The morning sun did nothing to warm the interior of the City Archives. Rainwater from last night's storm still streaked the high arched windows, casting long, gray shadows across the rows of bookshelves.
It was 9:20 a.m.
David stood behind the main circulation desk, his face blank, methodically scanning a stack of returned books. Beep. Clack. Beep. Clack.
A few feet away, Sarah leaned against the counter. She had arrived straight from the airport, a suitcase by her feet, but her usual post-vacation energy was entirely absent. She was staring at a live news feed on her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen.
"...viewer discretion is advised," the anchor's voice droned from the small speaker. "Police are investigating a multiple homicide at a warehouse in the industrial district. Five victims have been identified, including Dr. Chen, a surgeon. Authorities have attributed the incident to gang-related violence, though sources close to the investigation describe the scene as, quote, 'unlike anything we've seen.' The public is advised to avoid the area..."
Sarah shivered, rubbing her arms. She muted the screen.
"Did you hear that?" she muttered, looking up at David. "I was gone for two weeks and the city turns into a horror movie. 'Unlike anything we've seen' — what does that even mean? I'm double-locking my doors tonight."
"People exaggerate," David said evenly, placing the book on the cart. "It's just gang violence. The Sinclairs and the Whitmores making a mess." He scanned another book. Beep. "Same as always. City knows, does nothing."
Sarah shook her head, looking pale. "I don't know, David. Five people dead and they can't even explain it properly. 'Unlike anything we've seen' — that's not reassuring, that's terrifying." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "At least my apartment is safe. I can't wait to get home and see my bird. He always calms me down."
David's hands didn't pause. He didn't blink. "About that," he said, his tone perfectly flat. "I left a window open a crack on Thursday to let some air in. The wind blew it wide. He got out."
Sarah froze. "What?"
"I'm sorry," David said. He handed her a library return slip. "I looked around the block, but he was gone."
Sarah stared at him, her eyes welling up with sudden, mundane grief. The horrific massacre of five people on the news was instantly replaced by the loss of her pet.
David watched her cry. He turned back to the computer screen. The next subject, he thought. Where to find one.
——Newsroom
The small newsroom smelled of stale coffee and damp paper. The steady tick of the wall clock filled the quiet space.
The glass door pushed open. Davis, the managing editor, stepped inside. He glanced at the clock, then at the corner desk.
"Still here, Harper? Or did you just get back?" Davis asked, raising an eyebrow. He tapped a folder against his leg, a rare smirk on his face. "Well, your all-nighter paid off. Channel 5 bought your exclusive. That quote? The city is eating it up. Precinct phones are ringing off the hook."
He gave an approving nod, walking toward his office. "There's a fat bonus in it for you, kid. Go home and sleep."
Lily Harper sat at her cluttered desk. Her cheap yellow poncho hung over the back of her chair, dripping dirty water onto the carpet. Her clothes were stiff and deeply wrinkled, dried directly onto her skin. Her damp hair was a frizzy, tangled mess.
She pushed her smudged glasses up her nose. Her fingers trembled faintly from exhaustion as she typed.
Across from her, senior reporter Mara leaned against the desk, arms folded.
"You're out of your mind," Mara said, shaking her head. "A midnight stakeout in a hurricane. For a Sinclair hit. The cops had that place locked down tight. Anyone else would've gone home."
Lily offered a weak, hoarse smile. "I couldn't afford to miss it. I needed the story."
Mara sighed. Her smirk faded as she looked at Lily's pale face and the warped, rain-soaked pages of her notebook. She knew exactly why Lily was pushing herself to the edge.
"Hey," Mara said quietly. "How's your mom?"
Lily exhaled slowly. "Better. The new treatment's working. Doctors say she might be stable soon... if I can keep up with the bills."
Mara gave a slow nod. She tapped the edge of Lily's desk. "Well, with that bonus Davis just promised, you're good for this month." She pushed off the desk and nodded toward the door. "Come on. Save your notes. Let me buy you some real food before you faceplant onto that keyboard. My treat."
Lily looked up, the exhaustion lifting just a fraction from her eyes. "Thanks, Mara. Just give me a second."
She turned back to her screen and hit save, locking in the notes for the follow-up piece on the story she had just broken.
Outside the newsroom windows, a few light drops of rain started falling again.
——
The bell above the hardware store door dinged. The cramped aisles smelled of motor oil and sawdust.
David stood near the discount bins, staring at the object in his hand. He pressed a finger to the wireless earpiece hidden beneath his collar.
"A neon-green gecko," David whispered, his voice flat. "Are you sure this is the one you want?"
"The suction cups provide optimal load distribution for my talons," Hugo's metallic rasp crackled in his ear. "Buy it. And don't judge me."
David didn't argue. He paid the four dollars, slipped the ridiculous plastic gecko into his coat pocket, and walked out of the store.
The afternoon light was already fading. Freezing drizzle misted the gray pavement. David turned down a narrow shortcut between two brick apartment buildings, heading toward the subway.
Footsteps splashed in the puddles behind him. Fast.
David didn't turn around. He calculated the distance by the sound alone. Three paces. Two.
A shadow stepped rapidly from a recessed doorway, blocking his path.
Schlick.
The sharp snap of a switchblade opening echoed in the narrow alley.
The mugger was young, maybe early twenties, his face half-hidden by a damp hoodie. His hands were shaking slightly, but his eyes were wide and desperate. He thrust the knife forward, stopping an inch from David's stomach.
"Wallet. Watch. Now," the kid hissed. "Don't make a fucking sound."
David stopped. He looked at the blade, then up at the kid's terrified, desperate eyes.
"What's happening?" Hugo crackled in his ear. "Are you being mugged? Do you want me to take his eyes?"
"No," David said quietly.
The mugger flinched, thinking David was talking to him. "No? The fuck you mean, no? Give me the wallet!"
The kid lunged forward to grab David's coat.
David didn't panic. He didn't tense. With a slight, economic shift of his weight, he stepped back just enough. The kid's grasping hand and the knife point swiped through empty air, throwing the mugger off balance for a split second.
David raised both hands slowly, a gesture of complete surrender.
"Take it," David said evenly.
He reached into his coat, pulled out his worn leather wallet, and tossed it onto the wet asphalt. Two crisp hundred-dollar bills slipped halfway out of the fold.
The kid snatched it up from the ground, his eyes darting around the empty alley. "Keep your mouth shut," he spat, backing away before turning and sprinting down the alley, vanishing into the gray drizzle.
David stood alone in the rain. He didn't check his pockets. He didn't call the police.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, forming a faint, chilling smile.
"Hugo," David said, pressing his earpiece.
"Did he take your money?"
"Two hundred dollars," David replied, turning his collar up against the rain. "Cancel your search."
"You found a target?"
David looked down the empty alley where the mugger had disappeared.
"A young, healthy male. Desperate. Disposable. No one will care if he goes missing." David began to walk, his footsteps echoing softly. "Follow him. Find out where he sleeps. We have our next subject."