Shadows of Desperation

"Move!" Her scream sliced through the tension, more defined this time, edged with the desperation of one who was walking the edge of fear and rage. She pushed on, muscles tense and desperate, each step a fight against the unseen barrier he had created. "Let me see her!"

It was not difficult to identify her. The angles of her face, angular and sharp, were familiar in a way that scraped at Leon's chest. The way she moved, the way she slightly cocked her head echoed through him as a defiance he had encountered before. The fire that had characterized Natasha remained alive in her sister, wild and free, and it struck him like a blow he was not ready for. Memories flooded unbidden, naked and unrelenting, skirting the fringes of his control.

Leon stiffened, his muscles tense, jaw set as a faint flash of pain crossed his otherwise expressionless face. He had seen death, brought it about in ways most would not even begin to comprehend. But this… this was different. Laden. Weighty. Unlike anything he'd ever borne, it lay on his chest like a thunderhead, dark and crushing.

Behind him, Nova's voice sliced through the tension, gentle and shuddering, almost delicate in its uncertainty. "Leon. what do you see?"

He did not answer for an instant. The words caught in his throat, jammed somewhere between his chest and brain, unwilling to form. Silence hung around them, heavy and nearly solid, as if the air itself was holding its breath in waiting.

"Leon?" Nova attempted again, softer this time, with an edge of pleading that made his heart ache.

Finally, he rolled over a little, enough for his golden eyes to meet hers. No words were necessary. The etchings in his face, the knotted muscles in his shoulders, the shadows clinging to his eyes, said it all. All was already said without one word.

Nova's lips parted, a barely audible, shocked whisper escaping, raw and tenuous. "Oh heaven…"

Natasha stumbled beside her, holding Nova's arm as if it was the only thing holding her to the world. Her voice shook, unsteady and worn at the edges. "Tell me… please…"

Leon breathed slowly, slowly, the deep sound consistent but with a taut undercurrent of tension beneath it. "Back off," he cautioned, every word heavy with warning, a barrier of caution and command.

The fear in Natasha's eyes sparked instantly, coiling into raw panic. She pushed Nova out of the way, boots skidding minutely on the wet floor, and hurled herself forward, desperation infusing each frantic action. "Get out of the way!"

Darkness closed over her as Leon moved, easily standing in her way. He stood like sculpture, immobile, but his eyes blazed with a fire that pounded against her with unseen pressure, something unspoken but impossible to deny.

"Move!" she yelled once more, her voice growing wild in frustration, shaking but strong, pushing forward with every bit of power panic could muster. "Let me see her!"

The words hung in the air like a malediction, oppressive and choking. Natasha stared at him, her eyes blank and unforgiving, as though her mind refused to allow her to absorb the words she had just heard. And then, with agonizing slowness, her lips quivered and opened, letting out a faint, shattered whisper that bore all the burden of incredulity.

Her knees buckled without warning, and Leon's reaction was lightning-fast. He caught her before she hit the ground, drawing her against his chest. Her body shook spasmodically in his arms, shivering as if the cold had penetrated to her very bones. "No… no, she can't be…" The words fought their way past ragged breaths. Her fingers clamped his sleeve with such violence that her nails dug into the fabric. "She was waiting for me… I told her I'd—"

Leon remained quiet, his body a firm steady-state. One hand kept the nape of her neck cradled, holding her shuddering frame firmly in place. He said nothing, moved not at all—he merely allowed her sorrow to wash over him, soaking up the raw fear emanating from her.

Nova crept forward slowly, face drawn tight in suppressed rage, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "We ought to get out of here," she whispered, voice little more than a breath, thick with tension. "The person who did this… they could still be close."

But Natasha did not hear. She held on to Leon as if to let go meant losing herself entirely, burying her face in the warmth of his chest, her sobs muffled and desperate. The world outside of her sorrow had stopped existing.

Leon's eyes wandered back to the corpse. The golden color of his irises turned dark, smoldering with a cold, calculating light. Whoever had committed the crime hadn't done so in fury. This was calculated. The victim wasn't just stolen—they were set out, orchestrated for discovery.

He searched the room with careful scrutiny. Shattered incense scattered the floor, smudged footprints tracked towards the balcony, and a pale red streak coated the walls. All the marks, every detail, spoke of intent. Blood hadn't just spilled—it had been placed, left as if to be heard.

It wasn't merely a murder. It was a message, and the message was intended to be read.

He felt a shiver run down his spine, a resonance deep within that seeped into his bones. Whoever had staged this tableau wanted something from them, and the realization stiffened his chest with anger and determination. He increased his grip around Natasha silently, allowing her grief to rest against him as his mind calculated the dark math of retaliation.

The room closed in on them, thick with the weight of death and warning. And within that crushing stillness, Leon knew: this was most decidedly not finished.

Leon's jaw hardened, a still storm building behind his golden eyes. "We are not going anywhere," he growled, low and menacing, the words slicing through the stifling quiet like a knife. "Not until I discover who did this." Every syllable had force, the threat of retribution in the unyielding iron of his tone.

Natasha's fingers trembled as they brushed against his arm, her weak grasp seeking some purchase in the turmoil. Her head remained bowed, weighed down with shock, but there was a flicker—a desperate, frail attempt to connect with his eyes. She reached out, attempting to lift it to look at him fully, but Leon's hand rose, firm and unyielding, stopping her movement. The caress was possessive, guarding, but there was a tension behind it that made her heart pound, a combination of fear and something perilously close.

Outside, night breathed in slow, jerky sighs from the open window. The violet sky stretched out and unmoved above, twin moons casting cold light upon the world below. Their radiance fell upon the crimson stains on the floor, causing them to shine like living flame against the darkened walls. All the shadows appeared to quiver and whisper, speaking of unguessed movements.

Within the room, stillness had been almost unbearable, but underlying it was something that stirred—a low, predatory movement, quiet yet unmistakably present. Darkness itself had seemed to have lungs, watching, breathing, waiting, feeling the tension between them and the thin flicker of vulnerability that Natasha could not keep hidden.