Chapter 3

It was the morning of the next day and it wasn't in my favour already. My eyes fluttered open with a headache,using my right hand to block the glare from the sun illuminating through my window. I let out a groan, trying to get more sleep. Maybe if I wake up a second time, the pounding ache at the center of my head might just go away.

But that wasn't the case as my eyelids kept fluttering and the lovely spirit that orchestrated sleep decided not to come back anymore. With a huff, I flung my legs to the side of my bed and stood up, stifling a yawn whilst trying to make sense of the sheets I was folding and the bed I was making.

The air in the bathroom felt tense as I walked in, the door closing shut behind me with a click. Golden-hued lights from the window illuminated the bathroom, so I didn't need to switch on the light. I stared at my reflection in a simple, heart shaped mirror, taking in my familiar features. My skin looked dull, dark circles lurked under my eyes, a constant reminder of the sleepless nights. My wavy waist length red hair was pulled back tight in a messy bun, revealing my sharp jawline.

The golden eyes that stared back at me was a common trait in the Laurent family. Mine were golden brown, like honey infused with a hint of sunlight whilst my dad's eyes were lighter. The red hair was an exact replica of my mother's but hers was straighter. I let my shoulders sag as I sighed, closing my eyes a bit as I felt the throbbing headache from earlier. The day had just begun and I was already feeling shitty. Great.

I proceeded to brush my teeth and clean myself some more with a bath. Breakfast was simple. Toasted bread and some scrambled eggs and bacon that had lasted a while. My fingers ached as I struggled to use the cutlery. It was finally getting to them, the multiple surfaces they'd come across violently these past hours. I sat on a stool in the kitchen as my eyes wandered round the area that is my apartment. The red ball of thread on the kitchen cabinet caught my attention.

I don't remember keeping it there.

"Odd", I whispered to no one in particular, as I continued the task of munching on my food.

—

The knock on my door came at exactly 8:17 PM. Three sharp raps, followed by a pause, then two more. Kyle's signature knock.

I ignored it, staring at the wall of photos, notes, and red string that covered half my living room. Pictures of known Black Rose members, crime scenes, and whispered connections.

"Jude, please open up. I'm aware you're in there," Kyle called, his voice muffled through the door. His passive use of addressing someone formally whenever was irritating. I was used to it but it didn't make it any less irritating.

"Coming," I muttered, quickly throwing a sheet over my wall of obsession before unlocking the door.

Kyle Larson stood there in his casual clothes, jeans and a faded police academy t-shirt with the badge clipped to his belt gleaming under the hallway light. His sandy brown hair was messy as always, and the concern in his green eyes made my stomach twist with guilt.

"You look like crap," he said, pushing past me into the apartment.

"Good to see you too," I said, closing the door behind him and following right behind him

Kyle was scanning my apartment, his cop instincts never truly off-duty. "Two weeks suspension, Jude?" He turned to face me, arms crossed. "What were you thinking, beating a suspect like that?"

"He wasn't just a suspect," I snapped. "He was connected to The Black Rose. I know it."

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "Everyone at the station's talking. Chief mentioned how dissapointed he was . He's furious."

"I don't care what Marcus thinks," I said, grabbing a half-empty bottle of water from the counter and taking a huge glup down my throat. It went down with a searing pain. I guess I was too fast while chogging it.

"You should care. Your career—"

"My career?" I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "What career, Kyle? I've been chasing The Black Rose for years while everyone at the station pretends they don't have half the department in their pocket."

Kyle's face hardened, the thick eyebrows he possessed furrowed, making his features even more like a painting. "That's a serious accusation."

"But not a false one."

We stared at each other, the weight of unspoken history between us. Kyle had been my closest friend when I first joined the academy. He was the only one who stood by me when everyone else thought I was just a traumatized kid with a vendetta.

"Jude, you are not as invisible as you think... especially with that red hair" his voice softened. "I heard things. People saying you've been spotted in places you shouldn't be. Following known associates of The Black Rose."

I was used to Kyle talking about how noticable and red my hair was so I ignored that. My hand tightened around the bottle. He just had to bring that up. "People talk too much."

"Jude, you have to stop going after them... it's too dangerous!" Kyle's voice grew firmer, more desperate as I saw the pinch on his forehead, indicating how this whole conversation was putting a strain on him.

"Dangerous!?" I snapped, knocking over a flower vase on the stool beside me. It shattered, water and glass spreading across the floor. "Isn't the police department supposed to protect citizens from this 'danger,' not run from it!?"

I stepped closer to Kyle, anger burning through me like wildfire. "I’ve had enough of everyone around me telling me to quit going after The Black Rose. That they're some sort of modern Hades no one dares to go after."

Kyle didn't back down. "This isn't about courage, Jude. It's about survival. The Black Rose isn't just some street gang. They're—"

"I know exactly what they are," I cut him off, my voice low and dangerous.

Kyle studied my face. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"Maybe," I said, walking to the window. Outside, the city lights blurred through the rain that had started to fall. "But at least I'll die trying to make a difference."

"And what difference will that make if you're dead?" Kyle asked, his voice softer now.

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. The truth was, I didn't know anymore if this was about justice, clarity or just my own obsession.

Kyle sighed heavily. "Look, I get it. What happened to your parents—"

"Don't!" I warned. "I would not like to talk about them and do not bring them into this."

"They're already in this, Jude. They've always been the reason you're chasing The Black Rose."

I turned away, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to form. For an officer, I cried alot. I was really pathetic.

"It wasn't an accident," I said quietly. "And The Black Rose was behind it. I heard them that night at my uncle's house. Whispering about it."

Kyle's expression softened into something worse than anger, pity.

"You were a traumatized kid. Memories get mixed up."

"Don't!" My voice was ice. "Don't you dare dismiss me like that." I was ready to throw my fist against something and Kyle's face was looking very inviting. We stared at each other in tense silence. Years of friendship strained by my obsession and his concern. Finally, Kyle's phone buzzed. He checked it, frowning.

"I gotta go. Double homicide downtown."

I straightened, piquing my voice a little bit, "I can come with you."

"You're on leave, remember?" Kyle's voice was firm. "Stay home. Get some rest. And for fuck's sake, Jude, stay away from The Black Rose."

Fucks didn't have sakes. For someone who was very serious about his vocabulary, I wouldn't consider that his absolute best.

He walked to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. "Promise me you'll be careful."

I didn't promise. I couldn't.

After Kyle left, the apartment felt emptier than before. I went back to the window, watching the rain turn the city into a blur of neon reflections. Few minutes passed and I decided to clean up the mess I made earlier. Calmly, I pulled the curtains closed and went to clean up the broken vase, my hands shaking slightly as I picked up the shards of glass.One piece sliced into my finger, and I watched as blood welled up, bright red on my skin.

Kyle had somehow managed to trigger the memory I've been trying to elude throughout today. My mind kept replaying the encounter with the Maestro. The dagger at my throat. His body pressed against mine. The way he'd looked at me, like a predator who had found something unexpectedly interesting.

I sank to the floor, surrounded by broken glass. It reminded me a lot of mysef.

"Why didn't I pull the trigger?" I whispered to the empty room.

I'd had the perfect shot before he'd disarmed me. Years of training, countless hours at the shooting range, all my promises to my parents' memory and when the moment came, I'd hesitated.

The tears I'd been holding back since that encounter finally broke free. Hot and angry, they streamed down my face as I curled my knees to my chest.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, not sure who I was apologizing to. My parents? Myself? The city that continued to suffer under The Black Rose? My shoulders shook as I cried harder than I had in years. Everything I'd bottled up, the fear when his dagger pressed against my throat, the confusion when he let me live, the shame of my failure, it all poured out in waves that left me gasping.

The worst part wasn't the fear. It was the way my body had reacted to his closeness. The forbidden thrill that had shot through me when he'd whispered in my ear. When his body had pressed against mine.

"What's wrong with me?" I choked out between sobs, pressing my palms against my eyes.

I didn't just fail to kill him. For a split second, I hadn't wanted to. That realization terrified me more than anything else.

There was a rasp on my door and for a second I thought Kyle had come back. I quickly wiped my eyes and the tears off my face with the back of my palm and moved through the path to the front door. "Who's it?" I asked, waiting for a response before I opened the door.

After some seconds of not getting any, I cracked the door open a bit to peep through if I could see anything or anyone. When I didn't notice anything, I opened the door completely to look around for any sign of a human, stepping a foot outside. A waft of pain went through my bare foot as I realized I had stepped on something. Crouching a bit to pick it up, it was a black chess piece.

"A king,” I whispered, my voice barely heard as I turned it over in the palm of my hand. I felt a chill run down my body, my skin prickling and the hairs on my body standing on end. I quickly looked around for anything or a figure but found no one. I let out a sigh, trying to calm my already racing heart and walked back into my apartment. Not before looking around again, twice.