Exhausted, Benedict let his head sink onto the cool surface of his desk. For a moment, he closed his eyes and shut out the hectic noise of the precinct. Keyboards clattered, a phone rang incessantly somewhere, and from the operations center came the muffled static of radio transmissions.
He never should have agreed to Vincent's suggestion.
Ever since they had finally captured the boss of the Leviathan Cartel — only to lose him again immediately because of that damned attack — all hell had broken loose in Magnolia.
Magnolia had always struggled with crime and gang warfare. During his training days, they had sometimes been dispatched several times a day to break up street battles between rival clans or pull civilians out of the line of fire. Some districts were practically off-limits after sunset.
In fact, things had improved after the boss of the Leviathan Cartel gradually united the clans. The problem was that it was no longer a matter of many small crimes, but fewer, far more serious operations on a much larger scale. It had taken time before the boss's true intentions became clear.
What Benedict and everyone else had not expected was that the boss was not only the head of the Leviathan Cartel, but also the mayor of Magnolia.
The thought alone still made Benedict grit his teeth. For days, the press had feasted on the revelation. Politicians blamed one another while the population swung between panic and blind rage. And right into that power vacuum rushed every small-time gang, wannabe crime boss, and armed idiot who suddenly believed they could carve out a piece of the city for themselves.
The result was chaos.
For days, the precinct had been operating practically nonstop. Benedict could not remember the last time he had slept more than three hours in a row. Voluntary overtime had long ceased to exist — now it was only a matter of figuring out when there was just enough time to use the station shower or choke down a cold coffee.
"Break's over."
Jasper's voice suddenly sounded right beside him.
Benedict did not even lift his head. Instead, he sluggishly stretched out a hand until Jasper pressed a tablet into it.
"That wasn't even five minutes," Benedict muttered wearily.
"The dead body at Petal Plaza unfortunately doesn't care."
Benedict let out a quiet groan and reluctantly pushed himself upright. His shoulders felt as though someone had attached weights to them. He had spent the entire night at the precinct writing reports.
"Can't someone else take this one? I'm really tired, Jas."
With a heavy sigh, Jasper dropped into the chair beside him. Even he looked completely overworked by now. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his usually neat shirt was wrinkled.
"I know," he said quietly. "Believe me, I wish things were different. But right now we're drowning in work."
Benedict let out a dry snort.
"Who could've possibly predicted this outcome? We cut the snake's head off, and suddenly every petty criminal crawls out of their hole trying to grab the smallest crumb of the pie."
Jasper leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"The territorial fights are the worst," he finally said. "Every second gang suddenly thinks they're the next big cartel. If we're unlucky, this could still turn into an all-out street war."
He fell silent briefly before continuing.
"And honestly, I don't even want to imagine how much worse it would be if we hadn't shut down the brothel and cut off the main supply line of his drug operation."
Benedict still remembered the images from the brothel — and especially the basement. After securing the villa, he had helped his colleagues at the brothel. Thanks to all the documents Vincent had provided, he had known what they were going to find.
What he had not expected were human-sized cages.
The people inside had not looked neglected. It was obvious they had been given enough food, water, and even access to showers. After all, they had all been put on display. Only the manner in which it had been done had been utterly degrading.
None of those people had been fully clothed, and the clothing they wore had been chosen deliberately. Just enough to cover the essentials. Just little enough to stir the imagination of potential buyers. Men and women stood behind bars like exotic animals in a shop window, forced to endure being inspected.
Benedict remembered their expressions far too clearly.
In truth, Benedict was grateful that Vincent had gone through all that effort to free those people. Without his information, they probably never would have raided the brothel in time. Some of the victims might already have disappeared, sold off to wealthy sadists somewhere outside the city.
But he was not exactly pleased with the chaos that had followed.
Benedict had had other plans. He had intended to grow closer to Vincent and gather information that could help bring down other clans — or even the Webster Clan itself.
Instead, he was stuck dealing with all these idiots.
At least all this mess had distracted him from the emptiness left behind by his fulfilled revenge. Afterward, he had felt lost. There had suddenly been a void inside him that was unbearable. If Vincent had not been there and promised him the boss of the Leviathan Cartel… Benedict did not know what he would have done once he got home.
Vincent…
He still did not know what truly lay behind that charming exterior. Vincent was intelligent, manipulative, and undoubtedly dangerous. He probably lied more often than other people breathed. And yet, Benedict felt strangely safe in his presence. He believed the facade of the "good criminal" who only killed bad criminals — but Vincent had also never given him a reason to believe otherwise.
Something in Benedict's head really had to be broken by now.
Because Vincent was nothing like the men he was normally attracted to.
His type had always been men like Dan. Athletic, uncomplicated, loud in their laughter, with that certain softer side they rarely showed openly. Men who radiated warmth. Benedict had always been especially vulnerable to those with light brown hair and green eyes. The mere thought of it was enough to make his heart beat faster.
Isaac, on the other hand, had been an entirely different story.
Isaac had simply been one of the most beautiful men Benedict had ever seen. But it had not only been his appearance. There had been something fascinating about him. The way he spoke. The calmness with which he observed others. That feeling that every sentence he said carried three more meanings beneath the surface.
Benedict had not just fallen in love with his face.
He had fallen in love with the mystery.
Even now, he still thought about him sometimes. Wondered how he was doing. Whether his injury was healing well. Whether he could walk again by now or if he was still in pain.
His feelings toward him, however, had changed. He still cared, and Isaac still lingered in his mind. But love? That was gone. What remained was interest in his past and his motives.
More than anything, though, Isaac's final words would not leave his head.
He had spoken in such a quiet, fragile voice that Benedict had almost failed to understand him. Friends. Maybe, under different circumstances, they really could have become friends.
A part of him still hoped that maybe, someday, they would meet again and talk over a cup of coffee. But his instincts told him very clearly that it would never happen.
So all that remained was the chaos consuming the city — and Vincent.
"Honestly?" Benedict finally muttered, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "I don't even want to know what things would look like if we hadn't brought his main operations under control."
"I have a pretty clear idea of what that would look like," Jasper replied. He studied him thoughtfully. "I still can't believe you gathered all that information. I tell you to stay home and rest, and instead you spend your free time digging up all the dirty secrets of our highly esteemed mayor. How did you even realize something was wrong with him?"
Of course Jasper was still skeptical. He had looked at him strangely the moment Benedict brought in the files. Benedict had presented Vincent's perfectly prepared work as his own.
And the plan had worked.
His colleagues — especially his closest friends — knew how obsessively he could throw himself into certain cases.
Though this case had appeared completely out of nowhere.
He had never spoken to anyone about it before. He had never voiced any suspicion, nor openly expressed distrust toward the mayor. Hell, even for Benedict himself, the whole thing had come out of nowhere. And now he had to live this lie as though he had really spent months preparing all those documents.
"There was just something off about him," Benedict finally answered evasively. "So I started digging. And the deeper I dug, the more dirt came to light."
He tightened his grip on the tablet slightly.
"Besides, I had an informant feeding me tips the whole time."
Jasper let out a quiet snort.
"Oh right. Your mysterious informant." He crossed his arms. "You still don't want to give me a name?"
Benedict immediately shook his head.
"He wants to stay out of the line of fire. You know what happens to rats when they get exposed."
"Yeah, I know," Jasper sighed. "But the boss is dead, so who exactly is going to come after him?"
"I just want to keep him around a little longer. Maybe we'll still get some useful information out of him," Benedict replied with a tired smile. "As long as that source hasn't dried up, I don't want to risk anything that might make him go silent."
Jasper immediately raised his hands in a calming gesture.
"Alright, alright. I'm just surprised you managed to keep all of this secret from us for so long," he said. His expression turned concerned. "All this time, I thought you were still grieving Dan, but apparently you had an entirely different project."
Benedict twisted the corner of his mouth slightly.
"I was grieving," he said. "But I think I found a way to deal with it. I'm going to look for a new apartment soon and finally close that chapter of my life."
Jasper smiled at him.
"Sounds like a start."
Benedict did not answer. Instead, he activated the tablet and began going through the crime scene photos that were already open.
The very first image made part of his exhaustion disappear.
"So? What do we have?" Benedict asked.
"Several dead," Jasper replied tiredly. "I want you to take a look at the one at the Plaza. He was practically executed and displayed in public. We already sealed off the area, and the forensic team is almost done. The victim was an enforcer with a prior record. As far as we know, he belonged to the Leviathan Cartel and worked for the boss in his trafficking operation. He transported people to their new owners. What I can't wrap my head around, though, is why he was displayed like that. But one thing we do know is that the Webster Clan has its fingers in this."
Benedict studied the forensic photos and paused at the image of the spider card.
So it was Noctis?
Jasper grabbed the tablet and opened another case.
"Sebastian is on his way to the docks right now. The victim had a similar background and was executed by the same killer."
Benedict suppressed an exhausted sigh.
He urgently needed to speak with Vincent.
Not just because of Noctis. He needed to find out exactly what the Webster Clan was planning, how many targets were still on their list, and whether Vincent perhaps had information that could spare them at least part of this madness.
But he had not heard anything from the man with the striking scar across his face since then.
Benedict was aware that he had to be busy, and in a way, the murders were helping contain the city's crime problem — though they also meant even more work for Benedict and his colleagues.
Why can't you just make your victims disappear like every other criminal bastard?
A missing persons report was definitely less work than a murder case on this scale. Because Noctis seemed to enjoy playing with his victims. Unfortunately, thanks to his pact with the devil named Vincent, Benedict had to make sure the identities of Noctis, Isaac, and Vincent all remained secret.
It was simply exhausting working a case where you knew the killer and had to constantly steer your colleagues toward other, more logical conclusions.
"There are more dead," Jasper said. "A lot from smaller clans, but definitely several scattered members of the Leviathan Cartel. The Webster Clan seems determined to wipe out every last one of them. We probably shouldn't complain — they're really taking quite a bit of work off our hands."
Benedict stood up and pulled on his jacket.
"Then they should kill those guys less conspicuously," he snorted.
He definitely needed to talk to Vincent.
"I'm heading to the Plaza to take a look at the victim."
Jasper nodded.
"Let me know when you're back. I'll order us something to eat."
Benedict grabbed his bag.
"Order pizza. And I need beer if I'm supposed to survive today's overtime."
"You'll get whatever you want," Jasper yawned as he stood up as well. "At least we don't also have to deal with the Phantoms right now."
He stretched briefly.
"To be honest, I'm wondering whether another announcement is coming soon."
Benedict raised an eyebrow.
"The Phantoms?" He shook his head slightly. "Ever since the kid was killed, I doubt Moonshadow will show himself publicly again."
"Is that your famous gut feeling talking?"
Benedict nodded. He did not believe Isaac would ever act that openly again. Noah had seemed to be the showman. Isaac was not someone who operated conspicuously.
"What else? Besides, I'm not in the mood for another heist. We already have more than enough to deal with."
Jasper snorted in agreement.
"For once, I'm not arguing with you there. See you later."
"Later."
Benedict grabbed his bag, shoved the tablet inside, and left the office. While he was still walking out of the precinct, he sent Vincent a message.
We need to talk.