The rain had finally broken, but the sky still pressed low, heavy and gray, like a ceiling ready to crack. Streets shimmered with the residue of the storm, reflecting broken halos of red and white from the early rush hour crawl. A single gull circled above, its wings slicing through the still-humid air.
KorrinTech Tower pierced the skyline with sleek menace—cold, precise, and spotless. Too tall to belong to a city this dirty. Too clean to be trusted.
Detective Evelyn Nada stared up at it from the curb, lips pressed into a thin line. The weight of her holster dragged slightly at her hip. Her hands stayed buried in the pockets of a charcoal trench coat, the damp hem flaring gently around her calves. Her curls were still damp from the walk across the plaza, tucked behind her ears with practiced efficiency.
She hated towers like this. Towers with marble lobbies and silent guards. Towers that pretended the rain never touched them.
Behind her, Detective Marcus Bradley stepped out of the unmarked sedan, adjusting his blazer and squinting up at the building as if daring it to be worth the hassle. He was taller than her by almost a foot, built like a man who'd played football and never fully stopped. His tie was crooked. His jawline taut.
They said nothing as they crossed the polished glass threshold.
The lobby greeted them with its usual brand of artificial calm—smiling concierge, quiet jazz, a scent of citrus and money. The two detectives walked past the front desk without breaking stride. Evelyn's eyes flicked once to the reflection in the elevator doors—posture of the guard, a twitch in the receptionist's hand, the pace of the security staff.
Too much energy.
Too much fear.
The elevator ascended in silence, except for the hum of old mechanisms behind the panels. The metal box carried them up into the heart of corporate comfort. Floor thirty-two. Executive offices. Where glass walls separated men from consequence.
When the doors opened, they were greeted by a young officer—nervous, clipboard clutched in one hand—and Jonah Kreel.
The CEO.
Fifties. Expensively thin. Graying temples, a small cut near the hairline, and a spreading bruise beneath one eye. He wore his wealth like armor, but the crack in his confidence was already showing.
His tie hung crooked. His voice barely held steady.
"Detective Nada," Kreel said, stepping forward. "I appreciate you coming so quickly."
Evelyn nodded once. "Heard you had a rough night."
She didn't offer a handshake. He didn't extend one.
They were led into a glass-walled conference room, sterile and soulless. Everything inside gleamed: the table, the chairs, the lights above. But Kreel didn't sit. He moved like a trapped animal—pacing, circling the polished floor with tight steps.
"I didn't see her clearly," he began, voice hoarse. "Just movement. Fast. Violent. There was a fight. Outside my office. I—" He hesitated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I thought I was going to die."
Evelyn leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed, coat still dripping.
"Describe them."
"Her," Kreel corrected immediately, eyes flicking toward the officer as if checking for permission. "I think she was young. Early twenties, maybe? Small. Combat gear. Knives. No hesitation. She wanted me dead."
He paused. Swallowed hard.
"But then someone else showed up."
His voice shifted slightly—fainter. Like saying it made it real.
"A man. Tall. Hooded. Gray suit. Masked. He didn't say a word."
Kreel looked up at Evelyn. "His eyes… they were like—like embers. Burning through the fog."
Marcus, who had been quiet until now, let out a slow breath. His brow creased.
Kreel kept talking.
"They fought. I don't know who won—he went down at one point. I thought she had him. Then suddenly… she was gone. Just vanished. No warning. No sign."
Evelyn's lips twitched—half a smirk, half a grimace.
"She ran."
Kreel blinked. "What?"
"She ran," Evelyn repeated, pushing off the wall. "If she'd won, you'd be a memory. That man doesn't go down that easy."
"You know him?"
Marcus stepped forward, tone neutral but firm. "We both do."
Kreel stared. "He's real, then? That wasn't some drug-induced panic—?"
"He's not officially real," Marcus added, glancing at Evelyn. "But that's just paper talk."
Kreel exhaled sharply. "HeartEater."
The name hung in the air like ash. No one repeated it.
There was no need to.
Evelyn approached the table, resting her hand lightly on the edge. "We'll increase your security detail. You'll get a full watch rotation outside your office, outside your home. If you value your life, don't speak to the press. Don't make yourself louder than you already are."
Kreel gave a small, desperate nod. "Of course. Thank you. Thank you."
She turned toward the young officer still posted near the door.
"Two men on him at all times," she said crisply. "Four-hour rotation shifts. Keep him surrounded."
"Yes, ma'am."
No more was said.
She and Marcus exited into the hall, leaving the city's bleeding conscience behind glass.
Back in the elevator, the tension lifted by degrees, like pressure bleeding from a wound. The silence lasted until the doors slid shut and the floor numbers began to count down.
"Well," Marcus said eventually, adjusting his sleeves, "guess he's back."
Evelyn watched the city unfold behind the elevator's glass rear panel—sprawling, rusting, alive.
"He never left," she said softly.
Not really.