Chapter 5 – Ashes in the Rain

Rain-soaked concrete.

The downpour in NYC beat against the black SUV’s windows, mimicking the pound of Isolde’s heart. Backseat, Vivienne sat cradled against Dorian, whimpering softly. Penelope kept an eye on the rain-streaked road ahead.

“Please,” Isolde whispered, leaning forward. “Talk to me, Viv.” Her voice trembled. “Tell me what the promise was.”

Vivienne’s hand pressed Isolde’s back. “I kept it.” Her voice was fragile, yet haunted. “But I…forgot the cost.”

Isolde swallowed hard. “Viv, listen to me ”

Vivienne slid down, covering her face. “They promised safety…in Velvet. They made me promise at the show. But I never knew how.”

Isolde’s pulse tightened. “We get her home.”

Dorian’s hand brushed her arm. “She’s safe now.”

Penelope tightened her jaw. “But they’re not done.”

East Village – Isolde’s Flat

They arrived to a checked-out calm: flickering candlelight, a half-melted lavender scent. Isolde scooped up her sister, cradling her on the sofa. Penelope followed closely, just behind Dorian.

Vivienne sagged into exhaustion beside Isolde. “I’m sorry.”

Isolde kissed her head. “Shh. It’s okay.”

Penelope placed a tray of warm tea between them. “Ginger honey. Helps.”

Dorian knelt to offer Vivienne the cup. She sipped, shaking.

She stared at him. “You…you saved me.”

He studied her, calculating compassion in his eyes. “Always.”

After Vivienne slept, the four gathered around Isolde’s coffee table. Rain pattered on the windows.

Dorian laid the red-ink note in the center. “They’re still puppeteering.”

Penelope exchanged a look with him and then Isolde. “We can’t go back to Velvet not like that.”

Isolde stared at Vivienne’s duplicate pendant on the table. “They want us to play to their script.”

Dorian nodded. “We rewrite it.”

Penelope slid her hand across a stack of evidence: ledger files, Velvet’s network diagrams. “They’re calling this ‘red promise’ echoing a deal. They made Vivienne speak confession on stage. Now they want more.”

Isolde clenched her fists. “What can they want next?”

Dorian’s gaze hardened. “They’ve already shown they can play public displays. They may want Isolde me power. Or leverage.”

Penelope pointed at the schematic. “Yet they left one vulnerability: the catwalks, corridors. We can assemble witnesses for each stage. And evidence.”

Isolde peered at the map. “We need cameras.”

Penelope shook her head. “They control the feeds. We need human testimony.”

Dorian folded his arms. “Who’s there for Velvet? Survivors? Complaints?”

Isolde thought of all who may’ve vanished. “Only one Henrietta Joves. She disappeared eight months ago.”

Penelope nodded slowly. “Her sister reached out useless to police.”

“Let’s go to her.” Dorian determined.

Isolde exhaled. “We face them publicly.”

Dorian laid a hand on her. “We won’t face them alone.”

She turned to him, vulnerability unchecked. “I don’t know if I trust any of it’s worth saving. Not anymore.”

He met her gaze. “Then let me…let me earn it.”

Long moment. Then she nodded.

He covered her hand with his. “We start again tomorrow. Full team. Full exposure.”

Penelope slipped on her coat. “I’ll make the call.”

Vivienne stirred a moment, murmured, “They promised…I remember…”

Isolde brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll be alright, love.”

Penelope’s phone vibrated again urgent and silent against the tabletop.

She picked it up, flashlight screen gleaming over her face. “It’s them.” Her voice shook just slightly. “They want to meet…tonight.”

Dorian glanced at Vivienne, then back to Penelope. “Where?”

Message:

Dock 14. Midnight. Come alone.

Isolde’s chest clenched. “They want me alone?”

Penelope closed her eyes. “It’s a trap.”

Vivienne stirred again, opening bleary eyes. “Promise… ashes.”

Dorian leaned forward. “What ashes, love?”

Her gaze slid around the room. “I remember rain…smell of smoke…”

Isolde’s heart thundered. “Ashes in the rain.”

The room leaned in unison, tense with implication.

Isolde wrapped herself in Dorian’s coat his scent comforting and dangerous all at once. He kissed her forehead. “Be safe.”

She nodded, stepping into the weekend drizzle.

Docks were empty, lit by wavering sodium lamps. Waves slapped against rotting pilings, distant ferry horns echoing. Perfume of salt and rust. Her breath rose in white spirals.

She held the duplicate necklace both sisters’ pendants in her palm as she moved toward a lone figure beneath Dock 14’s gantry.

A man in a soaked suit emerged, mask removed lean, dark, face lit by moonlight revealing sharpened features and tired eyes.

“Ms. Vale,” he said, voice gravelly. “I’m glad you came alone.”

Isolde paused. “Who are you?”

He reached into coat and removed a small dossier. He placed it carefully on an oil-stained barrel. “Within this file: verification. Vivienne’s last movements, financial trail, a burner number.”

Isolde picked it up. Photos, timestamps: Vivienne met someone here six nights before her disappearance someone new.

“I want to help her,” he said. “You deserve truth.”

She laughed, raw. “Why? Why now?”

He tipped his head. “Because I was involved. I want out.”

Tension shuddered in the rain.

Suddenly, headlights sliced across the flickering lamps. A black SUV rolled up, doors sliding open. Penelope and Dorian stepped out together but Isolde’s gaze froze.

He hadn’t told her he’d come.

The man’s eyes widened. “You brought backup.”

Dorian advanced, protective. “They said come alone.”

Isolde glared at him. Betrayal. Fear and relief tangled beneath her ribs.

The stranger stared at them both. “Then perhaps none of you came alone.”

He stepped back from the barrel. “You’re all in deeper than you know.”

Penelope’s phone buzzed again. She checked it eyes widening. “It’s a drone. Overhead. Live feed to Velvet.”

Rain fell harder. Cold and relentless.

Headlights snapped on behind them. Red and blue flooded the docks. Velvet’s security descended guns drawn.

The stranger moved between them and the SUV, dossier in hand. “If you cross them…she dies.”

Isolde took a step forward. “Vivienne?”

He nodded. “Tick to midnight.”

Lights blinked overhead. Drone’s eye sweeping their backs.

Dorian clenched his fist. Penelope cursed under her breath.

Isolde swallowed. “We don’t give up truth.”

He nodded once, eyes black. “Then you’ll burn with Velvet.”

And as the rain pelted their faces, the docks came alive in flash and threat and the promise of a confession drenched in fire.

The rain hammered harder now, ricocheting off metal, soaking hair and silk. The stranger stood completely still, hands raised, dossier clutched in one. Behind him, Velvet’s private security fanned out in black uniforms and polished boots, their weapons not quite pointed but not holstered, either.

“Stand down,” Dorian barked, stepping into the open. His voice cracked through the storm. “You don’t make a move unless I say.”

The guards hesitated. One recognized him the silent deference was instant.

Penelope lowered her weapon slightly. “They’re not here to kill. They’re here to record.”

A faint mechanical hum buzzed above them.

Isolde looked up.

The drone.

Its red eye pulsed. It was watching. Streaming. Someone in the dark wanted footage not blood. Not yet.

The stranger slowly approached Dorian, ignoring the guards. “You want to save her?” he asked, eyes flicking to Isolde.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Say it clearly.”

The man handed over the dossier. “Then you have to play by the rules. Or rewrite them faster than they can blink.”

Dorian scanned the folder. His face didn’t move but his grip tightened. Isolde stepped beside him, her eyes devouring what she could read.

Names. Schedules. Private rooms. Encrypted meeting logs with time stamps linked to Vivienne’s disappearance.

“This is…” Isolde breathed. “Proof.”

The man gave a tight nod. “And bait.”

He backed away, melting into the shadows near the dock’s edge. The guards didn’t follow. They vanished with him.

Seconds later, the drone’s hum cut off. Silence returned except for the rain.

Dorian turned to Penelope. “Get us out of here. Now.”

Back at the Flat

Later that night, in the candlelit quiet of Isolde’s apartment, the three of them hovered over the open dossier. Vivienne slept on the couch, her face finally still.

“They’ve staged every interaction,” Penelope muttered. “The show, the necklace, even the ‘rescue.’”

“They used Vivienne as performance,” Isolde said, throat raw. “And they’re not finished.”

“No,” Dorian agreed. “But we’re not helpless anymore.”

He looked at them both. “We hit them next.”

Isolde’s fingers hovered over the list of names. She traced one: Dominic Wade – Client #0062.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know where to start.”