Page 92 of Girl, Unseen

Some lessons you learned the hard way in this business. Like how the quiet ones were usually the most dangerous. Or how revenge could wear a thousand masks. A woman destroyed by the very chemicals she'd later weaponized. There was poetry in that, if you liked your verses written in blood. Amelia had sought transformation in ancient texts the same way the people here tonight had sought meaning in a fake psychic's ramblings. Desperation wore different faces, but the eyes always looked the same.

Four bodies. Four elements. One woman's path to perfection.

The audience had cleared out fast once they realized this wasn't part of the show. No refunds for witnessing attempted suicide, apparently. A few diehards hung around, phones up, probably hoping to catch something worth posting online. Ella hadn’t seen Lydia Soulwright yet, but according to Ross, she was doing just fine. She'd only ingested a small amount of poison – not enough to be fatal.

Ella's mind circled back to Amelia. The profile was there, clear as daylight, now that all the pieces had fallen into place. A lost soul desperate enough to believe medieval mumbo-jumbo could fix her face. Four ritual murders that progressed from impersonal to intimate. Earth, water, air, fire.

And spirit would have made five, if Luca hadn't gone full superhero and snatched victory from gravity's jaws.

Speaking of the devil.

Footsteps approached from her left, bringing that familiar cologne with them. Her partner dropped into the seat beside her with a grace that belied his recent acrobatics.

‘You know,’ he said. ‘If this Soulwright woman was any good, she’d have seen this coming a mile off.’

Then something bubbled up in Ella's chest. It could have been hysteria or relief. Maybe both. Ella suddenly cracked up. It wasn't even that funny, but it felt good to laugh. To release the tension that had coiled in her guts for days.

She wiped at her eyes and said, 'Speaking of seeing things coming, how did you catch her? Must have been a forty-foot drop down there.'

‘It wasn’t so bad. Just had to put a little Rodman on it.’

‘A little what?’

Luca mimed a basketball catch. ‘Dennis Rodman. Master of the rebound. The Rodman Special.’

Ella didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but she was grateful for it all the same. ‘Well, it worked. If you weren’t there…’

‘But I was.’ He shrugged like catching falling killers was just another day at the office. ‘Saw you two mixing it up in the cheap seats. Figured she might try something dramatic. These theatrical types can't resist a grand finale.’

Ella studied his profile in the dim light. Four months as partners and he could already anticipate her moves, predict how a situation might play out. Maybe the Bureau's psychological screening wasn't complete garbage after all.

‘Well, consider me impressed. And grateful. If it wasn't for those magic hands of yours, we'd be dealing with another dead body. And I don't know about you, but I've had my fill of corpses for a while.’

‘You and me both.’ Luca leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. ‘But hey, bright side - we've got our bad guy. Or, bad girl, I guess. Amelia's going away for a long time. Shame. Girl so young. But our work here is done.’

Ella blinked. He was right. For the first time in what felt like years, there was no ticking clock. No trail going cold. Just blessed, beautiful closure.

‘I guess it is. So, what now? You wanna see Central Park? Maybe get one of those pizzas that folds in half.’

‘Solve a case, stuff your face. A time-honored tradition.’

‘We could pretend we’re locals.’

Luca huffed. ‘Locals? You heard my New York accent?Forgeddaboutit.’

‘Beats mine.’

‘True. But I say we get back to D.C. before anything else weird happens. If we head out now, we could get home before last call.’

‘Music to my ears.’

Luca's hand found her knee. The touch sent electricity through nerve endings she'd thought dead from exhaustion. It was the first time he'd touched her like this in days. Not the professional shoulder squeeze or the work-appropriate arm tap, but something real. Something that reminded her they were more than just partners with badges.

That was the problem, wasn't it? She'd started seeing every case through two lenses: how it affected her agent and how it affected her boyfriend. When he'd frozen at the farm, when she'd sent him undercover, when she'd blown his cover – each time she'd acted like his handler instead of his lover.

No wonder they'd been drifting apart. The job had a way of eating relationships alive, and here she was, serving theirs up on a platter.

For a moment they just existed together, sharing the quiet aftermath of chaos. She wanted more moments like this. Wanted them at home, safe, where serial killers and ancient alchemy couldn't touch them. Where she didn't have to choose between protecting her partner and loving her boyfriend.

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