Ramis leaned against the cold metal railing of the catwalk, chest heaving, every breath sending a sharp stab through his bruised ribs. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth from where Crowe had split his lip. His left knee throbbed like someone was driving nails into it, but the pain felt distant compared to the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.
'Damn it,' he thought, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. 'I finally get into a real fight and my stupid knee almost gives out at the worst moment. If I'd been faster, maybe Lila wouldn't have taken that bullet.'
Below, flashing red and blue lights painted the foggy riverside in chaotic colors. Paramedics worked quickly on Lila Voss, her face pale and peaceful even as they loaded her into the ambulance. She had slipped into unconsciousness after that eerie smile. Ramis couldn't shake the image. It was the same smile Victor Lang and Daniel Park had worn—like death had come as a kind friend.
Marcus climbed the last few rungs of the metal ladder and stepped onto the catwalk, his heavy boots clanging. The captain's face was a mix of relief and fatherly worry as he looked his son over.
"You look like hell, kid," Marcus said, voice gruff but soft. He placed a large hand on Ramis's shoulder, steadying him. "You okay? Ribs? Knee?"
Ramis forced a tired grin, though it hurt. "I've had worse. Remember that time I tried to tackle you in the backyard when I was twelve? This feels about the same."
Marcus chuckled, but the sound was short. "Yeah, except back then you didn't have a crazy bastard trying to throw you into the river. Crowe's in the back of a cruiser. He's not talking yet, but we'll make him."
Ramis nodded, staring at the spot where Lila had fallen. 'She knew more. A lot more. That line about the Sandman being a network… it's not just one psycho with a god complex. This thing is bigger.' The thought made his stomach twist. He had wanted to be a cop his whole life, and now that he was finally deep in a real case, it felt heavier than he had imagined.
Ruiz jogged up, breathing hard, his mustache damp with mist. "Ambulance is taking Lila to Central Hospital. She's critical, but they think she'll make it if the Elysium doesn't finish her off. Crowe's lawyer is already screaming about rights. Rich prick."
"Figures," Ramis muttered. He pushed off the railing and tested his weight on his bad leg. It held, barely. 'One more step at a time. Can't let the knee slow me down now, not when we're this close.'
The three of them made their way down and out of the warehouse. Outside, the night air felt cooler against Ramis's heated skin. Harlan Crowe sat in the back of a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind him, a bloody nose and swelling eye making him look far less arrogant than he had on the catwalk. When he spotted Ramis, Crowe's lips curled into a mocking smile.
"Enjoy your little victory, Walker?" Crowe called through the cracked window. "This is just the opening act. Sweet dreams are coming for everyone who matters in this city."
Ramis stopped in front of the car and crouched slightly to meet Crowe's eyes. His green gaze was steady, tired but sharp. "Save the monologue for the interrogation room dipshit. Who else is in your network? Who supplies the Elysium?"
Crowe only laughed, low and raspy. "You'll find out soon enough, or maybe you won't. Some people prefer to sleep through the ugly parts."
Marcus pulled Ramis away before he could reply. "Let's get you checked out too. Then we hit the station. I want Crowe sweating under the lights before sunrise."
---
At Eldridge City Police Headquarters, the bullpen was wide awake despite the late hour. Ramis sat on the edge of a desk, holding an ice pack to his jaw while a paramedic wrapped a bandage around his ribs. His mother had called twice already. He had texted her back a short "I'm fine, just some bruises. Love you" to keep her from worrying too much. She always saw through him anyway.
'Mom's probably pacing the living room right now,' he thought with a small, affectionate smile. 'Dad's here getting gray hairs because of me, and she's stuck with whatever secret service shadows she deals with. We're a weird family, but at least we've got each other.'
Detective Ruiz walked over with two steaming cups of terrible precinct coffee. He handed one to Ramis. "You did good tonight, kid. That tackle on Crowe? Not bad for a civilian with a bum knee."
Ramis took the coffee and sipped it, grimacing at the bitterness. "Thanks, but Lila said it's a network. Crowe might be the face, but he's not the brain. We need to squeeze him hard."
Marcus joined them, rolling up his sleeves. "Interrogation room is ready. Crowe's lawyer is present, but he's already slipping. The vials we found in Lila's apartment match the lab stuff. His fingerprints are on some of the packaging from the Shadow Quarter raid. We've got him on murder conspiracy at minimum."
They moved to the observation room. Through the one-way glass, Harlan Crowe sat at the metal table, cleaned up but still sporting fresh bruises. His expensive suit was torn at the collar. His lawyer, a slick woman in a sharp gray suit, whispered something to him.
Ramis watched closely as Marcus entered the room and began the questioning. Crowe played it cool at first, denying everything with smooth answers. But as Marcus laid out the evidence—the note cards, the Elysium-9, the unsent email from Daniel Park—Cracks started to show.
Finally, Crowe leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something dark and satisfied.
"You think locking me up stops the Sandman?" he said. "I'm just one supplier. The real dream makers are higher up. People who want the elite of Eldridge City to have an escape button. A beautiful, smiling way out when life gets too messy. Lang found out too much. Park was about to talk. Lila… well, she got greedy."
Ramis felt a chill run down his spine. 'An escape button for the rich. That's sick, and profitable.' He rubbed his sore jaw, thinking fast. 'If Crowe is telling even half the truth, this case just grew ten times bigger. We're not chasing one killer anymore. We're chasing a business.'
Marcus pressed harder. "Names. Give us names."
Crowe smirked. "One name for free: Dr. Elias Reed. He perfected Elysium-9. Works out of a private clinic in the Heights. But good luck getting to him, he's well protected."
The interrogation continued, but Ramis stepped away, needing air. He limped down the quiet hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing above. His body hurt, his mind raced, and a quiet voice in the back of his head whispered that this was exactly what he had always wanted—to matter in the fight against the darkness in the city.
But another part of him, the son who loved his doting parents, wondered how deep this rabbit hole went and what it might cost his family.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to both his parents:
"Long night. We got a big lead. Coming home for dinner soon, promise. Love you both."
Ramis slipped the phone back into his pocket and stared out a window at the sleeping city. Somewhere out there, Dr. Elias Reed was probably working on the next batch of "sweet dreams."