Page 22 of When You're Gone

With each name on that list, he sawnot individuals but obstacles to be eradicated for the greater cause he served.The fate of those marked by his hand was sealed in ink and blood, theirexistence now tied irrevocably to the machinations of time and destiny.

As he refolded the paper and tuckedit back into his pocket, a sense of purpose coursed through him like amalevolent current. The shadows whispered their approval as he prepared toexecute his grim task, ensuring that no one would hinder the rise of a new eraunder the dominion of the Tempus Machine.

Moving with a purposeful stride,the killer left behind the dusty confines of the eerie train carriage andventured deeper into the labyrinth of forgotten history. The dim lightflickered as he approached another compartment, its door slightly ajar as ifbeckoning him inside.

Pushing it open, he was met with achilling display that sent a thrill down his spine. Adorning the walls were anarray of weapons from antiquity, each bearing the weight of past violence anduntold stories. Among them, a small scythe-like blade caught his attention, itsedge gleaming in the muted light like a promise of retribution.

Without hesitation, he reached outand grasped the blade, feeling its cold steel bite into his skin. A bead ofcrimson welled up from his finger, marking a silent covenant between weapon andwielder. The sharp point drew blood, igniting a visceral thrill that pulsedthrough him like a dark heartbeat.

As he stared at the blade stainedwith his own essence, an image flashed before his eyes - the weapon plunginginto the soft flesh of his next victim with deadly precision. The anticipationof that moment sent shivers of delight down his spine, fueling his twisteddesires with every beat of his heart.

Driven by macabre fascination, hedonned an old Victorian mask hanging nearby, its cracked surface whisperingtales of long-forgotten masquerades and hidden identities. The mask transformedhim into a phantom of the past, obscuring his features behind an unsettlingfacade that promised both anonymity and dread.

With newfound purpose coursingthrough his veins and the taste of blood lingering on his lips, he stepped outof the compartment like a specter emerging from shadows. The killer moved withsilent intent, blending seamlessly into the darkness as if becoming one withit.

In that fleeting moment beforevanishing completely from sight, he embraced his role as an agent of chaos anddeath in this intricate dance orchestrated by forces beyond mortalcomprehension. With every step taken in that ancient carriage echoing tales untold,he embarked on a journey to fulfill destiny's grim design under the watchfulgaze of time itself.

CHAPTER TEN

Finn winced as the needle piercedhis skin, the sharp sting of the anesthesia a harsh reminder of his recentscuffle. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the small room at theHertfordshire Constabulary where they were being patched up. He watched as Ameliasat across from him, an ice pack pressed against her nose, a faint bruisealready blossoming on her cheek.

"Guess we're quite the pairtoday," Finn remarked, trying to lighten the mood despite the throbbingache in his arm.

Amelia shot him a wry smile, hereyes glinting with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You always manageto get yourself into trouble, don't you?"

"It's all part of mycharm," Finn quipped, earning a chuckle from Amelia that turned into awince as she shifted uncomfortably.

The paramedic attending to themraised an eyebrow at their banter but wisely chose not to comment as he focusedon stitching up Finn's wound with practiced precision.

"How's the nose holdingup?" Finn asked, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at herinjury.

Amelia shrugged lightly."Could be worse. At least it's not broken this time."

Finn nodded in agreement, gratefulthat their injuries weren't more severe given the dangerous nature of theirwork. As the paramedic finished up with Finn's stitches, he turned hisattention back to Amelia.

"You know," Finn began, amischievous glint in his eyes, "I think this might just be our mostglamorous crime scene yet."

Amelia rolled her eyes but couldn'thide a smirk. "Oh yes, nothing says glamour like getting attacked byVictorian-obsessed murderers in dilapidated old buildings."

"Exactly," Finn repliedwith mock seriousness. "We're living every detective's dream."

The paramedic cleared his throatdiscreetly, signaling that they were both good to go. Finn flexed his newlystitched arm experimentally while Amelia removed the ice pack from her nose andtested its soreness with a gentle touch.

"Well," Amelia said asshe stood up, readjusting her jacket, "back to the grindstone then?"

Finn followed suit and got to hisfeet with a nod. "Thank you."

The bustling London street greetedFinn and Amelia with a cacophony of sounds and a whirlwind of activity.Pedestrians hurried past, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, whilethe distant honking of cars added to the urban symphony. Neon lights fromstorefronts cast a vibrant glow, illuminating the eclectic mix of shops thatlined the narrow road.

Finn adjusted his coat, feeling theweight of recent events still lingering in the air around them. Amelia walkedbeside him, her gaze sharp and focused as they navigated through the throng ofpeople. Despite the chaos of the city, a sense of camaraderie settled betweenthem, forged through shared danger and unwavering determination.

As they made their way through thecrowded sidewalk, Finn caught sight of a street performer playing a hauntingmelody on a violin. The mournful notes seemed to echo the somber mood thatclung to them like a shadow. Amelia glanced at Finn briefly before returningher attention to their surroundings, her eyes scanning for any signs that couldlead them closer to unraveling the mysteries that had entwined their lives.

A sudden gust of wind swept downthe street, carrying with it a swirl of fallen leaves that danced in its wake.Finn's thoughts drifted to the murderer. The killer's meticulous planning andtwisted purpose weighed heavily on his mind, urging him onward.

Amelia's hand brushed against hisarm subtly, a silent reassurance amidst the bustling chaos surrounding them.Finn met her gaze, finding solace in her unwavering support as they delveddeeper into the heart of London's mysteries.

“We only have one lead now,” Ameliasaid with a sigh.

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