Crimson Ties

Hannah straightened her back, her expression growing more determined as she clasped her hands tightly in front of her. She took a deep breath, then spoke, her voice clear and brimming with confidence.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, and I want to work with you," she declared. "Not as some kid tagging along, but as your assistant—or your sidekick, maybe. You need someone who's quick on their feet and good at thinking things through, and I can do that. I'm smart. I've always been at the top of my class, and I know how to analyze things, solve puzzles, connect dots. I've read books about investigations—real ones, not just fiction. I can spot details most people overlook."

Her words came in a steady rhythm, brimming with enthusiasm, and her cheeks flushed faintly as she leaned slightly forward.

Vince raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, but Hannah pressed on, her confidence building with every word.

"And it's not just my brains, okay? I've been learning self-defense—basic stuff, sure, but I'm getting there. Plus…" She hesitated for a moment before continuing, her voice softening slightly. "After everything that happened, I want to do something that matters. Something that makes me feel like I'm not just… waiting for bad things to happen again. I want to help people. I want to make a difference."

She paused, her eyes bright and unwavering as she locked her gaze on him. "So, what do you think?"

For a moment, Vince said nothing, his expression blank. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion. He let out a long sigh, staying silent for a beat before responding curtly.

"Nope. Can't do."

Without another word, he turned on his heel, walking toward the kitchen with the same calm demeanor he always carried.

Hannah froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Then, as the words sank in, she pushed herself to her feet. "Wait, what?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch.

Vince didn't stop, his steps steady and deliberate.

"Are you serious right now?" Hannah said, quickly rushing ahead of him. She darted around and blocked his path, planting herself firmly in front of him with her arms stretched out. "You didn't even think about it!"

"No, this thing is not for discussion," Vince said firmly, his voice laced with seriousness that left no room for argument. "You are not going to do it."

He turned and walked into the kitchen, his steps calm but deliberate. Without hesitation, he grabbed a pan from the cabinet and placed it on the stove, cracking some eggs into a bowl as if the conversation hadn't just taken a sharp turn.

"But… but why?" Hannah muttered, her voice breaking slightly as she followed him, lingering by the doorway to the kitchen.

Vince didn't look at her, his hands busy as he whisked the eggs. "This is not a job for kids," he said simply. "You don't know how dangerous it is."

"I'm 18 years old already!" Hannah said quickly, stepping closer. Her voice rose slightly, frustration and determination bubbling to the surface. "I'm not a kid anymore. I can protect myself. Last time, when I was kidnapped, it was just a mistake. I was tired and… and I didn't have proper time to react!"

Her words came out in a rush, almost tripping over themselves in her effort to convince him. She walked closer to the counter, her expression desperate but hopeful. "Even if I can't handle everything, I have the taser you gave me. I can protect myself, and—"

"Enough."

Vince's voice cut through her words like a blade, sharp and final. He turned his head slightly to glance at her, his eyes serious and resolute. "This isn't about whether or not you can handle yourself, Hannah. It's about what this kind of life does to people. You think it's about solving puzzles, helping people, maybe even getting a little thrill out of the danger, but it's not. It's about facing things that no one should ever have to see. It's about losing pieces of yourself every time you go out there."

He placed the whisk on the counter, his expression softening slightly but still firm. "I've been doing this long enough to know how it changes you. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone—especially not you."

Hannah stopped in her tracks, her mouth slightly open as if to respond, but no words came. The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy blanket, stifling her earlier confidence. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly.

For a moment, she just stood there, the silence in the kitchen stretching uncomfortably. Her disappointment was written all over her face—her brows drawn together, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes shimmering with the beginning of tears she refused to let fall.

Finally, she nodded, her movements stiff and reluctant. Without saying another word, she turned away and walked toward the door, her steps slow and deliberate.

As she reached for the handle, she hesitated for a moment, glancing back over her shoulder. But Vince had already turned back to the stove, focused on his eggs as though the conversation had already ended.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob, and with a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out, closing it softly behind her.

Hearing the faint sound of the door closing, Vince let out a quiet sigh and placed the pan down on the stovetop, letting the eggs sit for a moment. He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, as his thoughts drifted to a place he had been trying to avoid.

Chloe.

Her name came unbidden, bringing with it a wave of guilt he had buried beneath layers of justification. She had been with him on the mission to rescue Hannah, stepping into a situation that neither of them fully understood. What was supposed to be a simple information-gathering trip had spiraled out of control.

He could still see it clearly in his mind—the way everything had escalated. What began as quiet reconnaissance ended in chaos. The first body hit the floor after that. By the time the dust settled, three were dead.

And Chloe… he had used her as bait.

It had been an effective plan, sure. Her presence had drawn their targets into the open, allowing him to act swiftly. But the what-ifs gnawed at him, relentless and sharp.

What if something had gone wrong? What if she hadn't walked out of there alive? What if I'd miscalculated, like I almost did with Hannah?

His fingers clutched the edge of the kitchen counter tightly, and he shook his head as though to physically dislodge the thoughts. "Stop it," he muttered under his breath, his voice firm. "I can't think about it like that. No more negative thoughts."

But the words felt hollow, a weak attempt to quiet the voice in the back of his mind that called him a hypocrite. He had known what he was from the start—a man who justified his actions as necessary, even when they crossed lines others wouldn't dare approach. The difference now was that it was getting harder to ignore the weight of those choices.

"Hypocrite," he whispered, his lips curling into a bitter smile. He didn't need anyone else to tell him what he already knew.

A sudden, sharp twinge in his head broke through his thoughts. "Ouch," he muttered, pressing his fingers against his temple as the mild but splitting pain passed. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Must be from that fight," he murmured, his smile turning helpless. "Guess it left more marks than I thought. Been a long time since my hand got blood on."

Shaking it off, Vince returned to his breakfast, pushing the eggs around the pan with absentminded movements. But his thoughts refused to stay still, jumping to the other problem that had been gnawing at him lately.

Simon.

Simon has been acting strange lately, Vince thought, his eyes narrowing as he scooped the eggs onto a plate. From his odd reaction to Hannah's kidnapping to the keycard fiasco. It doesn't add up.

The keycard, in particular, had been a thorn in his side. Vince had managed to dig up the CCTV footage from BBPD, but the results had only deepened the mystery. There was barely a trace of the person who had used Simon's card to access the evidence room.

"No surprise there," he muttered to himself as he chewed a forkful of eggs. "If it was easy, I wouldn't be stuck trying to piece this mess together."

Pushing his plate aside, he stood abruptly and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. He unlocked it with a quick swipe and opened the folder containing the video footage sent to him by the CCTV room before.

The first clip played, and Vince leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched. The man with the snake tattoo on his neck moved with precision, his actions calculated and swift. He stuck to blind spots, used the natural flow of the hallway's shadows, and kept his head angled away from the cameras at just the right moments.

The second clip showed him entering the evidence room. He had timed his entry perfectly, waiting for a janitor to pass before slipping in unnoticed. The ease with which he found his way inside the building was chilling, as though he knew the layout intimately.

The third clip was more of the same—calculated movements, precise angles. The man exited the building while holding the carton boxes with the same fluidity with which he had entered, passed Vince then disappeared into the street without a trace.

Vince sit back in his seat, his lips pressing into a thin line as the footage ended. "It seems like the perpetrator knew BBPD like the back of his hand," he said quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Walking in and out like it was his own home… interesting."