CHAPTER 95: THE POOR LITTLE BOY

"Now tell me...where’s the rest of it?"

Paul’s breath hitched. For years the secret had stayed hidden. But now this man had appeared, ready to tear it all open.

He bent down and faced Paul, who tried to avoid his eyes.

"Maybe I don’t even need the rest of it... I already caught the killer."

Paul swallowed hard, his heart racing.

The more Martin leaned in to catch his gaze, the more he looked away, making it obvious he had done something terrible.

"Right, Paul?... you were the one who chased Edgar Hale and you were the one who hit him."

Martin had only guessed, based on what he had observed and Paul stiffened when the words hit him, proving he was right.

"But, I don’t believe you did it alone. An idiot like you couldn’t have pulled it off properly. Who was the other one?"

"W-who are you?" Paul stammered. "Why are you digging up this old case? Just leave it alone, it’s not worth anything to you."

His body trembled, his heartbeat pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

"Um..."

Martin put a finger to his chin, as if seriously considering the question Paul had thrown at him.

"I have a story for you, Paul."

Martin dragged a chair over and sat directly in front of him. A metal glint flashed in his hand, the blade flicking open and closed with a soft click.

"There was once a poor little boy raised by a mother who had no time for him, too busy being a police officer. He wanted to meet his father, but the mother despised the man and erased him from existence.

She never told the boy who he was.

Only when she was dying did she give him the name of his father.

After her death, the boy... now grown, searched from one city to another, spending his time and money.

And in the end..."

Martin smiled faintly.

"...he found out his father was already dead. A horrific death, with many holes in the case."

He stressed the word dead, savoring his hatred toward the killer as he rose from his seat and stepped closer to Paul. He bent down until he was eye level with him.

He tipped Paul’s chin up with the point of the knife.

Paul tried to turn away, but the blade nicked his skin, drawing blood.

His breath hitched. Afraid to make it worse, he slowly lifted his face, terrified the knife would press any deeper into his chin.

"Tell me, Paul... after everything that boy lost, was it worth digging up his father’s case?

... of course it was worth it. It was the least he could do for the man he had spent his whole life longing for."

A quiet chuckle escaped Martin as he asked the question, though he already knew the answer.

"Now tell me the name. Who was with you that night?"

Paul sealed his lips. He weighed his options, whether it was better to talk, or stay silent and pretend he knew nothing.

At that moment came a knock at the door. Martin strode over and pulled it open.

"Thank goodness Rowan sent you... otherwise, I’d be wondering how to drag him all the way to Mistvale."

Kane stepped inside, taking in Paul’s condition. "Whoa... he’s in bad shape. Did you do something to him?"

Martin snorted and gestured toward Paul’s soaked pants. "I didn’t even start. He did that to himself."

Then he stepped aside, waving a hand dismissively.

"Now he’s yours... do whatever you want with him."

...

In Mistvale, heavy rain drenched the city that night. Lyra stood quietly before the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the droplets slide down the glass, and the sight eased the tightness in her chest.

Arms slipped around her from behind. Rowan had just come out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, another draped loosely around his neck.

He pressed his chin to her shoulder, breathing in her scent.

"Hey, daydreamer... what’s on your mind?"

Lyra’s hand rested over his where it lay against her stomach. She exhaled slowly.

"Rowan... I’ve started thinking about quitting my job."

The words left her lips, carrying a hint of sadness.

He stiffened slightly, then gently took her hand and led her to the bed. He sat down and drew her into his lap, holding her close.

One hand rose to her face, cupping her gently. His eyes searched hers, quiet concern written clearly in them.

He hesitated, searching for the right words.

"Lyra... I’ll support whatever decision you make. But this isn’t something you’ve talked about before. I can tell something’s been weighing on you. What is it?" he asked, placing a hand over hers.

Lyra pouted, her eyes locked on Rowan as if seeking comfort.

"Actually... I don’t really want to quit. I’m just so stressed that it makes me feel like quitting."

She sounded almost childish as she complained, like a student grumbling about a difficult math assignment.

That made him chuckle and pinch her cheek. She’d had him worried for a moment.

"Then, it’s my duty to help ease your stress."

He turned her, guiding her gently to rest on the bed. He leaned down, brushing a kiss along her neck.

A light breath escaped her, and she shook her head apologetically.

"You can’t... I just started my period." she murmured.

"I don’t care," Rowan insisted.

Lyra’s eyes widened. She pushed at him, struggling since he was heavier than she expected.

"No, no..." she protested, holding his face in both hands.

He paused and laughed, which only made Lyra pout even more. He was teasing her on purpose, and the way he did it sent a shiver through her entire body.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"That’s okay... we don’t have to do anything."

He shifted away from above her and lay back on the bed, pulling Lyra into his arms.

"Now tell me... what’s been stressing you out?"

Lyra hesitated. If she told him, would he go after Carvin and Dante?