Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm of his clock had rung only a few times, and yet Benedict was instantly wide awake. With more energy than anyone should have right after waking up, he tore the blanket off his body and switched off the alarm and all the following ones.
In one leap he was on his feet. He felt good. Alive. Because today was finally the day he was officially allowed to go back
to work. It felt like an eternity— as if not just a single week, but an entire year had passed since he'd last been on duty. He never would have thought that returning would invigorate him this much, or how long seven days could actually feel. And even though he hadn't been allowed to work on Dan's murder case, he had had something to do. Or should he rather say that he first had to take care of something before he was allowed to focus on Dan's case again?
Over the past week he had sworn to work on Dan's case, yet Ink Phantom had demanded his full attention. He had watched so much video footage that he felt he knew the thief's movements inside out. He had gone over the last five crime scenes of his thefts and studied everything known about Ink Phantom at this point in time.
He had even read possible theories in an online forum discussing the break-ins. Some of them sounded plausible, even though everything ultimately drifted into the inexplicable, and one had to admit that no one had yet figured out the trick behind this phantom thief. Some even spoke of magic.
The mere thought made him smirk. Magic was something that certainly didn't exist.
There had to be something technical behind it—after all, there were enough ways nowadays to make something look like magic. You just had to understand the trick behind it.
With a dull thump his clothes hit the floor, and then he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run down his body.
Ink Phantom had announced his next heist for Saturday evening. His lips curled into a grin. He could hardly wait to join the morning briefing. He would catch this thief in two days, and then he would tackle Dan's murder case with renewed determination. After all, not a single damn criminal had ever escaped him before—except for Dan's killer, the only one who had tainted his otherwise perfect career.
That phantom thief is in for something, he thought as he turned off the water. Especially after such a brazen announcement.
Sebastian had been right. The rest had done him good. Unintentionally, he had gotten the distance from the case that he apparently desperately needed.
He turned off the water, went through his now familiar grooming routine, brushed his teeth, and fixed his hair. He had promised to catch Dan's murderer—and to do it in the best condition he could be in, so that his late beloved could be proud of him. His fingers closed around the necklace he had never again taken off since that day.
His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the rings hanging from the chain to his lips and kissed them gently. A ritual he needed every single day just to see even a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.
Not much longer, and I can finally avenge you…
Benedict carefully let the chain sink back against his chest, closing the pendant in his hand with an almost tender gesture before releasing it and reaching for his clothes. A deep breath, then another. The phantom thief was just a small warm-up for the real case he so desperately needed to work on. He didn't care that no one had managed to catch him yet. He would definitely succeed. He certainly would not fail.
Once he finished getting ready, he looked in the mirror one last time. He looked good. Better than he had a week ago. Even though he hadn't slept all that much, it was still far more than he was usually used to. He still looked tired. He blamed it on the alcohol he'd had last Saturday evening and the hangover from the day before. He was in his late twenties now and definitely couldn't handle as much as he had a few years ago.
But it had been necessary to finally clear his head.
He still hated being in the apartment.
However, he had a new goal in sight now. He had understood and accepted his new task. All he had to do was follow through exactly as planned, and everything would run the way he wanted again.
He packed his backpack with everything he had written down over the past days, his laptop with the charger, and his phone.
Then he left his apartment.
A glance at his watch confirmed he was still perfectly on schedule. His fridge had been completely empty, so he would definitely stop by his new favorite café before work to get himself coffee and breakfast.
With the soft chime of the now-familiar little bell, he stepped into the café that had helped him escape his apartment—at least during the day—over the past week. He immediately felt the inner calm that had washed over him each time he'd come here. It smelled wonderfully of coffee.
Unfortunately, the café was already filled with waiting customers.
He had to stand in line, but he didn't mind at all. He waited patiently until it was his turn, thinking about what breakfast he should get packed to go. Twenty minutes later, it was finally his turn. The wait hadn't dampened his good mood in the slightest; on the contrary, he was happy he could finally order his coffee—and even happier that it was Isaac behind the counter again, taking care of everything just as he had the week before.
Which meant he would get his coffee exactly the way he liked it.
The young man with the unusual appearance was still busy cleaning the coffee machine from the previous order. So Benedict watched him as his hands moved with precise motions, preparing everything for the next drink. He didn't make a single unnecessary gesture, and his expression was relaxed despite all the customers he had already served.
He wore the typical attire of the café staff, his completely white hair tied into a high ponytail, with a few loose strands framing his face. He looked timeless—almost as if he had stepped out of another dimension.
Benedict caught himself staring at the young man for too long. He cleared his throat hastily and forced himself to look away.
He remembered all too well how distant Isaac had become the first time Benedict had seen him. But he had only been surprised by Isaac's appearance. He hadn't judged him, nor felt disgusted or anything of the sort.
Simply surprised that, besides animals with albinism, there was actually a person who had those distinctive traits—and he, of all people, had run into him. Considering how slim the chances were of encountering someone as rare as Isaac, maybe he should start playing the lottery.
Isaac approached him once he had prepared the coffee machine and turned it on. He eyed Benedict for a moment as a flicker of recognition crossed his otherwise rather expressionless face.
"Good morning," he finally said in his calm, smooth voice. "The usual? I can bring it to your table if you'd like."
Benedict shook his head. "Not today. A black coffee and the sandwiches to go, please."
"Alright, please wait a moment," Isaac said, unfazed, and immediately got to work.
It didn't take long before Benedict received his order and paid the bill. He wished the young man who had prepared his breakfast a nice day and turned to leave as Isaac gave a slight nod and wished him a nice day in return before moving on to the next customer.
With his coffee in hand, he headed toward the precinct.
So far, everything was going exactly as it should.
Enjoy your freedom while you still can, Ink Phantom, he thought, feeling an ambitious smile spread across his lips. Wednesday will be your last heist.
___
Wednesday had arrived faster than expected.
Over the past two days, they had done nothing but devise plans, draft strategies, and analyze every possible source of error from previous operations. Benedict had suspected as much, yet the true reasons behind the continued failure of all security measures still managed to surprise him. It was as if he were looking at the case for the first time with fresh, unclouded eyes—eyes that increasingly left him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
The more he listened to his colleagues talk about the phantom thief, the more his hopes of catching him quickly faded. It frustrated him immensely. Every day that passed meant another day he was kept away from the murder investigation surrounding his beloved. Ink Phantom was more than a clever thief; he was a master of misdirection. The object he targeted disappeared every single time without anyone noticing—even when an officer had been stationed there for the sole purpose of watching it. One single blink, and the artwork was gone, as if it had never existed.
How Ink Phantom pulled it off was something no one knew.
All they could do was adapt their tactics, refine them, and constantly come up with something new. Benedict had put in several hours of overtime and had gotten to know the team he would be working with on this case.
As the newest member of the team, he had been personally briefed by Jasper on all important details. He received confidential documents that under no circumstances were allowed to leave the building. He contributed his own observations, but he hadn't discovered anything his colleagues hadn't already found.
That had left a somewhat bitter aftertaste, but on the other hand, it was also a good sign. His colleagues weren't idiots. It would have been concerning if they hadn't at least reached the same level of insight as he had.
He wasn't discouraged, and his fresh perspective had at least led to new ideas on how they could better protect the targeted object.
He would do everything in his power to catch that bastard as quickly as possible—no matter how he had to do it. He had no time to play games with a phantom thief while Dan's murderer was still walking free.
That evening, only minimal staffing remained in the surrounding police stations. Every officer who wasn't already tied to more urgent cases had been assigned to Operation "Ink Phantom." Jasper had had enough of being made a fool of by the thief and had arranged for reinforcements.
The result was a rock-solid plan.
In the museum, guards were positioned at every relevant point. Patrols moved along clearly defined routes. Fixed group sizes were meant to prevent Ink Phantom from slipping into one of the units unnoticed. Everyone knew exactly what to do.
If they established clear visual contact with Ink Phantom, they were allowed to use any means necessary to catch him—including firearms. But that option was restricted to the inside of the building. Outside, things were far more complicated. The entire city knew that Ink Phantom would strike again, and his fans had appeared in droves. Crowds pressed against the barriers as if a concert had been announced.
The police had at least managed to secure a 100-meter radius around the building, accessible only to law enforcement. Only the museum director remained inside, also under strict protection. But nearly sixty percent of their forces had to be assigned to keeping the crowds under control. And in such a crush, even thinking about using live ammunition was a nightmare. Even the snipers positioned at strategic angles knew just how thin the ice was beneath their feet.
But the biggest problem was that they were not allowed to open fire unless Ink Phantom posed an immediate threat. Benedict didn't even want to imagine the shitstorm that would break out if the police suddenly shot someone who, in essence, was doing nothing more than performing an unauthorized but spectacular magic show while conveniently making off with a valuable artifact.
These days, police officers no longer had even a fraction of the freedoms that had been taken for granted only a few years ago.
Benedict had taken his own post as well. Since Jasper wanted him to get a personal impression of the situation, he had been assigned to watch the artwork. It stood in the center of the room on a chest-high pedestal; around the object several laser traps had been activated, and on top of that they had placed Aurora's Tear beneath a dome of security glass. The dome itself was secured with an electronic combination lock and an additional analog lock.
Ink Phantom wasn't supposed to be able to get through all of these traps.
Not when, in the same room as Benedict, five other officers had taken their positions—and with three more colleagues monitoring the security cameras and reporting every movement within the building.
Aurora's Tear was a golden necklace with a rather sizable gemstone. Benedict didn't know much about jewelry, but the file stated it was a diamond. He had never seen one with a bluish tint, but if it was written in the file, then it was probably correct.
He wasn't particularly interested.
The necklace could have been a thousand years older and perfectly preserved, and it still wouldn't have sparked his interest in art.
His earbud crackled, so he tapped it to answer whoever was calling.
"Ben, do you hear me?" Jasper asked.
He sounded tense. Benedict didn't know why he was calling him on a personal line, but he didn't care either. When Jasper called, it was usually for a very good reason.
"Loud and clear."
"Good. Is the object still there?"
Benedict didn't flinch. His gaze remained fixed on the piece of jewelry.
"Positive."
Jasper exhaled audibly in relief.
"This damn phantom thief is not getting his filthy hands on that damn necklace!" he growled.
"He won't," Benedict said confidently. "With all the watchful eyes we have here and all the clearance we've been given, we should catch him quickly. The bastard won't get anything."
"Take this seriously, will you?! You heard perfectly well what we've already tried! It's getting embarrassing, and I'm running out of excuses!"
"Relax, Jas. I'm not taking my eyes off this necklace for a single second. You know me—the little bastard won't get past me."
Jasper sighed. "I wish I had even half your confidence… Dammit. Easy for you to talk while I'm the one who has to explain everything to the city council."
"You wanted a higher position," Benedict said with a smirk. "You know how important this case is to me. I'll do everything I can to catch him tonight. One way or another, this wannabe thief won't get out of here unscathed."
For a moment Jasper was silent before continuing. "I know I gave you all permission to shoot in there, but for God's sake, be careful with the artwork. One of those pieces is worth more than ten of your annual salaries."
Benedict raised a brow in amusement. "Suddenly doubting my shooting skills, or trying to scare me?"
"Maybe a bit of both."
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from outside. It sounded like someone had set off fireworks right in the middle of the city. Not a second later, excited shouts rippled through the crowds in front of the museum.
"It's started. Switch to the general channel," Jasper said in a grave tone. "Don't screw this up, Ben. I'm counting on you."
"Understood," Benedict said and hung up. Then he switched over to the general communication channel.
He wouldn't let himself get distracted for even a second, no matter what tricks Ink Phantom pulled.
Through his earbud, he heard the calm orders and status updates from the various group leaders. Everything was running smoothly. The crowd was under control, and they had visual contact with Ink Phantom, who seemed to be making graffiti-style birds fly over the masses.
He listened closely to every report—he didn't want to miss a single important detail. Besides, listening to the radio chatter was far more exciting than staring at the object. At least it kept his thoughts from drifting. Benedict had memorized the map of this district down to the smallest detail. He knew every street, every junction, and every damn manhole cover number.
They had also developed a special code for this operation. After all, they couldn't risk Ink Phantom listening in and staying one step ahead.
Benedict's fingers itched with the urge to catch that wannabe thief. He hoped the show outside would end soon so the action inside could finally begin.
He could hardly wait.
A report came in that Ink Phantom was blocking the team's line of sight outside the building with a swarm of painted butterflies. At that exact moment, an alarm suddenly went off somewhere inside. It sounded distant—maybe on the ground floor. Aurora's Tear itself was on the second floor. He listened as Team B announced they were moving to investigate. It turned out to be a false alarm triggered at the back door.
The officers outside still had visual on Ink Phantom, even if the view was partially obstructed. He kept up his antics, constantly shifting position and making it impossible for the officers to get a clean shot. No one could fire; even the snipers didn't have a clear line of sight.
So if he was really out there, then no one should be inside. Team B confirmed as much. No one had broken in, and the door hadn't been opened at all. They used subtle seals on every door and window—if that pesky phantom thief slipped in, they would definitely know.
His colleagues visibly relaxed at the news that no one had infiltrated the building.
The updates continued. Ink Phantom was still active outside.
Benedict kept his eyes fixed on the necklace—until suddenly the lights went out. Not even the emergency lighting flickered on; they were plunged into total darkness. Only the faint glow of the full moon filtered through the windows, casting everything in an eerie light. With the loss of the internal lighting, so many alarms blared at once that it was impossible to tell where any of them were coming from.
He cursed under his breath as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness. It wasn't working—not yet.
Damn it.
The alarms screamed so loudly in his ears that he couldn't even hear what his colleagues were saying over comms. He could tell orders were being shouted; he could feel the tension rising around him. Someone apologized repeatedly—saying the lights couldn't be turned back on.
Benedict blinked against the darkness. He looked toward the spot where Aurora's Tear should be.
He was just about to reach for his flashlight when he saw someone dressed entirely in white removing the glass dome from Aurora's Tear and taking the necklace for themselves. Benedict froze in his movement.
He had bypassed the locks so quickly it felt surreal to see him standing there.
Wasn't Ink Phantom supposed to wear all black?
So how was it that someone dressed in pure white was standing here? Like a ghost, he stood there. He seemed to look directly at Benedict as he slipped the necklace into his clothing.
"Ink Phantom has vanished!" someone shouted in his earbud. Reports from outside were flooding in one after another.
"What about Aurora's Tear?!" Jasper yelled.
"He is—," Benedict began, but broke off immediately and tore the earbud from his ear as an unpleasantly loud beeping sounded through it.
"Shit!" he shouted, shoving the screeching earbud into his pants pocket.
With all that noise, there was nothing he wanted more than to throw the damn thing as far away as possible so he wouldn't have to listen to it anymore. On top of that, the alarm was still blaring loudly throughout the entire museum.
His colleagues didn't seem to be doing any better.
Startled, he focused back on the exhibit. He'd only been inattentive for a single damn second—and the thief and the object were gone!
That damn bastard.
"After him! Aurora's Tear has just been stolen!" he roared over the alarm.
Gritting his teeth in fury, he scanned the room. He just managed to glimpse the thief leaving the gallery, skillfully slipping past every single one of his colleagues with smooth, fluid movements. At least the guy had been kind enough to wear white, making him easy to spot.
"Inform Jasper! Catch that bastard!" he yelled as he shoved past one of his teammates and stumbled into the corridor.
That wannabe thief was not getting away—over his dead body. He sprinted after him, drew his gun, and disengaged the safety. This wasn't the first time he'd chased a criminal. He'd been through plenty of situations like this before. The bastard might have a small head start, but he certainly wasn't faster than Benedict.
He trained nearly every day for exactly this reason. He was in shape—and damn well more rested than he'd been in weeks. He quickened his pace, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
Behind him, he heard the footsteps of his colleagues.
He would have loved to coordinate with the other teams. Team D could have boxed the thief in from this route, and Team F wasn't stationed far from here either. But what choice did he have in this situation? It was pitch black, the radio wasn't working, and the alarm was still howling without pause, drowning out every other sound.
Quickly, he grabbed his earbud and put it back in. The interference was gone—but so was everything else. No sound at all.
He tapped the earbud. "Jasper? Can you hear me?"
No answer.
So they'd have to operate on their own judgment.
The phantom thief was racing toward an intersection and was about to disappear from Benedict's line of sight. There were no stairs there—but there was an emergency exit. And the distance between them was still far too great. He had to stop the thief now, or catching him would become damn near impossible.
So he stopped, raised his gun, aimed—and fired at the exact moment the thief vanished around the corner.
Benedict cursed under his breath and sprinted after him.
But when he reached the corridor, there was only another exhibition room beyond it.
The thief had vanished as if swallowed by the earth.
His colleagues arrived moments later. Together they searched the room, only to confirm that the thief was truly gone. When the lights suddenly flickered back on, Benedict blinked against the harsh brightness and felt anger and frustration rise inside him.
He returned to the hallway. What was in the room no longer mattered. The thief was gone—and with him any trace of where he had gone. He only hoped that in the darkness he hadn't hit a piece of art. He didn't even want to imagine how badly Jasper would chew him out for that.
Fortunately, the bullet had lodged itself in the wall without causing any damage.
His earbud crackled.
"Benedict?! Status report!" Jasper's clear voice suddenly rang out.
"Aurora's Tear was stolen," he replied breathlessly.
"Damn it! What the hell were you doing in there? How could he steal it?!" Jasper yelled furiously.
But Benedict's gaze was fixed on the floor. He knelt down to examine the small red spots scattered across it.
"Jasper, I wounded the thief," he said calmly, following the thin trail of blood. "We have a blood sample."
Jasper let out a stressed breath. "At least that's something. Make sure nobody steps in it. I'm sending for forensics."
"Understood."
The tiny droplets ended in front of a large painting. The intricate details immediately caught his eye. The style felt familiar—it was by none other than I. Walker, the very artist whose other work he had seen only recently.
He cursed in irritation. His plan had failed, and the thief had escaped successfully. On top of that, there weren't just one but two thieves at large: a black phantom and a white one.
Just wait, you damn thieves. I'll get my hands on you soon, he vowed grimly.
The hunt was on.