Page 25 of Whispers in the Quarter

“It’s my job, Lucas.”

“Is it?” I lean forward, letting my more unhinged tendencies show. Let him see just how insane I really am. “Or is it something else? Something darker, more personal?” My eyes flick to the gun at his hip. “How many times have you wanted to pull that trigger, Ethan? How many monsters have you watched walk free because of procedures and politics and all those tedious little rules?”

He stiffens, but I catch it—that microscopic flash of recognition in his eyes. Oh, this is delightful.

“I’ve seen your case files, friend. The ones you keep separate from the official reports. All those notes about criminals who escaped justice through legal loopholes. The way you track them, almost... obsessively.” I giggle. “Sound familiar?”

“That’s different,” Ethan protests, but there’s a crack in his professional veneer.

“Is it?” I stand, moving closer, studying him like one of my more fascinating specimens. “Or are you chasing her because she’s doing what you’ve always wanted to do? Making the world a cleaner place, one perfectly executed elimination at a time?”

“Lucas—”

“The precision of it attracts you, doesn’t it?” I’m circling him now, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The elegance of her methods. The way she delivers justice without all that messy bureaucracy. Tell me, when you look at these crime scenes,” I tap the photos on my desk, “do you feel horror... or admiration?”

Ethan’s silence is more revealing than any protest. I catch his reflection in my computer screen – the conflict in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips. He’s beautiful in his uncertainty.

“You know what I think?” I stop in front of him, close enough to catch the faint scent of gunpowder and dedication. “I think you’re not chasing her to stop her. I think you’re chasing her to join her.”

His sharp intake of breath is everything I hoped for. “You’re insane,” he says, but there’s no conviction in it. He’s used to my madness by now, might even be developing a taste for it.

“Brilliantly so,” I agree cheerfully. “And you’re obsessed. We make quite the pair, don’t we? Both drawn to her chaos, her perfect justice.” I tap his chest, right over his heart. “The only difference is, I’ve embraced it.”

“Lucas,” his voice is strained now, “what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting, my dear friend,” I lean in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper, “that maybe it’s time to stop pretending. Stop fighting what you really want. Join us in the shadows. It’s ever so much more interesting here.”

“Us?” His eyes narrow, and oh, he’s magnificent in his suspicion.

I just smile, wild and free. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? How terribly indiscreet of me.” I spin away, back to my microscope. “More coffee? I have a fresh batch of that Ethiopian blend you love. Though I should warn you, I may have accidentally introduced some interesting compounds during my last experiment...”

“No coffee,” Ethan says firmly, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he sinks into my spare lab chair, running a hand through his hair in that deliciously disheveled way of his. “Lucas, if you know something...”

“Oh, I know many things,” I say brightly, already calculating new possibilities. Ethan would look magnificent in my lab, all righteous passion turned toward a darker purpose. “Did you know that certain neurotoxins can actually enhance cognitive function before they kill? Fascinating research. Very hush-hush. Rather like your private investigation notes.”

“I’m serious?—”

“So am I!” I spin to face him, letting my manic energy bubble over. “Always so serious, our Agent Blake. Always so... contained.” I lean forward, studying the shadows under his eyes with scientific interest. “Tell me, when was the last time you felt truly alive? Was it chasing our mysterious vigilante? Or was it earlier, when you first realized some monsters deserve to die?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Aren’t we?” I gesture to his case files. “Six deaths in the past month. All natural causes. All thoroughly deserving individuals who slipped through your precious legal system. And look at you—not mourning them, not really. No, you’re mourning the fact that you didn’t get to do it yourself.”

“That’s not?—”

“Let me tell you a secret,” I cut him off, rolling my chair closer until our knees touch. “The day I realized I didn’t have to choose between science and justice was the most liberating day of my life. When I understood that my research could serve a higher purpose...” I giggle, remembering the euphoria of that moment. “Well, let’s just say some of my best compounds were developed under that particular inspiration.”

Ethan stares at me, and I can see it—the crack in his armor, the whisper of temptation. “You’re talking about murder.”

“I’m talking about evolution, my darling saint. Yours, specifically.” I reach out, straightening his slightly crookedtie. He doesn’t pull away. Interesting. “You’re so close to understanding. To becoming something... magnificent.”

“Like you?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but also something else.

Curiosity. Longing, perhaps.

“Like us,” I purr, letting some of my careful masks slip. Showing him the beautiful darkness that lies beneath. “You’ve seen how perfect her work is. Wouldn’t you love to be part of that perfection? To help shape it, guide it?” I lean closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “To taste it?”

His breath catches. Oh, he’s absolutely gorgeous when he’s struggling with temptation. “Lucas, if you’re involved in these deaths...”

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