the bag in my hand. Inside were clothes I was supposed to deliver—maybe for a final inspection, who knows?


    But then the wind shifted.


    And in that moment, I realized it.


    The smell of death.


    I paused. The scent hung in the air, but I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. The wind blurred everything.


    I decided to step inside.


    The bell rang.


    But that smell… it had seeped into the shop as well.


    Memories crashed into me like a wave. Things I wanted to forget… things I couldn’t forget.


    Just then, the store clerk rushed out from the back room, stopping near the counter. She was covering her mouth and nose with one hand. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater.


    “Get rid of those corpses… those damned things! The dress will be free.”


    The most tempting offer I had heard in a long time.


    I left the bag where I stood and walked to the back.


    And there they were.


    Cat corpses.


    Piled up behind the building.


    I held my breath.


    These cats hadn’t died of hunger.


    No… they had been tortured.


    A lump formed in my throat, but I didn’t swallow. If I swallowed, it would mean I had let it affect me.


    With the tip of my shoe, I nudged one of the bodies. Something glinted between the fur. A small piece of metal…


    A nail.


    Hammered into where its claws should have been.


    I felt nausea rise, but my face remained unchanged. Emotions couldn’t dictate my actions.


    My gaze shifted to the back. Amid the pile of trash was a rusty shovel. Had it been there before? Or was I only noticing it now? I didn’t know. But it didn’t matter.


    I reached out. The metal was cold.


    I held on a second too long. Then, I moved. Swift. Silent. Unfeeling.


    I examined the bodies from a distance.


    But… one of them was different. Fresher. Newer.


    My eyes instinctively scanned the area. Someone had left this one here recently.


    I froze in place.


    Someone was watching me. Every move. A star blending into the night. Vesper.


    My fingers tightened around the shovel’s handle.


    I gathered them all into a trash bag I found beside the pile. Blood had soaked through. The heavier the bag got, the lighter something inside me felt. But I didn’t know what it was.


    I threw the bag into the dumpster. A THUMP echoed through the silent street.


    That’s when I realized—the stench had clung to me.


    I looked at my bloodstained hands. I didn’t care.


    I was never a clean person.


    I turned back, re-entering the store. The bag was still where I had left it. I didn’t look at the woman. She didn’t matter anymore.


    Because my mind was on one thing.


    Someone was playing a game with me.


    And I had said it before.


    This was a game for two.


    The one hunting me would one day be the hunted.


    My hand clenched. My nails dug into my palm.


    But on my face… there was a smile.


    At that moment, the store clerk spoke again, still covering her mouth.


    “Thank you. Your next dress is free. I assure you.”


    She was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.


    Who are you trying to fool?


    An idea crossed my mind.


    “Can I use that now?”


    The woman’s brows lifted slightly but quickly smoothed. She nodded toward the display.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    “Of course. Go ahead, choose.”


    But I didn’t care. I would return when it was time to play the game.


    For now, there was only one place I needed to go.


    The precinct.


    By the time I reached the central building, the air had turned colder. The structure loomed—a monument of gray concrete and bureaucratic indifference.


    Inside, the familiar fluorescent lights stung my eyes. It was always the same here—a box filled with crime, law, and the scent of cigarettes.


    I found Victor in his usual spot, buried under stacks of files. A coffee sat on his desk, likely cold by now.


    He looked up, eyes locking onto me with his usual smug grin.


    “So, what did you bring me this time—trouble or a body?”


    “Do you have an address?” I asked directly. “Vesper Jones’.”


    Victor hesitated, only for a moment, before sighing.


    “Going there alone isn’t a good idea,” he said, spinning his cup in his hands.


    I leaned on the desk, tapping my fingers against the wood.


    “Where’s his factory, Victor?”


    Victor sighed again, pulling a file from the mess. He flipped through the pages, then glanced at me with slightly raised brows.


    “His printing house is in the old city. A side street. Here’s the address.”


    He slid the paper toward me. I skimmed it.


    The old city… narrow alleys, places where no one asked questions.


    I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “You saved me time.”


    Victor leaned back in his chair, took a sip of coffee—then immediately winced.


    “It tastes like shit,” he muttered.


    I turned, heading for the door. But as I reached it, his voice stopped me.


    “Aralyn,” he said, more serious now. “If that man’s record was wiped clean… you might not want to be there alone.”


    I glanced over my shoulder, smiling faintly.


    “I’m not playing this game alone, Victor.”


    I stepped outside, into the street bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun.


    And then, a scream tore through the air.


    “You’re a monster! He’s a living being too! My cat is a living being! Whoever tortured him should suffer the same!”


    The voice belonged to a little girl. Her blonde braids were messy, her eyes burning with fury and grief. But… there was something else.


    She had seen me, yet she continued.


    Wait.


    She had seen me, yet…?


    I grabbed her shoulders, looking into her eyes.


    “What did the man look like?”


    My voice wasn’t a question. It was a command.


    But the girl… hesitated.


    She opened her mouth as if to speak, then stopped. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressing together.


    “I… don’t remember exactly…”


    She was lying.


    My hands slid into my pocket, pulling out a photo.


    “Did he look like this?”


    The girl’s trembling hands took the picture.


    And in that instant, I saw it in her eyes.


    Recognition.


    But then, a firm hand landed on my shoulder.


    “Sorry, miss. You don’t have the authority to conduct interrogations.”


    The police.


    As much as he was right, my anger was hard to contain.


    I turned to the girl one last time.


    Her eyes… had widened with fear. But not of me.


    Of something else.


    What did you see?


    I opened my mouth. But the officer pulled me away.


    I had to leave without an answer.


    But I was starting to believe this wasn’t just about an animal abuser.


    There was more to this.


    Much more.


    I was in front of that damn factory.


    This time, I was prepared.


    I stood at the door. Voices were coming from inside—conversations, laughter, the mechanical hum of machines…


    The factory wasn’t empty.


    I stepped inside.


    And at that moment, all eyes turned to me.


    If I made a wrong move, I might not make it out of here.


    The air smelled of ink and oil, mixed with sweat, cigarettes, and something even filthier. The men were working—or at least pretending to. But their eyes… their eyes lingered for too long.


    I shrugged and walked forward. But before I could take more than a few steps, someone stepped in front of me.


    A sweaty, filthy guy with his shirt unbuttoned. He grinned, showing his yellow teeth.


    “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”


    Sweetheart?


    I slipped my hand into my pocket and raised an eyebrow. “None of your business.”


    The man laughed. The others in the back laughed too. But one of them leaned toward the guy next to him and whispered something.


    The man’s grin faltered.


    For a split second.


    Doubt flickered in his eyes.


    But then, with that same disgusting smirk, he leaned in.


    “Don’t be so harsh. Let’s have some fun.”


    Wrong.


    Very wrong.


    He touched my wrist.


    A mistake that would last until he pulled his hand back.


    And he wouldn’t be able to.


    I twisted his arm in a flash.


    A crack. A scream.


    It echoed through every wall of the factory.


    The men behind him flinched. But one of them reached for his belt.


    A gun.


    This was why I had thought everything was too easy. Because it was a trap.


    I tilted my head slightly.


    Took a step back.


    “Where’s your boss?”


    The man gritted his teeth, still clutching his left hand, but his right was still reaching for his belt.


    “You… you’re not supposed to be here.”


    And your hand wasn’t supposed to go for that gun.


    With my left hand, I yanked the gun from his belt. Before he could even react, I had already removed the magazine.


    It was empty.


    I smiled. “Were you really going to threaten me with an unloaded gun?”


    His eyes widened in fear. He had recognized me.


    That was what I wanted.


    Trembling, he pointed toward a door on the upper floor.


    “Th-there.”


    I tossed his gun aside and rushed upstairs.


    Could this be a trap?


    Maybe.


    But everything was a trap anyway.


    I walked down the corridor leading to the boss’s office. The metal floor amplified the sound of my boots.


    I stopped in front of the door.


    Knocked without hesitation.


    “Come in?”


    The moment I heard his voice, I knew.


    I stepped inside.


    ?


    The boss’s office was upstairs, away from the factory noise—clean and orderly.


    Too clean.


    Suspiciously clean for a printing press.


    Something was going on here.


    A middle-aged man in a suit looked up.


    He adjusted his glasses.


    “I don’t know who you are, but attacking my workers is not a good first impression,” he said, his tone measured.


    I sat down. Crossed my legs.


    “The only thing I care about is information.”


    He sighed. But it almost felt like relief.


    That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.


    What are you hiding?


    “What do you want?” he asked.


    I reached into my pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the table.


    The name Vesper Jones was written on it.


    His eyes flicked to the paper.


    And in that moment, his entire body language changed.


    A muscle twitched. His breathing shifted.


    That name wasn’t unfamiliar to him.


    He studied me.


    “Where did you hear that name?”


    I smiled. But my eyes were cold.


    “The real question is—where did you hear it?”


    His hands slid under the desk.


    And at that moment, I knew.


    A gun.


    The boss pointed his gun at me.


    I expected this.


    Which is why I didn’t react.


    I didn’t flinch, didn’t narrow my eyes, didn’t hold my breath.


    Instead, I relaxed my clenched fists.


    Smiling? No. But my eyes held amusement.


    “If I were you, I wouldn’t.”


    The barrel of the gun was pressed against my forehead. His eyes didn’t waver.


    “I’m good at shifting the balance.”


    For the first time, his brow twitched. He realized what I was playing at.


    His finger moved a fraction on the trigger.


    A small sign of weakness.


    So I sighed.


    “Alright.”


    I placed my hands on the table. Despite the gun still pointed at me.


    I needed to prove something to him.


    I was the one in control.


    He might not be afraid of me. But soon, he would be.


    If he was testing me, I was testing him too.


    “Where did you hear the name Vesper Jones?”


    There’s a tone that tells you whether a sentence is a question or a command.


    His was a command.


    He was interrogating me.


    I liked his nerve.


    I tilted my head. “At the police station. Thanks to a friend.”


    The boss chuckled softly.


    And now, the test was truly beginning.


    “What a coincidence.”


    His eyes were on me, but his mind was elsewhere.


    He was planning something.


    “Because I heard Vesper Jones… is dead.”


    Ah.


    The first lie.


    The trap had begun.


    “Is that so?” I asked, not showing any real surprise.


    “Yes. A few weeks ago. Hands cut off, even.”


    A normal person would have flinched at that. Raised an eyebrow. Reacted somehow.


    But me?


    I didn’t blink.


    And at that moment, he realized he had played the wrong card.


    Because if Vesper was dead, why was I here?


    And the real kicker…


    Vesper wasn’t dead.


    His eyes betrayed his lie.


    So I made the first move.


    I smiled. “Interesting. Because I spoke to him last night.”


    The gun in his hand twitched slightly.


    Bingo.


    His hesitation lasted a second too long.


    And that second was mine.


    I grabbed his gun with lightning speed.


    Before he could even recoil, I had already pressed the barrel against his forehead.


    He was still in his chair. But now, he leaned back.


    The flicker of doubt in his eyes—brief, but I caught it.


    “Smart play,” I said, too casually.


    My hand holding the gun didn’t tremble.


    “But not good enough.”


    The boss pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to back down.


    But for the first time, he was on the defensive.


    He sighed. “So this is how we’re playing it.”


    Yes. Exactly like this.


    “Write down Vesper Jones’ address.”


    I wasn’t asking. I was ordering.


    But here, the boss played his last bluff.


    He tilted his head, with a small smirk.


    And his hand slid under the desk.


    Calling for the button to alarm the sirens.


    Ah, sweetheart. Not so fast.


    BANG!


    I slammed the butt of the gun onto the desk.


    The noise echoed as loud as a gunshot.


    His hand froze in midair.


    I stopped him.


    Now, he had a choice.


    Either he gave me Vesper Jones’ address.


    Or he pressed that button…


    And someone at this table would die.


    He stared at me, trying to decide.


    But what he didn’t know was…


    I had already made my decision.


    I pressed the barrel closer.


    “You can sound the alarms,” I said, locking eyes with him.


    “But do you really think they’ll come for you?”


    Silence.


    My words sank in.


    I could see the calculations in his eyes.


    “Everyone lives for themselves.”


    And his life… was in my hands now.


    Slowly, he withdrew his hand.


    Because he knew.


    He couldn’t beat me here.


    He picked up a piece of paper. His fingers trembled.


    And he wrote. Silently.


    Vesper Jones’ address.


    He slid it toward me.


    But his eyes never left mine.


    “I hope you know what you’re doing.”


    I took the paper. Without a word.


    And I smiled.


    Cold. Dangerous. Like the winner of a game already decided.


    Just as I opened the door, I heard a whisper behind me.


    “You found the wrong person.”


    That threw me off for a second. But I didn’t show it.


    “I’ll be the judge of that.”


    And I walked away.


    But that sentence stuck in my mind.


    The wrong person.


    I quickened my pace. A feeling churned inside me. Something was wrong.


    By the time I left the factory, the sky had darkened. The streetlights flickered, the roads were empty.


    I looked at the paper in my hand. Vesper Jones’ address.


    Two choices lay ahead:


    1. Find Vesper immediately.


    2. Gather more information first.