The brush flew across the canvas as if guided by its own will. He still hated the cop, but Isaac had to admit that he owed him for shaking him out of his paralysis. Ever since he had conducted the anatomical study on him, his inspiration had suddenly returned. The blockage inside him had completely dissolved. It had been worth it — even though by now every muscle in his body ached.
Because he had been painting without pause ever since.
What did sleep even matter once the muse had kissed you?
He didn't know what had possessed him to ask the man to model for him. Part of it had been frustration, because once again he hadn't gotten a chance to get to the notebook. Isaac was still convinced that the damn notebook would help him.
And do so without having to kill the cop.
He simply couldn't afford to disappoint the boss again, and killing the cop would be the same as botching the job — if a dead cop didn't weigh even worse.
Aside from that, it was actually quite pleasant having the cop close by. He was different from Noctis, Noah, and Ashe. Isaac didn't even know exactly what he liked about him. Maybe his pleasant voice? Or the fact that conversations with the cop came easily? Or perhaps it was simply the aesthetics that attracted him?
The cop had excellent proportions. His facial features were hard, clearly defined — and yet everything about this man was in harmony. Nothing seemed out of place. Isaac felt an almost scientific urge to see him completely naked, just to grasp the overall composition. His inspiration would probably explode for good then and flood him with new ideas for paintings.
At the same time, he consciously held himself back.
Whenever something related to art seized him, he quickly lost all sense of proportion. In those moments, nothing else existed.
Just as had been the case when the cop had come over to cook for him. At first there had been those almost forced conversations, and then he had suddenly focused only on the sketches.
And on the marks he had left on the cop's body. Isaac couldn't deny that he had inspected every single bruise with the greatest pleasure. It had made his own not feel quite so bad.
Yet despite his delight at the newly rediscovered inspiration, he was angry at the cop — and that feeling would never disappear as long as he hadn't found an effective way to overcome his unconventional traps.
Aside from that, it was still Noctis who radiated the greatest possible aesthetic to him.
…what wouldn't he give to see those golden eyes?
Isaac exhaled slowly and forced himself back into the present. Indulging in reverie wouldn't get him anywhere — especially not in his current situation. Something had to change before the next job.
He had to get the notebook, outsmart the cop, and somehow manage to see through him better, because right now his greatest obstacle was that he couldn't seem to read anyone at all.
He had always been prepared for everything. He always expected a large number of opponents and adjusted if there were fewer than anticipated. Difficult conditions, additional security measures, and even the use of weapons were things he factored in before every raid.
He was the villain, and of course they did everything they could to stop him.
But ever since Benedict had gotten involved, the conditions were different every single time, and Isaac could only speculate about what would await him next.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
Everything connected to the cop was unpredictable. Like that spontaneous hospital visit.
Even the fact that he could cook had caught Isaac off guard. The soup the cop had prepared for him was probably the best beef soup he had ever eaten — deep, rich, cooked with a care you could actually taste.
Maybe that was why he hated him just a little bit less.
Never before had a stranger simply done something for him — and without demanding anything in return. The cop had done it simply to do something for Isaac. Because he didn't know that Isaac was Moonshadow. To the cop, he was just Isaac Walker, the barista from Café Noir.
He knew neither his abilities nor his profession.
For a fleeting, almost dangerous moment, Isaac wondered whether, in another life, they might actually have become friends.
The thought tasted bitter.
He pushed it aside decisively.
He could not afford to give in. The cop was the enemy — no matter how hard he tried to blur the lines. In this life, they would never be anything more than opponents on opposite sides.
A sober realization — and yet somewhere inside him, a faint trace of regret stirred.
Because the cop was not only the first stranger who had ever cooked for him, but also the first who had ever modeled for him. It was the first anatomical study he had been able to do without the help of the internet.
He should stop thinking about the cop and his good sides and focus more on the bad ones again. Isaac would have to get creative. If the cops worked unconventionally, then he would have to do the same.
Isaac already had one or two ideas — but first he would need permission to leave his apartment.
He set the brush down and leaned back in his chair so he could study his work. Isaac had completely lost track of time while painting this piece. He had projected his vision onto the canvas down to the smallest detail.
A combat scene.
Between none other than the cop and Isaac himself in his thief persona, Moonshadow. The intense look with which he had painted the cop was exactly the same one he had thrown at him during the last heist. It had been such a powerful, furious expression that he had had no choice but to paint it that way. The cop must never see this painting. Otherwise, he might start putting two and two together.
Still, Isaac had captured the blue of his eyes well, and it had been a very good distraction from his situation. Maybe he should simply donate the painting anonymously. Or just destroy it. Yet he still couldn't quite bring himself to do so.
Besides, there were still some fine details he wanted to refine. Nothing drastic — just nuances. Edge lighting, subtle color gradients, perhaps a touch more tension in the posture.
Isaac stretched briefly, his spine cracking softly, then reached for the palette. He was just about to mix the colors carefully when his phone suddenly began to ring shrilly.
Isaac answered the call without hesitation when he saw who was calling.
"Good evening, Boss," he said calmly, with the controlled politeness he had trained himself into over the years. There was no one more important to him.
"Isaac." The boss's dark, authoritative voice sounded through the line. "I hear your wounds are healing?"
Noah and Ashe must have reported to him.
"My face shows no traces of the tear gas anymore," he confirmed.
His lip also looked much better, though he would probably keep wearing the mask for a few more days. The remaining injuries he could hide easily.
"Good. I have a job for you," the boss said. "I want you to create a smaller portal. It should be just large enough for you to step through."
"Understood."
"Constantin will bring you the necessary information tomorrow. This assignment is different from your usual ones, and I expect everything to be carried out exactly as I order," the boss growled. Isaac could hear the anger in his voice. "I don't need to explain how important this job is, do I?"
No. He really didn't need to explain it to him. Isaac had definitely understood what the boss was getting at.
"I will do everything to make sure the same thing doesn't happen again," Isaac swore.
"I will not tolerate a second failure, Isaac. I did not raise you to fail, but to demonstrate absolute perfection at all times. You were once one of my best men — show me that you are still worthy."
Isaac pressed his lips together in shame. The boss had not given up on him yet, so he could still manage to regain his favor.
"I will prove to you that I will never fail again."
"Good. Then resume your work as usual starting tomorrow," the boss said. Isaac heard the satisfied undertone in his voice and calmed instantly. "Do not disappoint me again."
The line went dead before Isaac could reply.
Slowly, he lowered the phone and stared at the dark display for a moment, lost in thought.
Never again.
He would not botch another job.
His gaze fell on the date. He had worked on the painting for three days.
The last assignment had been a week ago, and in that time he still hadn't heard anything from Noctis.
Isaac stood up. All at once he felt how tired he was. He had slept in between, but it had been nowhere near enough. If he wanted to go back to work the following day, he should get some sleep. Kieran had probably already been informed, but to be safe Isaac texted him that he would be coming in to work the next day.
Noctis really didn't seem to be coming back. Yet no matter how much he had racked his brain over the past week, he simply didn't know how he was supposed to face him.
So he lay down in his bed and decided to deal with the problem later.
___
The weekend passed without anything remarkable. At work he wore his face mask the entire time, because the greenish discoloration of the bruise on his face was still clearly visible. The excuse Kieran had invented for him — that he hadn't fully recovered yet and didn't want to infect anyone — he continued to use.
It was probably the easiest lie that had ever crossed his lips. Mainly because the customers already believed he had been sick anyway. If Kieran hadn't been so farsighted, Isaac probably wouldn't have come up with a convincing story. Lying wasn't his strength. Even small untruths felt foreign in his mouth, and most of the time his expression betrayed him faster than he liked.
Some regular customers asked about his absence and emphasized how happy they were to see him again. They praised his coffee and the work he did. Isaac accepted the praise politely and did everything he could to present a perfected version of himself.
Isaac was ready to give everything to regain the boss's favor.
Despite everything, he was glad to finally be able to work again. It felt as if he had been gone for an eternity, and yet everything here was running as usual. In fact, he had only been absent for a week. A single week — and still it felt to him as if months lay between then and now. It was hard to grasp how steadily the world kept moving while in recent days he had been consumed by self-doubt and repeatedly lost in dark melancholy.
Because of Noctis, he still hadn't come up with anything, of course.
In quiet moments he often stared at his phone, wondering whether he should write to him after all. But every time he picked up the device, his mind was completely blank — as if someone had erased all the words from it. Just like in the days before.
Maybe it was already too late to write to him.
His gaze drifted to the clock. It was already 1:45 p.m. The day had passed so quickly without him really noticing. In his head he went over everything he still had to take care of after work.
He needed new paints, finer brushes, two canvases in the right size, and afterward he still had to buy groceries. His refrigerator was almost completely empty except for a few things. On top of that, Constantin was supposed to come by around 8 p.m. so Isaac could give him the necessary information for the next heist.
There was too much on his to-do list and too little time to get it all done.
He had to show absolute perfection. If he wanted to convince the boss, he had to finish the portal at least four days before the deadline. He would pull several all-nighters to make that happen. On top of that, he urgently needed to think of a few things that would help him recognize and disable the cop's traps as quickly as possible.
"Isaac?" someone suddenly asked behind him.
He flinched almost imperceptibly and turned toward the counter, where the very cop he had just been racking his brain over was standing. This man was probably his biggest obstacle to fulfilling his wish.
If only I could get rid of you completely…
The cop gave him a warm smile.
"Hey," he greeted him.
"Benedict? You were just here this morning," Isaac said, stepping up to the counter. It was the first time the cop had come into the café twice during his shift. Isaac crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here? If you drink too much coffee, you'll end up having a heart attack."
Not that I'd mind.
The cop smirked. "Then it would be thanks to the best coffee I've ever had," he grinned. He leaned casually against the counter. "Or maybe I'm just glad you're healthy again — and that I can finally get my coffee exactly the way I like it."
Isaac studied him briefly. As usual, the notebook was tucked into the cop's jacket pocket. So close — and yet out of reach. Here, in the middle of the café, there was no way he could take it unnoticed.
"You like your coffee mixed just short of a heart attack," Isaac remarked dryly.
"I'd call it invigorating," the cop replied with a grin. Then he straightened slightly. "Can you make me another black coffee, a café latte, and a caramel macchiato?"
Isaac let out a quiet sigh. "Give me a moment."
The cop yawned openly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, you're saving me. We had an endlessly long meeting, and I've got another one right after. I won't survive it without caffeine. And the coffee at the station is really disgusting."
Isaac began the routine motions, but his gaze flicked toward him briefly. "Is that why you're drinking the caramel macchiato? So your brain gets an extra dose of sugar?"
Benedict made a face. "Nah, that one's for my boss. Don't ask me how he gets that sweet stuff down."
The remark hit him unexpectedly, and somehow a small spark of sympathy for the cop flared up.
Does he have a special bond with his boss too?
But suddenly an idea came to him. He couldn't get the notebook here in the café — but maybe at the station… he would just have to get close enough and make it disappear unnoticed.
They certainly didn't have cameras in the offices.
Isaac's lips curved into a cool smile. When it came to theft, no one could match him.
"You don't have to come by during your shift if you need a refill," he said as he sealed the to-go cups.
At that moment Noah entered the café, nodded to Isaac in greeting, and disappeared straight into the staff room to change. The soft click of the door closing was swallowed by the background hum of the coffee machine.
The cop looked at him questioningly.
Isaac pointed at the large wall clock.
"My shift always ends at two, so I can drop your coffee off at the station before I head home."
The cop's lips parted — only to close again the next moment. He looked at Isaac in surprise.
Isaac, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly.
"Was the idea inappropriate? I just thought it would mean you wouldn't have to sacrifice your break time."
"…you'd do that? You've got so much to do yourself."
Isaac shot him an amused look. "From where I'm standing, you've got more to do than I do. Besides, I can push my work as an artist back by half an hour without any trouble."
"That would really help me," the cop admitted, then quickly waved it off. "Oh! But you really don't have to do it!"
"Benedict, it's a detour of less than five minutes. I really don't mind."
Especially not if it gets me what I want.
The cop rubbed the back of his neck — were his ears turning red? Eventually those beautiful blue eyes met Isaac's gaze again.
"Then I'll gladly accept. Is it okay if I send you a message in the meantime?"
Isaac nodded. "No problem." He set the coffee cups on the counter. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morning."
The cop smiled warmly at him. "Tomorrow morning." He picked up his order and left the shop. Outside the window he glanced back in and waved goodbye to Isaac. Hesitantly, Isaac raised his hand and returned the gesture — only to see someone almost bump into the cop at that exact moment. Somehow they managed not to spill anything, and shortly afterward both went their separate ways — except the other man slowed his steps and stared at Isaac through the window.
That damn scarface would recognize Isaac anywhere.
What is that bastard doing here again?
For a brief moment every muscle in his body tensed. Then he remembered Nico's last words at their meeting. Isaac shot him a cold look and gave him a brief nod.
He'd better not come into the café and make a scene.
"Do you get along well with that customer from earlier?" Noah suddenly asked beside him. "You treat him differently than the other customers."
"Why would I? He's just here every day and talks too much," Isaac replied.
Noah merely shrugged. "Shame. I thought you'd finally found a friend."
"He is definitely not a friend," Isaac said.
But one of our enemies — and you'd do well not to take any interest in him.
Isaac took off his apron, pulled on his jacket, and grabbed his shoulder bag. He had so damn much to do — so why did Nico have to show up today of all days and get on his nerves? If he dared to attack him, Isaac would definitely teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget.
Isaac's jaw tightened briefly.
The thought of the possible consequences flashed through his mind, and he promptly pressed his lips together.
He'd better handle the situation with Nico diplomatically. That would be better for everyone.
"Do you feel like meeting up with Ashe and me this Friday?" Noah asked him.
"What's it about?" Isaac asked in passing. He needed to get outside as quickly as possible before Nico decided to come in.
"Planning — and maybe we can grab a drink. Last time it broke up so quickly, and I'd really like it if we could just have a relaxed evening again."
"Let me think about it. I've got quite a lot to do right now," Isaac said politely. "See you tomorrow."
Noah beamed at him. "See you tomorrow!"
Isaac stepped outside through the door, the sun glaring unpleasantly into his eyes.
"That was quick, my dear Isaac. Were you afraid I might come in?" Nico sneered.
Isaac deliberately looked around. "Where are your lackeys? Did they seriously let you walk the streets alone?"
Nico laughed, but there was no real amusement in his voice. "Save the comments and come with me. Unless you want something to happen here — in front of your beloved café."
Isaac's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"
Even so, he started moving and followed him.
"Take it as well-meant advice."
Isaac snorted quietly. "Right. Because well-meant advice from you is guaranteed to be honest."
"It is," Nico replied calmly.
Suddenly he stopped and turned halfway toward Isaac. There was a malicious glint in his eyes that promised nothing good. Isaac's instincts sounded a quiet alarm.
"Have you thought about it?"
Isaac's answer came without hesitation. "The answer is still no."
"What a shame," Nico said, though his voice betrayed his excitement. Suddenly a wide grin spread across his ugly face. "Let's have a little chat."
With those words, he clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and strolled into the side alley. Isaac snorted and was just about to continue on his way when he walked straight into the reeking chest of one of the aforementioned lackeys.
Nico clicked his tongue in disapproval.
"I don't think I left you a choice," he said with a grin over his shoulder. "Bring him to me."
Isaac's jaw tightened. Out in the open street he could hardly cause a scene — too many witnesses, too much attention. For the moment, he had no other option.
With a sharp jerk, he freed his arm from the musclehead's grip before the man could properly seize him, then followed Nico with a visibly irritated expression.
They moved deeper into the maze of narrow side alleys. The noise of the main street faded step by step, replaced by dull echoes, dripping water, and the stale smell of damp walls.
Isaac automatically counted the turns.
Until they finally reached a small backyard.
The courtyard was neglected. Several windows were smashed, and the apartments looked abandoned — dark openings, dead facades, no sign of life. No one would call the police here. No one would intervene. Most likely, no one would even notice what was about to happen.
Yet instead of fear, a cool sense of relief spread through Isaac.
His chances of escape were much better here.
Of course, he didn't know how many men Nico might still have positioned in the shadows — or whether anyone was lurking in the empty buildings at all. But from everything he could see so far, only Nico and his two lackeys were here.
That was his starting point.
Everything else would reveal itself.
And if there was one thing Isaac truly excelled at, it was improvisation.
"Say what you have to say and don't bore me with unnecessary details," Isaac said calmly as Nico came to a stop.
Nico slowly turned toward him. "Do you remember our last conversation? I gave you several chances to follow us voluntarily and leave your old life behind."
Isaac snorted quietly. "In case you remember, I didn't just reject your slimy offer once."
"I remember that all too well," Nico replied calmly. "That's why today I didn't just bring Butcher — I brought Silvio too."
He snapped his fingers.
Isaac ducked instinctively when he heard a step behind him. He immediately lashed out backward and caught his opponent's shin. The man groaned in pain.
A muffled grunt.
"Butcher," Nico said boredly.
The colossus stepped toward Isaac.
He wasn't limping.
The hit had landed — but not hard enough.
Before Isaac could react, Butcher grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him roughly closer. Isaac reacted at once, twisting out of the grip and slipping free of the hold before the musclehead could properly seize him.
He was faster.
And that was exactly what he had to use.
Without hesitation, Isaac shifted his weight, tensed his body — and launched into a clean back kick.
The blow landed directly under Butcher's chin.
Isaac caught himself in a smooth back handspring, came down lightly on his feet, and was already moving again the next moment.
His gaze swept over the courtyard.
He had to get out of here. The musclehead probably hadn't taken much damage — even though Isaac had hit him directly under the chin, he hadn't gone down. That complicated his chances and his options.
Isaac was allowed to defend himself — he just couldn't cause so much damage that he'd end up giving them a real reason for a clan war.
Annoyed, he clenched his teeth.
"Stop fighting, Isaac. Just join us," Nico continued.
Butcher and Silvio moved toward him.
"Forget it!" Isaac snapped.
He dropped abruptly to his knees, grabbed a larger loose stone with one hand, and hurled it straight at Butcher's left knee. Just as planned, the rock slammed directly into the kneecap and made the stinking musclehead clutch his knee.
Isaac sprang up and used the opening to slip past the two of them — then a shot rang out. Startled, Isaac stumbled forward.
This lunatic is seriously using a gun in the middle of the city?! It won't take long before the cops show up — I have to get out of here!
But he didn't get far.
The first thing he felt was an object striking hard into the back of his knee. The next was the ground greeting him roughly. Someone had sat down on his lower back, and all at once it felt as if he were being torn in half.
How heavy is this guy?!
Isaac tried to push himself up, but the position was miserable. His legs were pinned, and the brute pressed a broad hand into the back of his neck.
The face mask made everything worse.
The air was running out.
At the edge of his hearing, Nico's laughter reached him — self-satisfied, cold.
Think, Isaac. You still have options…
His hand moved toward his jacket pocket, where he always carried a small knife with a legally permitted blade length. But that plan collapsed the moment someone crushed that very hand under his shoe.
"Tut tut — what was that supposed to be?" Nico chided sarcastically.
"Get off m—" Isaac forced out.
He got no further.
Suddenly someone yanked hard on his choker.
Isaac choked.
Butcher hauled him up brutally as if the leather band were a handle. At the same time, Silvio grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back.
Isaac's vision began to flicker.
And then Nico's face appeared in front of him — far too close, far too satisfied.
"We'll see each other again when you wake up," he said calmly, giving Isaac a rough pat on the cheek.
"Isaac!" someone suddenly shouted.
But Isaac couldn't make out the voice — he was far too busy trying to get air. He heard agitated voices, gunshots; his arms were released, and even though they were free, he could barely fight back.
Luck rarely favored him, but just before his consciousness completely faded, the pressure on his throat eased and he could breathe again. Coughing, his upper body jerked forward; he just managed to catch himself with his arms. He dragged in air greedily. He grabbed his knife, flicked it open, and drove it into Butcher's thigh before the bastard could do anything else.
Another shot — and the weight was torn off him. Instantly Isaac crawled forward, away from Butcher. He was still coughing.
"Shit! What's a cop doing here?!" Nico shouted.
"Freeze!"
"Forget it, I'm out of here!" Nico yelled — and the next moment hurried footsteps retreated. "Move it, you damn idiots!"
Footsteps quickly faded. Then the unmistakable click of a weapon — closely followed by fast, purposeful steps coming straight toward him.
Isaac let himself sink onto his back to breathe more easily. His chest rose and fell unevenly; every breath scraped painfully in his throat.
Then a pair of blue eyes entered his field of vision.
"Hey — are you okay?" the cop asked, clearly concerned.
Isaac put a hand to his throat and gave a short nod while still struggling for air.
"Shit… what did those guys want from you?!" the cop hissed tensely. As he spoke, his hands moved over Isaac's shoulders and arms, checking for injuries. Finally, he let out an audible breath. "Thank God. You weren't hit."
"Must be my lucky day," Isaac rasped.
He slowly pushed himself up. No sooner had he halfway straightened than he felt the cop's firm, supportive hand at his back.
"Easy," Benedict said at once. "Come on — we're taking you to the hospital."
"No."
The answer came without hesitation.
The cop frowned. "You were strangled, Isaac. Someone should take a look at that."
"I'm not going to the hospital," Isaac replied, his voice rough and scratchy.
He pushed Benedict's hand away and forced himself to his feet. For a moment, his balance wavered dangerously.
Nothing serious.
This was harmless.
He had endured far worse.
"I'm fine," he added curtly.
Benedict exhaled heavily and studied him with a mixture of frustration and concern. "Has anyone ever told you that you're unbelievably stubborn?"
"More than once," Isaac muttered hoarsely.
The cop hesitated briefly, then his tone softened — but not his resolve. "Then at least let me treat your scrapes."
Isaac was already about to object—
"Come on," Benedict pressed, gesturing down the alley. "My place is closer than yours. And I always have first-aid supplies."
"I don't need help."
Isaac took a step.
And swayed noticeably.
Before he could catch himself, Benedict was suddenly right in front of him and grabbed him firmly by the waist to steady him.
"Sure," the cop snorted dryly. "Very convincing."
Isaac clutched at him.
"Hold on tight."
___
"That's going to sting," the cop warned calmly.
"Just do it," Isaac said quietly.
Despite the curt reply, he sucked in a sharp breath as the disinfectant hit his scraped skin. A burning pain spread across the back of his hand, making his fingers twitch involuntarily.
Benedict continued working with focus. "You got off lighter than I thought," he noted after a quick inspection.
"Guess I got lucky again," Isaac muttered hoarsely.
The cop paused briefly. "I honestly thought they'd done something serious to you."
Isaac lifted his gaze. "They wouldn't have really hurt me."
Benedict's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sound like you know them."
Damn.
Isaac's thoughts raced for a moment. He had to downplay this — believable, but harmless.
"Just a few annoying guys who think they can get away with anything," he said at last.
"What did they want from you?"
Isaac gave the slightest shrug. "No idea."
This time it wasn't even a lie.
Benedict leaned back a little, studying him thoughtfully. "To me it looked a lot like a kidnapping attempt. I saw that bastard when I left the café and followed you at a distance." His voice sharpened. "That was the same guy who caused trouble in the café a few weeks ago, right?"
Denying it would be pointless.
There was no use contradicting that fact, so Isaac nodded.
"Whatever they want with a freak like me," he added dryly.
"You're not a freak," the cop said, placing a bandage on the back of Isaac's hand. "Let me see your face — your lip is split."
Isaac would have loved to roll his eyes; that would make the third time this week. He lifted his chin and looked into the cop's concerned face. He genuinely seemed worried. Then his gaze dropped to Isaac's neck.
"I think your collar took the hit," the cop said. The air suddenly felt cool at Isaac's throat — then the accessory simply fell away. A shocked expression flickered across the cop's face. "What the—?"
He raised his hand, but before the cop could touch Isaac's neck, Isaac slapped his hand away in panic.
"Don't!" he rasped.
Why his choker of all things? It had been custom-made — not something that broke easily. So why had the damn thing failed now?
"Isaac…"
His pulse suddenly raced far too fast.
Why now of all times? Why did it have to be this damn cop who saw them?!
"Don't look…," Isaac said quietly. "Just forget what you saw."
His hand trembled against his throat. The cop's warm hand touched his. Isaac flinched — and yet he couldn't bring himself to shove him away again. He stared at a random spot on the floor, his breathing uneven as the memory of what had happened forced its way relentlessly to the surface.
He only noticed the tears when they left a betraying wetness on his cheeks.
"Isaac, calm down. You're hyperventilating," the cop said steadily.
Blood seeped into the snow, staining everything around him red. Breathing was difficult; fear tightened around his throat — and then he heard the crunching footsteps in the snow approaching him calmly.
Isaac looked up into the grinning face of the traitor.
"Well, would you look at that — you can bleed normally after all. I actually expected your blood to be as white as your disgusting hair."
Nausea rolled through Isaac's stomach.
He wanted to leave.
Just leave.
Why had the cop of all people seen the old scar that curved like an ugly half-ring around his neck?
Black spots danced before his eyes.
Suddenly he was grabbed firmly by the shoulders and turned around.
His focus snapped back to the present.
Straight into the cop's face.
"Isaac!"
Shit…
He was just about to lose consciousness when he suddenly felt lips on his. The cop blew air into his lungs, and Isaac reflexively drew in a deep breath and coughed.
"Breathe!" the cop urged firmly.
Isaac tried.
His chest rose and fell frantically, but the panic gripped his throat like an iron clamp. Air went in — but not enough. Not steadily enough.
The cop had only seen the scar.
Why was his body reacting so violently to it?
Because you always hide it so carefully from everyone. Because it's your weak point! He made you like this!
He didn't want to think anymore. Why couldn't he just pass out?
Trembling, he drew in air. It came easier, but the panic simply wouldn't let go.
"Shit…," the cop murmured quietly. "Forgive me."
Then his lips were on Isaac's again.
This time it didn't stop at a breath.
The kiss was firm — warm — far too close.
And before Isaac even understood what was happening, his fingers had already tangled in the back of the cop's neck. He pulled him closer, as if his life depended on it.
His head grew emptier.
Calmer.
The rising panic dulled the longer they kissed. His breathing came in bursts, but it was exactly what he needed in that moment.
He parted his lips and let the man's tongue slip inside. Their tongues soon moved in a heated dance. He could no longer tell what was up or down. He didn't care, as long as the memory faded. He didn't even care that it was the cop.
Then he felt the cop's hand slide under his shirt, touching him carefully. But when Isaac let out a soft moan into the kiss, the reality of the situation hit him. A pair of golden eyes came to mind, looking at him reproachfully.
Isaac's body tensed abruptly.
What am I doing here?!
He broke the kiss off sharply and shoved the cop away, breathless.
"W-wait…," he panted, his voice rough with overwhelm.
He would have preferred to throw himself headfirst out the window. The cop was just as out of breath, breathing in heavy bursts, and his gaze was… the same way Noctis always looked at him. Another tear slid down his cheek.
The cop gently brushed over his cheek and wiped the tear away.
"Are you okay again?" he asked, concerned.
Isaac needed a moment, then he nodded slowly.
With slightly trembling fingers, he pulled up the zipper of his jacket. The high-collared turtleneck completely covered his neck — and with it the revealing scar.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Isaac exhaled unevenly. "You're not going to let this go anyway, are you?"
The cop shook his head lightly. "I won't ask further if you don't want me to."
Isaac stood up. For a moment he pressed his lips tightly together, as if he had to force the words out.
If there was one thing he knew, it was that the cop would never let it go.
"This scar," he finally said quietly, "marks my death — and my rebirth." His voice grew rougher. "It's the proof of a betrayal that almost cost me my life back then."
The cop stared at him, visibly shaken.
Isaac's gaze dropped involuntarily to the man's lips.
To the very lips he had clung to in desperation just moments ago.
The guilt hit him like a blow.
"I—I have to go," Isaac stammered unsteadily.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned abruptly, yanked the door open, and almost fled the apartment. On the way, he grabbed his phone.
Then he typed a message to Noctis — and before he could think about it any further, he sent it.