Benedict's gaze rested on the man behind the counter as he sat in his usual seat, patiently waiting for the stream of customers to finally die down. He had been relieved when Isaac returned to work after the short break he had taken because of his panic attack.
It had only been a single day, and yet to Benedict it had felt like a small eternity. Especially because Isaac hadn't replied to his messages. More than once during that time, Benedict had had to actively stop himself from searching every available database for information about Isaac — or for reports of a victim who had survived a neck injury.
Curiosity tingled in his fingertips. Since he had access to nearly all relevant databases, it was hard not to dig for clues. Legal or illegal. Isaac wouldn't find out anyway, even if Benedict got caught.
That didn't make it easier — it made it harder.
Because it wouldn't be the first time he had broken rules to obtain information. So far, he had never been caught. There was a real chance he might get away with it again.
He really had to pull himself together not to cross that line.
Instead, he needed to manage to arrange a meeting with Isaac. Then he could ask him directly how the scar had happened. Whether he knew who had done it to him. And whether that person had been held accountable.
There was so much Benedict wanted to know about Isaac that his head felt ready to burst whenever he so much as thought about the handsome albino.
Nervously, Benedict began to bounce his foot.
Then there were the gangsters.
And the matter of his feelings for the man with the extraordinary appearance.
Why did life have to be so terribly complicated?
With a soft clink, his cup of coffee was set down in front of him. Benedict flinched almost imperceptibly and looked up into the man's beautiful, cool red eyes — the man with the white hair.
"Here you go."
That morning, Isaac was once again wearing his black face mask, which completely covered his mouth and nose. It was difficult to read his expression when more than half of his face was hidden behind fabric.
Benedict's gaze drifted involuntarily to Isaac's neck. But the scar was hidden beneath a high-collared, form-fitting turtleneck sweater. Anyone who didn't know what lay beneath it would have suspected nothing unusual.
As always, Isaac was tastefully dressed, even if his style still deviated slightly from the norm. He appeared calm and composed — just as Benedict knew him.
"Will you sit with me for a moment?" Benedict asked cautiously.
Isaac briefly let his gaze sweep through the café. They were alone. With a quiet sigh, he sat down beside Benedict. As he did, he narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly, as if the movement strained him.
So he's still in pain from the attack, Benedict thought, growing increasingly concerned.
In his head, Benedict once again went through every single question he had wanted to ask Isaac. Instead, he grimaced slightly and guiltily averted his gaze.
"I'm sorry I just kissed you like that. It wasn't planned," he said quietly.
Even if he didn't really regret it. He probably would have done it anyway — but the timing had still been catastrophic.
"A situation like that would have overwhelmed me too," Isaac said calmly. "Just forget what happened. I shouldn't have freaked out like that."
Benedict looked at him in alarm. Forgetting was the last thing he wanted.
"That's not what I meant!" he replied quickly. "The situation did overwhelm me a bit, yes, but I just wanted to apologize for kissing you out of the blue. You were having a panic attack — that wasn't the right response."
Isaac studied him in silence for a moment, as if weighing his words.
"Honestly, I can't remember much from the panic attack. The kiss… at least it helped me remember how to breathe, I think," he said thoughtfully.
Benedict pressed his lips together involuntarily.
If only I could see his face properly.
This mask made it impossible to clearly read his reactions. And right now, that would have been extremely helpful.
He had to keep the conversation going. And he somehow had to get to the question of whether they could meet. He wouldn't get many more opportunities.
"I can understand why you reacted that way," Benedict said carefully. "You hide the scar very carefully. You probably didn't want me to see it. It was really miserable timing that the choker broke at that exact moment."
With a small, placating smile, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the accessory in question.
"I had the clasp repaired. Otherwise it wasn't damaged — the material is really high quality."
Isaac looked at him in surprise.
"You had it repaired?" he asked quietly.
Hesitantly, he took the choker, turning the leather strap between his fingers as he inspected it, his gaze sliding over the replaced clasp. Then his hand closed around it more firmly, almost as if he wanted to make sure it was really still there.
When he looked back up at Benedict, his expression was noticeably softer.
He looked relieved.
"That means a lot to me."
Benedict's shoulders relaxed a little.
"It's important to you," he said with a faint smile. "I really wanted to give it back to you."
"That…" Isaac trailed off and cleared his throat softly, as if he first had to steady his voice. "It doesn't happen often that someone does something like that for me. Thank you."
At those words, something in Benedict's chest tightened uncomfortably. Once again, it struck him painfully how lonely Isaac must be — how rarely anyone apparently paid attention to the small things that mattered to him.
How much he would have liked to follow the impulse to pull him into his arms and show him that he could always rely on him. But he forced himself to stay calm.
"No problem," he said gently. "Are you feeling better now? A lot happened that day. I was worried."
Isaac's gaze flickered away for a moment.
"I'm more than fine," he replied, and there was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "Stop worrying about me."
The tension slowly left Benedict's shoulders. He had fully expected Isaac to keep him at a distance — maybe even push him away entirely. But to his quiet relief, that was exactly what hadn't happened.
The worry about the unplanned kiss gradually faded, allowing him to sit a little more at ease in his chair.
Now or never.
"Would it be okay if we met again this week?"
Isaac blinked briefly. His expression turned thoughtful, as if he were mentally checking his schedule.
"I'm really busy at the moment," he said slowly. "I urgently need to take care of a commissioned piece."
Damn. Figures it wouldn't be that easy. Either he really does have plans, or he's trying to dodge.
Benedict leaned forward slightly, making an effort to keep his tone casual.
"We could also just meet briefly after work. You have to eat at some point anyway — why don't we just combine the two? That way you wouldn't have to worry about the dishes afterward and could get straight back to painting."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Isaac's gaze slid briefly to the side, then back to Benedict. You could practically see him weighing the option — duty against… whatever this was between them.
At last, he nodded.
"If we're just going out to eat, it should work. Just let me know when it suits you."
A barely noticeable knot loosened in Benedict's chest.
The small bell above the door chimed softly as a new customer entered the café. Isaac immediately stood up. That fleeting flash of pain crossed his face again.
"Should I prepare your usual order again? You probably have to leave soon."
Benedict glanced quickly at the clock. He still had a bit of time — enough for Isaac to prepare everything without rushing. He was more than satisfied with their conversation; he had expected the worst, but contrary to his fears, Isaac had been as composed as ever.
So they would be meeting for dinner. He already had several restaurants in mind where they could eat. Quite a few of them had quieter seating areas that weren't so close to other guests. Maybe even one with private dining rooms. Isaac didn't like having other people around, and if Benedict wanted to question him about the scar, it might be better to choose such a place.
He smiled at Isaac. "If you don't mind, I'd love that."
But at that exact moment, an arm suddenly slipped around Isaac's shoulders from behind. The man pulled him effortlessly close and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek.
"Back again, darling."
Benedict's thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
The stranger was slightly taller than Isaac. His black hair was carefully styled, his shirt casually unbuttoned and just open enough to hint at a well-trained torso. His style vaguely resembled Isaac's — only more confident, more eye-catching.
His golden eyes shot Benedict a more than provocative look that could only be taken as a challenge.
What the hell…?
Isaac flinched violently. Reflexively, he shoved the man away from him. His face was bright red.
"Noctis!" Isaac hissed, embarrassed. "What are you doing here in the café?!"
Benedict looked at him in irritation.
The moment this stranger had appeared, Isaac was behaving completely differently than usual. His gaze moved back and forth between Isaac and Noctis in disbelief. Who was this guy, and what exactly was his relationship with Isaac? Beneath the table, Benedict's hand curled into a fist.
"I wanted to see you after I worked sooo hard last night!" Noctis declared theatrically. He leaned in close to Isaac, slipped two fingers under his chin, and forced him to look up. His gaze was far too familiar. "Will you make me a coffee, darling?"
The flush didn't leave Isaac's cheeks; he placed his hand over Noctis's face and pushed him away.
"Behave, damn it," he said quietly before turning toward the counter without looking at Benedict again.
"How mean. And I haven't even done anything yet!" Noctis complained with mock indignation.
"You've done enough already!" Isaac called over his shoulder.
Noctis smirked at Isaac's reaction. He directed his gaze straight at Benedict, his lips playing with an amused smile that made Benedict want to wipe that grin right off his face.
"He's really cute when he gets this embarrassed. Don't you think?"
Without waiting for Benedict's answer, Noctis casually turned away, as if the conversation had already been decided.
What kind of asshole is this?!
The guy had been getting on Benedict's nerves since the moment he showed up. It was rare for someone to irritate him this intensely from the start. He could hardly process what he had just witnessed. He stared after the two of them. Who the hell was this Noctis, and what exactly did he want from Isaac?
Is this the friend Isaac mentioned? The one who always shows up uninvited? Boundaries certainly seem foreign to this guy.
They seemed very familiar with each other, and Isaac behaved completely differently with this Noctis than Benedict was used to. Different from how he acted in public — and different from how he was with Benedict. Was he like that because they were friends, or was there more to it? His gaze drifted to Isaac, who was currently making a coffee.
What an irritating bastard, Benedict thought irritably.
His phone rang. Jasper.
"What is it?" he growled.
"Wow, what's got your liver in a twist?" Jasper asked tiredly.
Benedict exhaled. "Nothing. What's up?"
"Get to the precinct — we've got a briefing in a minute," Jasper said. "Hurry up, it's one of those murders again."
The irritation vanished instantly — replaced by a cold, familiar tension.
"I'll be right there."
He ended the call, quickly gathered his things, and finished his coffee in a few quick gulps. Then he passed the counter and dropped far too much money onto it.
"I have to go, Isaac! Talk later!" he called, stressed, as he left the café.
"Wait! You paid too much!" he heard Isaac call after him. But as soon as the door closed behind him, there was nothing more to hear.
Benedict hurried toward the precinct as fast as he could.
The case wouldn't wait.
___
Less than fifteen minutes later, Benedict was sitting in the precinct's briefing room. Jasper had called the meeting as quickly as possible. Several colleagues had already arrived; the room was darkened, the air tense.
No one spoke.
All eyes were fixed on the photo Jasper had projected onto the wall.
"The Webster clan has struck again," he said flatly.
The image showed a corpse strapped to a chair. Hands, feet, and torso were secured with wide belts. Blood had pooled beneath the chair in dark, irregular puddles and coated the clothing and skin so heavily that individual injuries were barely distinguishable.
Even so, Benedict knew immediately what he was looking at.
It wasn't the first case of this kind.
Unnoticeably, he clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to keep listening.
"The victim is male, mid-thirties," Jasper continued. "He was found this morning in a container at the docks. A night-shift worker discovered blood seeping out from under the container door during his final patrol and immediately notified the precinct. Current evidence suggests the man was held there, tortured, and ultimately killed," Jasper said. "The forensic pattern matches — unsurprisingly — the previous cases."
He changed the image. Now a glossy black card with a golden spider pattern was visible. It was an ace card like one from a standard deck, but the back was completely black. Blood clung to it; otherwise it appeared undamaged. No fingerprints or scratches were visible. Benedict would have been surprised if they found any DNA trace from the killer.
"The perpetrator once again left a spider card pointing to the Webster clan," Jasper said. "This time: the Ace of Spades."
The room remained silent, but the tension noticeably intensified.
They already had the Seven of Hearts, the Nine of Clubs, the Jack of Hearts, the Jack of Clubs — and now the Ace of Spades.
So far, it had led nowhere.
Up to now, they had only been able to speculate wildly why these particular cards had been left behind. The previous victims had all been gangsters belonging to different clans. Based on the symbols, they had tried to assign the clans accordingly, but the strategy had come to nothing — for example, the two heart cards had been found on victims from different clans.
Accordingly, they had been able to identify the victims, but neither the motive nor the murderer.
These cases were at least as frustrating as the phantom thieves.
Jasper turned his gaze toward Benedict. "Benedict and Sebastian, you two check the scene on site. Scarlet and Ashley, get the video footage and comb through it for clues. The rest of you pull the old files and compile an overview of everything we have on the killer."
Jasper switched the lights back on. The harsh neon made Benedict narrow his eyes briefly before his vision adjusted.
"It's been a long time since the killer struck. I want every piece of information on this case. I want to know when and where it happened. I want to know who the victim is and where the guy was beforehand," Jasper growled irritably. "I want a preliminary overview this afternoon. Move — you've got plenty to do."
With that, the briefing was over and the officers stood up. Everyone knew their assignment.
Jasper switched off the projector and gathered the few documents they had so far on the case. The quiet rustle of paper mixed with the scraping of chairs as the group slowly broke up.
"I can't believe the guy is striking again," Sebastian said thoughtfully beside Benedict. "We found the last body half a year ago, if I remember correctly."
Benedict gave a short nod.
"He strikes irregularly. Before that there were three months in between — and before that almost a full year."
Sebastian grimaced. "Do you think it's another gangster?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," Benedict replied calmly. "The real question is which clan."
Sebastian snorted quietly and rubbed the back of his neck.
"These murders are creepy. The last victim still shows up in my nightmares. That killer is seriously sick." Sebastian gave a brief shudder, as if he were cold. "Honestly, what the guy does to his victims goes way beyond normal torture — he enjoys making them suffer."
Jasper dropped into a chair in front of them. He looked thoroughly irritated.
"I couldn't care less if these idiots stab each other," he snorted, "but couldn't they do it in a way that doesn't create work for us? We've got more than enough on our plate, and this would be criminal number four who keeps slipping through our fingers." He huffed. "Seriously, people, I'd like to have a success for once and finally cross a killer off our list."
Benedict exhaled quietly.
"What interests me more is why the Webster clan exclusively kills other gangsters — and does it like this," he mused. "It's clear these are always very personal messages, but why leave so much time between the murders? Are they pursuing a specific objective, or are these just guys who got on their nerves? After all, the Webster clan is known for exclusively killing and taking contract hits."
"Except that with contract killings they don't leave anything behind that points to them. The spider symbol, on the other hand, is a clear message," Jasper said.
Sebastian shrugged and stood up.
"No idea, and I don't really care," he said. "Come on, Ben. I want to be home for dinner on time today."
The sooner they finished, the better. So Benedict stood as well.
"Got it. See you later, Jas."
Jasper waved tiredly. "Later. And please bring me the killer — that'd be great, thanks."
Benedict had to laugh. "We'll do our best."
But as they left the room, an uneasy feeling lingered in his stomach.
Something about this timing didn't sit right with him at all.
Benedict packed his tablet and notebook into his backpack. He checked his pistol and finally left the precinct with Sebastian. Barely had he pushed open the main entrance door when he collided head-on with someone.
Hot liquid sloshed over his upper body.
"Damn—!" Hissing, Benedict yanked the fabric away from his chest before the heat could soak further through his shirt.
The smell of caramel coffee hit his nose. He was just about to snap at the person who had drenched him when he met Isaac's guilty red eyes. Isaac himself was soaked in coffee but made no move to free himself from the hot drink — which might have been because his hands were full.
"Sorry," Isaac said quietly. "I should have been more careful."
"Isaac?" Benedict blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here—"
Then he registered the extent of it.
Isaac's mask was soaked through. The dark sweater clung wetly to his body. Even the tips of his white hair were dripping coffee.
"Oh shit — did you burn yourself?" Benedict was immediately at his side. He pulled out a handkerchief and carefully began dabbing the liquid from Isaac's cheek.
"Benedict…," Isaac started.
"Damn, your skin is completely red," Benedict muttered tensely.
"Ben!" Isaac said more loudly.
Benedict froze when Isaac addressed him by his nickname and caught his hand. "Relax. It's all okay. I ran into you, not the other way around."
He pulled off his face mask and grimaced slightly.
"I think caramel will never be my favorite flavor."
Benedict couldn't suppress a brief laugh. By now, everything around them smelled intensely sweet.
"Tell me about it," he said dryly. "Though at least the caramel smell will drown out whatever else is about to hit me. Maybe I should be grateful for the accident."
Isaac snorted softly. For a fraction of a second, something like a smile actually flickered at the corner of his mouth.
Then he lifted two coffee cups.
"I actually just wanted to bring you your order. You didn't eat your breakfast and then just left without taking everything with you."
He came all the way here just to bring me my breakfast?
Benedict blinked. "That… thank you." He couldn't help smiling. That was unexpectedly sweet of Isaac.
"No problem," Isaac said. He handed Benedict the coffee and a bag of sandwiches. "Sorry about the coffee. See you tomorrow."
He gave Sebastian a brief nod, then headed back down the precinct steps. Benedict watched him silently, his eyes fixed on Isaac's back — more precisely, at hip level.
Even soaked in coffee, he looks breathtaking.
"Nice of him," Sebastian said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. He grabbed one of the two coffee cups. "Good thing only Jas's got spilled. Must be my lucky day."
Benedict rolled his eyes and held out his arms. "Come here and let me hug you so you can share this disgustingly sweet smell with me."
"Forget it! It's bad enough I'll have to endure the stench in the car!" Sebastian shot back, putting a few steps of distance between them. "You can run after him and hug him if you're that desperate for physical contact."
Nothing I'd rather do, but we're not there yet, Benedict thought with a bitter aftertaste.
He took a step toward Sebastian. "Oh come on, you're my best friend. What's one little hug?" he asked with a grin.
"Seriously, Ben — stay away from me!"
Benedict couldn't help laughing. For the fact that they were on their way to a badly mutilated corpse, the situation was so utterly ridiculous that he couldn't stop himself.
Sebastian studied him, then relaxed. "You seem happier. At first I was skeptical about this Isaac guy, but he really seems to be good for you."
"He really is okay once you get to know him a little better," Benedict said with a smile.
Though that uneasy feeling in his gut made itself known again.
Especially if you ignore everything else about him.
___
The atmosphere at a crime scene was hard to put into words.
On the one hand, there was the subdued mood of everyone present because a person had died. Benedict was used to seeing people cry — whether they were personally affected or not. He was also used to seeing them angry or agitated.
Death was not something people reacted to in a uniform way. Benedict knew that all too well.
On the other hand, there were the colleagues on site who kept everything under control. As a police officer, he was accustomed to visiting scenes like this — and he had seen several from this particular killer. They maintained a professional façade toward all outsiders. At the scene itself, there were those who treated it with proper respect… and those who did not take it quite so seriously.
The first thing that hit them was the heavy metallic smell of blood. Then they saw the evidence markers. The forensic team was still busy photographing the blood traces and various small items scattered across the floor.
Nails, severed fingertips, or finger segments. Benedict spotted a thick toe, and he had already noticed one or two teeth. In truth, he didn't even need to look closely to know what the killer had done to the victim during that time.
"Well, if it isn't my two favorite detectives."
The voice was bright, almost cheerful.
Benedict turned his head.
The woman with the long brown hair wore a broad smile that seemed almost in poor taste in this environment. Her posture was relaxed, almost buoyant — a stark contrast to the rest of the room.
Benedict personally had little patience for gangsters. And yes — in the end, he didn't particularly care when one of them died. But respect for the dead should still be a given.
"Mary," he greeted curtly. "Got anything for us yet?"
"Of course. Come over here and take a look."
She waved them closer.
The floor was sticky with blood. It was difficult to take even a single step without landing in a dark smear.
"Of course, I can only make official statements once I've performed the autopsy. However, it's obvious the poor guy was tortured over several hours. He's missing multiple teeth, lost an ear, his nails were removed, followed closely by the first finger segments of every single finger," she explained matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about a piece of meat rather than a human being. She pointed toward his feet. "The same was done to the toes."
She crossed her arms.
"Aside from that, he suffered several deep incisions to the skin."
She made a sweeping gesture around the container. "He died of blood loss, like the others."
Benedict nodded and looked into the victim's distorted face. "What's missing?" he asked as he leaned forward and at least examined the body externally. Sebastian did the same. But the moment he asked the question, he already saw what was missing.
"The left ear. At least I haven't heard that it was found here."
Benedict nodded thoughtfully.
"So again, a different body part."
"Doesn't that make two hands, a tongue, and an eye?"
Benedict nodded.
"He probably delivered them somewhere as a package. I can't imagine the killer kept the body parts."
Sebastian grimaced. "Who knows. That guy is completely sick — I wouldn't put anything past the bastard."
"Same," Benedict said absently.
What he saw was the same picture as with the other victims. Yes, the scene before him was undoubtedly gruesome, but he did not expect to find anything that would incriminate the killer. He would have to wait for the forensic report.
He let his gaze sweep through the room, grabbed his notebook, and began taking notes while coordinating with Sebastian about which photos would be useful for them.
The victim's face in particular bore numerous cuts and wounds. The killer had not been especially careful when breaking the teeth out of the jaw. The jaw itself had been fractured, so the lower section hung open and far too low.
The cuts at the corners of the mouth had not exactly helped keep everything in place with the muscles. The only good thing, presumably, was that the killer had never touched the victims' abdomen. This horrific scene was not accompanied by scattered organs.
You had to look for the positives in certain situations.
They would also receive the detailed images from forensics, and the body would look different again under clinical lighting in the autopsy suite. He nodded to Mary.
"Take him with you. We're done here," he said at last, after they had examined everything for over three hours and taken the statement from the person who had found the body.
Benedict was glad to leave the crime scene again. The combination of the blood smell mixed with the sickly sweet caramel scent of the coffee kept making nausea rise in his throat. Only once they were far enough away from the container did he feel able to breathe again.
He glanced over at Sebastian, who looked a little green around the gills.
"You holding up?" Benedict asked.
Sebastian nodded slowly. "Shit… I really hope nothing gets served in pieces today." A brief pause, then he grimaced. "I think they said it's goulash."
A dry laugh escaped Benedict.
"That would be really unfortunate."
"Yeah, laugh it up," Sebastian growled.
Benedict gave his shoulder an encouraging pat. "At least it's just desk work waiting for us now."
Sebastian visibly gagged and shoved him a bit farther away.
"That damn caramel smell isn't helping," he cursed. "How does Jasper even get that stuff down?"
Benedict shrugged.
"No idea. But — can you stop by my place for a second? I need to change."
Sebastian snorted. "I will do anything to make you finally take off that damn shirt."
Benedict grinned crookedly.
"If you ask nicely, I'll take it off right away."
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Idiot. You might as well ask me to throw up in your lap."
"Fine by me. It's your car," Benedict shot back dryly.
He smirked softly and then pulled off the soaked shirt.
By now, the smell was getting on his nerves too.