Marcus's voice cut through the room, sharp and unshaken. "I don't know what drugs you're on, spouting this nonsense—but here's the truth. You can come with us quietly, or we'll drag you out by force."
The words landed heavy, and for a moment no one spoke. Then, from one of the tables near the back, a man finally burst out, his nerves snapping.
"For fuck's sake, just go with them already!"
Another voice followed, a woman clutching her glass tight. "Yeah, don't make it worse for the rest of us. Nobody wants bullets flying in here."
A third man, drunk but still terrified, slammed his hand on the table. "Comply, damn it! Some of us actually like living!"
The bar murmured with uneasy agreement, the tension grinding on every throat. All eyes swung between Kane and the cops, waiting for the spark that would decide if they walked out or bled out tonight.
Kane's gaze drifted across the room—past the terrified patrons, past the trembling hands holding guns on him, finally landing on Marcus. His sigh was long, tired, like the weight of centuries pressing out of his lungs.
"Always the same story," he muttered under his breath, barely audible, before turning his body just slightly, as if considering whether to give in—or end it here.
Abel's smirk didn't fade, but his eyes glimmered, watching his brother closely.
"I hate to do this," Kane muttered, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a weight in his gaze that silenced even the air. "You'll get to the truth, Detective. But I'm not rotting in a cell for a crime I didn't commit. I'll help you solve your case—on my terms."
He stepped forward, calm as if nothing had happened, and walked straight out of the bar. Chairs stayed half-tipped, drinks hovered in midair, and every single person—officers, patrons, even Marcus—remained locked in place. Time itself had stopped.
Abel strolled after him, swirling what was left in his glass. His grin never wavered. "So, still up for that drink?"
Kane glanced ahead, his voice low and sharp. "No. Someone went out of their way to frame me. That leaves two possibilities—either they're reckless enough not to care who I am, or they're too blind to realize the mistake they've made. Either way…"
He slipped his hands into his pockets, the night air catching the edge of his white hair as he stepped into the street.
"…I'm going to find them. And when I do, I'll take a long, quiet break from the world—right after I teach the bastard what it means to cross me."
Back to the bar
The world snapped back with a soundless jolt—like a breath being released after too long. Glasses clinked again, a chair finally toppled, the buzz of the bar rushing back all at once.
Marcus staggered a step forward, blinking hard. One second Kane had been there. The next… gone.
"Where the hell is he?" one of the officers shouted, sweeping his weapon across the room.
The patrons looked around, confused and shaken, whispering in low voices. None of them had seen him leave. It was as if he'd vanished into thin air.
Marcus cursed under his breath and holstered his gun. His jaw tightened as he scanned the room, but he already knew they'd find nothing here. "Sweep the building," he ordered, his voice sharp. "Every corner, every exit. Now."
The squad moved fast, boots pounding against the floor as they split up. A couple of officers pushed out the back door, others combed through the side halls, one checking the roof access. Nothing.
Minutes later, they regrouped, their faces pale.
"Sir, no sign of him. Cameras don't even show him leaving."
Marcus slammed a hand against the counter, startling the bartender. "Damn it." His eyes burned with frustration, but beneath it was something else—unease. He'd hunted killers, cartels, ghosts on the wind. But this… this was different.
He turned to his team, his voice cold and steady. "Lock down the streets. I want checkpoints across the district. Sweep the perimeters and expand into the city grid. Every alley, every bar, every hotel—tear it apart if you have to. Kane doesn't just disappear. He's out there, and we're going to find him."
The officers nodded, tension written on their faces, and moved out into the night.
Marcus stayed a moment longer, staring at the empty stool where Kane had sat. His gut twisted. Whoever that man was… he wasn't just another suspect. And Marcus knew it.
Elsewhere—
"You work in a newspaper factory?" Abel asked, his tone half amused as he followed Kane through the glass doors of a tall building. The sign above read The Daily Crest, its letters glowing against the night sky.
Kane didn't bother looking at him. "It's not a factory," he replied flatly, striding past the lobby guard who gave him a respectful nod. "It's a newsroom."
Abel raised his brows, smirking as they stepped into the elevator. "Newsroom, factory… same thing. People churning out stories like sausages. What's the difference?"
Kane pressed the top floor button, eyes fixed on the panel. "The difference is that this place shapes how people see the world. Stories here decide what's remembered and what's buried."
The elevator hummed as it climbed, fluorescent light flickering faintly above them. Abel leaned against the mirrored wall, watching his brother with curiosity. "So that's what you do now? Write articles? Thought you were more of a brooding-in-shadows type."
"I don't write," Kane said. His reflection looked back at him, unreadable, sharp in the dim light. "I read. I track. Every whisper that moves through this city comes through here one way or another. It's the fastest way to find whoever's pulling strings."
Abel chuckled, folding his arms. "And here I thought you were hiding from society. Turns out you've been babysitting their headlines."
The doors slid open with a soft chime. The top floor stretched out before them—rows of desks, glowing screens, papers scattered everywhere. Reporters tapped furiously at keyboards, phones rang without pause, the hum of urgency filling the air.
Kane walked through it like he belonged, every worker lowering their voices when he passed. Abel followed with a grin, whispering under his breath, "You've got them trained like little pets. Not bad, brother. Not bad at all."