Page 26 of Midnight at the Magnolia

I cast one last look at my apartment, thinking of the photo of Sarah, of the dried flowers I’ve kept from her funeral. The ones that still smell faintly of her favorite perfume, preserved with the same care as my deadly herbs.

“I’m close, Sarah,” I whisper into the night, feeling the weight of every poison, every charm, every choice that’s led me here. “So close to making them pay for what they did to you. And I’m not stopping now.”

Not even for Jazz.

Not even for Ethan.

Not even if every protection charm and warning herb screams at me to walk away.

Some prices are worth paying, even if they cost you everything. And baby, I’ve got a lot of bills coming due.

9

ETHAN

FIELD REPORT

Witness describes encounter with suspected Viper. “Felt like they knew me, my habits.” Agent Blake flags possible stalking period before kills.

The harsh glareof the desk lamp casts long shadows across my dimly lit hotel room, turning the space into a confessional for sins yet uncommitted. Lauren’s case files used to look just like this—spread across every surface like tarot cards predicting doom.

“The answers are always in the chaos,”she’d say.“You just have to learn to read them.”

Case files lay spread across the bed, a mosaic of horror and mystery that seems to pulse with malevolent life in the flickering light. The victims’ photos stare up at me, their unseeing eyes an accusation I can’t shake. Just like Lauren’s eyes in that final crime scene photo I can never unsee.

One I don’t want to shake. Some ghosts you carry forever.

My fingers twitch, longing for the familiar weight of a cigarette I’d given up years ago—a habit Lauren had hated.Instead, I reach for the glass of whiskey on the nightstand, the amber liquid catching the light like trapped fire. The burn as it slides down my throat is a poor substitute for the answers I crave, but it’ll do. For now.

As the ice in my glass slowly melts, my thoughts drift to Celeste. Her enigmatic smile, the way she cases every room she enters, the hint of danger that lurks behind her eyes... she’s a puzzle I’m becoming dangerously obsessed with solving.

Lately, I’ve caught myself noticing things Lauren would call irrelevant to the case—how she taps her pen three times before writing, the way sunlight catches the gold flecks in her eyes, the slight accent that creeps into her voice when she’s tired.

“The most dangerous suspects,”Lauren would warn,“are the ones who make you want to believe them.”

My hand clenches around the glass, knuckles white with the effort of restraint. The other hand automatically checking my weapon—old habits Lauren drilled into me. Always armed, never prepared for the real dangers.

You’re losing it, Blake,I think, the voice in my head a mocking echo of my old partner.She’s a lead, maybe even a suspect. Not your goddamn salvation.

Lauren’s voice joins the chorus:“Your heart’s always been your blind spot.”

But even as I berate myself, my free hand is reaching for the phone. The numbers glow accusingly in the dim light as I dial the Magnolia Diner, my heart a war drum in my chest. Every professional instinct screams that this is a mistake.

“Magnolia Diner, Celeste speaking. How can I help you?” Her voice is smoke and honey, a siren’s call I’m powerless to resist. Christ, I’m in trouble. Lauren would be rolling her eyes right about now.

“Celeste,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend, years of interrogation training deserting me. “It’s Ethan. I need your help with something. Can you meet me after your shift?”

A pause, heavy with unspoken possibilities. I note the slight catch in her breath—anxiety? Anticipation? Lauren taught me to read people’s voices like books. “Is everything okay, Ethan?” The concern seems genuine, but underneath it, I catch a note of... calculation?

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I just... I could use a fresh pair of eyes on these case files. And maybe some of that coffee of yours.” The words feel inadequate, a flimsy excuse for the real reason I want to see her. Smooth, Blake. Real smooth. Lauren would be laughing her ass off right now.

She laughs softly, the sound wrapping around me like a caress. “Alright, Agent Blake. You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll be there in an hour.”

As I hang up, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the desk. The man staring back at me looks haunted, desperate. I barely recognize myself. When did I become this guy?

Lauren’s voice whispers:“The moment you started letting your heart override your training.”

The wait is excruciating. I try to refocus on the files, applying the systematic approach Lauren taught me—look for patterns, follow the money, track the gaps in alibis. But the words blur together, meaningless. My training dissolves into the whiskey-warm air as I find myself pacing the small room, every creak of the floorboards an accusation.

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