Yohan was trapped — in the prison, and even worse, in his own mind.
How did the bullet pass through the Headless?
He hadn't missed. He never missed.
So how did it pass through the Angel too?
The thought clawed at him endlessly, driving him deeper into doubt.
The cell door groaned open.
A man in uniform entered and sat across from him, eyes sharp with hatred.
"You won't escape from here alive, detective," the officer spat.
"You were the killer all along. I pity you."
---
Six days slipped away like water through fingers.
Yohan remained chained, still haunted by questions.
He had no plan for catching the Angel yet—
but he had a plan for escaping.
On the sixth day, the guards moved him.
Three officers escorted him to a police transport, shackled hand and foot.
The vehicle roared down the road.
Yohan smiled.
"I hear six crows," he murmured.
"And you know what six crows mean."
He lifted his bound hands and grabbed the bars.
A thunderous crack split the air.
The transport's tire burst, the whole vehicle screeching sideways before flipping over.
Steel screamed, glass shattered—smoke and dust swallowed the wreck.
From the wreckage emerged Yohan, bruised but unbroken, dragging the unconscious officers on his shoulders.
---
Dr. Rowan Ellies sat waiting in a car nearby. His face was pale, anxious.
Yohan laid the officers gently down in front of him.
"Thanks for the help, Dr. Rowan. Take care of them.
I'll be taking my leave now—I still have a killer to catch."
Rowan nodded silently, his doubts heavy. As Yohan drove away in his car, Rowan whispered to himself:
"I questioned myself for helping him escape. But now… now I know.
He's not insane.
And he's not the killer."
---
That night, Rowan visited one of his most difficult patients: Victor Hallow.
He placed his recorder on the table.
"So, Mr. Hallow… I've heard much about you.
The misunderstood kid. When you were little, bullies killed your dog in front of you.
You snapped—you hunted them down, one by one, with a machete.
And even after that, you killed others. Some… I can trace the reasons.
But one killing still haunts me.
An innocent family of two—no connection to you, no provocation.
Why did you kill them?"
Victor leaned forward, a strange smile curling his lips.
"In my entire life, I only ever had two friends.
One was killed. The other… was pure. Too pure for this world.
But the world doesn't spare the pure, doctor. It shapes them, it kills them."
"That doesn't answer my question," Rowan pressed.
"Why that family? Why them?"
Victor's face emptied of all expression. He stared past Rowan, silent as stone.
Rowan exhaled and leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"I can't do this today. Not after what I've seen.
The blood, the gore… the Angel. It's taking its toll.
I need a break."
Suddenly, Victor burst out laughing—a laugh raw and manic, echoing against the walls.
"So the Angel isn't dead," he cackled.
Rowan froze. His blood ran cold.
"What do you know about the Angel?"
Victor's eyes glinted.
"That kid… was the purest soul I ever knew.
I never saw him, but I heard his voice.
Through the walls of hell we rotted in, his voice carried.
Until one day, the hell burned—and with it, the kid.
But then… he returned. His voice echoed again and again until it drove me mad.
The next thing I knew, I was holding a machete. I killed.
I could have run, but I didn't. I was too scared.
So I let them take me. I let myself be punished."
Rowan's hands trembled. His doubts deepened.
Maybe Yohan was right.
Maybe the Angel really did exist.