The city of Oakhaven was a fever dream of sirens and flashing lights. The "Ghost Hunt" had turned the streets into a war zone. Vane's men were kicking down doors in the slums, and the police were raiding warehouses, but they were all chasing a shadow that had already been caught.
Marco found Leo on a street corner in the 5th District, not far from the boarded-up remains of the bakery.
Leo looked like a man who had been hollowed out. He was sitting on a damp bench, his expensive overcoat stained with road salt and rain. He was staring at a flickering neon sign, his eyes vacant, his hands resting limply on his knees. To anyone else, he looked like a victim of a soul-crushing trauma—a man who had simply stopped "being."
Marco stepped out of his car, his heart twisting in his chest. He had grown up with Leo. He had seen Leo kill men without blinking, but he had never seen Leo look... empty.
"Leo," Marco said softly, sitting on the bench beside him.
Leo didn't turn his head. He didn't even acknowledge the presence of his brother-in-arms. He just kept staring at the neon light.
"Vane is worried, man," Marco continued, his voice thick with a grief he couldn't hide. "We're out there. We're turning the city upside down. We found a lead on a guy in the East Docks—a real sicko who matches the description. Vane's going there now to... handle it."
Leo's fingers twitched, a tiny, mechanical motion that Marco missed.
"Come home, Leo," Marco pleaded, placing a hand on Leo's shoulder. "Let us handle the blood. You've given enough. Just... breathe for a while."
Leo finally turned his head. His eyes were dull, the slate-grey replaced by a flat, dead matte. "There is no home, Marco," he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves on pavement. "There's only the silence."
Marco pulled back, his eyes stinging. He saw a man who had drifted so far into his own pain that he was unreachable. He saw a "Machine" that had finally, irrevocably broken.
"I'll tell Vane you're... you're still with us," Marco whispered. He stood up and walked back to his car, unable to look at the wreck of the man who used to be the Lion of Oakhaven.
In a cold, concrete basement in the East Docks, Vane was proving why he was the most feared man in the territory.
The room smelled of copper and fear. A man—a petty thief who had the misfortune of being "quiet" and "unremarkable"—was tied to a chair. He was screaming, but the sound was muffled by the damp rags Vane's men had stuffed into his mouth.
Vane stood over him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his knuckles split and bleeding. He wasn't the "Civilized King" anymore. He was a father watching his son rot in the streets, and he was taking that agony out on the world.
"WHERE IS HE?" Vane roared, slamming a lead pipe onto the table. "Where is the man who touched my house?"
The thief shook his head frantically, tears and blood streaming down his face. He didn't know anything. He was a nobody who stole car radios. But Vane couldn't see that. Vane needed a target. He needed to believe that justice was a matter of how hard you hit.
Marco walked into the basement, his face pale. He looked at the carnage and then at Vane.
"I found him," Marco said, his voice hollow.
Vane stopped, the pipe hovering in the air. "Did he say anything? Did he give us a name?"
"No," Marco whispered. "He's gone, Vane. He's just... drifting. He's like a ghost himself. He's sitting on benches and staring at nothing. He didn't even know who I was."
Vane's face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He turned back to the tied-up thief and delivered a blow that ended the man's consciousness.
"He's drifting because the killer is still breathing!" Vane screamed, throwing the pipe across the room. "The law is useless! The streets are useless! My son is a shell because we haven't brought him the head of the monster!"
Vane looked at his men, his eyes burning with a terrifying, misplaced conviction. "Increase the raids. If a man looks like a shadow, break him. If he's quiet, make him scream. We will burn this city until the 'Nobody' has nowhere left to hide!"
While Vane was breaking innocent men and Marco was mourning a brother, Leo stood up from the bench.
The moment Marco's car disappeared around the corner, the "drift" vanished. The vacancy in Leo's eyes was replaced by a sharp, lethal focus. He wasn't broken. He was hiding.
He had played the part of the grieving victim perfectly. He needed Vane and the police to look elsewhere. He needed the world to believe he was a non-threat so he could conduct his "private business" without interference.
He looked toward the North District—toward the scrap yard.
He knew exactly where Gabriel was. He knew Gabriel was sitting in a rusted armchair, clutching a bag of cash, listening to the iron doors of a "fortress" that couldn't save him.
Leo reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He didn't call Vane. He didn't call the police. He looked at a photo of Ayiesha—the one where she was laughing, her orange sweater a vibrant blur of joy.
"They're looking for a monster, Ayiesha," Leo whispered, his voice as cold as the rain. "But they don't know that the monster they're looking for is currently being used to teach Gabriel a lesson."
He started his car. The engine didn't roar; it purred, a low-frequency vibration that matched the beating of his hollow heart.
Vane was bringing the noise. The police were bringing the law.
But Leo Sterling was bringing the Judgment. And in the North District, the Reaper was about to make his second visit.