Chapter 51 Table for Three

The basement smelled of rust and stale detergent, the scent clinging to the concrete walls like a stubborn stain. My gloves were slick with dried blood as I tightened my grip on the trolley’s handle and dragged it up the ramp toward the elevator. The wheels screeched faintly, echoing in the hollow space, Sharpy’s limp body jostling with every uneven groove in the floor. Her mask was gone, revealing her pale, blood-drained face, but that didn’t make her any less of a corpse. Onyx trailed behind me, silent except for the steady clink of the heart she was casually tossing in one hand, like a baseball. When we reached the elevator, she dropped it into the plastic evidence bag with a wet splat, sealing it with a grin that was far too pleased for what we’d just done.

“Finally,” Onyx said, her cheeks flushed, voice almost breathless. “Something exciting is happening for so long!”

I kept my gaze on the elevator panel, pressing the button to the ground floor, refusing to rise to her tone. “I’ll be going alone. Crow is too dangerous.”

“No, you won’t,” she snapped, folding her arms. “I am not Silver. Moreover, this is Crow we’re talking about, someone of equal status to… you know… Royal? And the Captain?”

Her words carried an edge I couldn’t ignore. I grimaced, meeting her fierce glare in the elevator mirror before letting out a reluctant sigh. “Fine.”

“Good.” She stepped closer, her voice softening as if nothing had happened. “Go on and dump the body, my love, while I clean up the blood on our floor and make sure that even forensic techs wouldn’t know this building was a crime scene.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Just seconds ago, sweetie, and now, love?”

She tilted her head, smile sharp as glass. “I’m testing what fits.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. I didn’t say anything as I stepped out, tugging the trolley along the polished basement floor. The tarp covering Sharpy’s body was thin, doing little to muffle the grotesque outline beneath it. Each squeak of the trolley wheels was a steady reminder that by tonight, I’d be having dinner with a very dangerous man.

Onyx waved her hand as she remarked. “I’ll also take a shower while at it. Don’t murder anyone, while I am not around, okay?”

I scoffed. “What do you think of me? A murder hobo?”

“Yes.”

“...”

The elevator doors closed, and Onyx was gone.

I imbued my power into Sharpy’s corpse until her entire body was charged with my intangibility. With a soft, muted thud, she slipped beneath the ground and concrete, vanishing like she’d never been there. It took more focus than I wanted to admit, but by the time I pulled my hand back, the floor was spotless, her remains buried deep where no one would find them. I let out a quiet exhale and turned, pushing the empty trolley back toward the elevator. The dull hum of the overhead lights followed me like an accusation.

The ride up was quiet, but the moment the doors opened to the ground floor, the familiar sounds of the building greeted me. The buzz of conversation from the café on the corner, the hum of an office copier down the hall, and the steady flow of people moving in and out of the lobby… my building, my tenants.

“Morning, Mr. Caldwell,” said Greg from 5B as he passed by, earbuds dangling around his neck. He ran a small design firm from his office suite upstairs.

“Morning,” I replied with a practiced, neutral smile.

Mrs. Alvarez from the third floor waved from near the mailboxes, her arms full of grocery bags. “Busy day ahead, landlord?” she teased in that warm, motherly voice of hers. “Don’t forget to eat something. You’re too skinny.”

I gave her a short nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A new tenant lingered by the elevator, a kid barely out of college who’d just started renting a small office space on the second floor. He looked like he wanted to ask me something about the lease but thought better of it when I didn’t slow down. Good. I wasn’t in the mood for questions.

When I got back to my floor, the space didn’t even look like a crime scene anymore. The hallway was spotless… no blood, no smudges, and nothing out of place. Onyx was already showered, her damp dark hair clinging to her neck as she stood in front of the mirror. Dresses were scattered across the couch and chairs, a chaotic mess of fabric and hangers.

She held up a black dress in one hand, another nearly identical one in the other, her brows furrowed in mock seriousness.

“What would look better on me?” she asked, tilting her head. “The black one, or the black one?”

I stared at them, unimpressed. “They look the same.”

Her lips curved into a wicked grin as she dropped one onto the couch and picked up another, this one with a slit that went dangerously high. “Oooh, how about this? Big slit. Shows just enough leg.”

“Too revealing,” I said flatly, already knowing where this was going.

Onyx laughed, low and teasing, her eyes flashing with mischief. “Fine,” she said, twirling the dress around her finger. “Oh, I have an idea!”

Steam rolled off my shoulders as I stepped out of the shower, towel draped around my neck. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to my skin, a reminder that no amount of scrubbing would erase the blood that had soaked me earlier. I rubbed a hand through my hair and walked into the living room, only to stop dead in my tracks.

Onyx stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of a white hoodie paired with ripped jeans. The hoodie had bold, stitched letters that read He Loves Me across the chest. She tugged on what looked like a simple beanie until it stretched over her face, morphing into a sleek bonnet mask that obscured her features while leaving her eyes gleaming like sharp coins through the openings.

I grimaced, dragging the towel across my neck. “...Seriously?”

Onyx turned, grinning, and tossed a neatly folded bundle at me. “Here’s your share,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Yours has a unicorn on it. Matching hoodies, see? Mine says He Loves Me, and yours says—” She gestured dramatically with both hands. “She Loves Me.”

I unfolded the hoodie, staring at the obnoxious pastel unicorn stitched over my chest. “You do know Estrella Alta is a high-class restaurant on top of a skyscraper, right?”

“Exactly,” Onyx said without missing a beat, twirling once in front of the mirror. “Imagine Crow’s face when we show up like this. High society types staring, whispers everywhere, and him—” she jabbed a finger in the air “—pretending he’s not utterly humiliated to be seen with us.”

I let the silence stretch as I considered it. The image formed easily in my head, and despite myself, I smirked. “You know,” I said, tugging the hoodie over my head, “I definitely like that idea.”

By the time evening draped the city in streaks of amber and indigo, I was dressed in the ridiculous hoodie, its soft cotton clinging comfortably as if mocking my own acceptance. The streets outside hummed with the quiet rhythm of nightlife starting to wake, neon signs blinking awake across Markend.

We stepped out of the building together, and there it was… a sleek black limousine parked by the curb. The tinted window slid down just enough for the driver to peer out, his face a blank slate beneath black shades. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, he opened the passenger door with a polished motion.

“Crow wishes you his regards,” the man said smoothly. Draped over his arm were a pair of freshly pressed clothes encased in plastic. “He requests that you wear these. The inside of the limo is spacious enough for you to change comfortably. I will drive you to Estrella Alta.”

Motherfucker just wouldn’t stop spying on us.

The hum of the city faded behind the heavy insulation of the limo as it glided through Markend’s evening traffic. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and a subtle, expensive cologne that clung to the walls.

We’d changed in silence at first. The driver hadn’t so much as peeked through the tinted partition, and the privacy glass made sure no prying eyes saw us. I ditched the hoodie and jeans, trading them for the tailored black suit Crow had sent. It fit perfectly, like it had been cut from my measurements with sharp lapels, polished buttons, and a purple tie that caught the dim light overhead. Opposite me, Onyx sat with one leg crossed over the other, the dark dress she’d slipped into hugging her frame like a second skin. A bold red ribbon tied back her hair, softening her otherwise dangerous edge.

I leaned back against the leather seat, eyeing her. “He’s definitely spying on us,” I said, my tone flat. “But how?”

Onyx tilted her head, her eyes glinting as if amused by my paranoia. “I haven’t detected any psychic intrusions. No telepathic brushes, no empathic probes… nothing,” she replied, idly smoothing her dress. “Silver hasn’t, either. And you know her, She would’ve found it before I did. Plus, she cleans our room constantly. If there were bugs or hidden cameras, she’d have spotted them.”

I frowned, brows knitting. “So every time I came home and the place looked spotless, like someone broke in and scrubbed every inch… It was because of Silver? What’s that about you claiming you did it?”

Onyx didn’t even flinch. She leaned back in her seat, lips curling into a smug smile. “Details,” she said breezily, waving a hand. “And technically, Silver and I are one person. So her work is… well, my credit, too.”

I stared at her for a long moment, letting the hum of the road fill the silence, then sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Her grin only widened. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The limo slowed down. Outside, towering steel and glass reflected the golden glow of city lights, the skyscraper above us swallowing the skyline. The driver stepped out, and a second later, the door beside me opened.

“Please,” he said, his voice smooth and professional, “allow me to lead the way.”

I stepped out first, the city’s night air crisp against my skin, Onyx following close behind in silent heels. The back entrance of the skyscraper was immaculate with polished floors, marble walls, and recessed lights that turned every corner into a pristine frame of wealth and power.

The driver guided us forward without a word, stopping at the waiting elevator. His gloved finger pressed the button, the stainless steel doors sliding open with a soft chime. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, turned, and punched in the code that sent us ascending straight to the top floor.

The numbers climbed rapidly as the elevator carried us higher, the city’s glow shrinking below like dying embers. I leaned against the polished steel wall, arms crossed, and felt the cool weight of the ring around my middle finger.

Onyx’s sharp eyes caught the motion immediately. She tilted her head, the red ribbon in her hair swaying as she asked, “When did you start wearing a ring?”

I turned my hand slightly, letting the elevator’s sterile light reflect off its dull surface. “It’s my trophy,” I said. “From Sunstrider.”

The ring was simple, almost plain… a single embossed letter, an ‘M.’ Or maybe it was a ‘W.’ I still hadn’t decided. What mattered wasn’t the letter but what it represented. The message behind it was undeniable. My fingers brushed over the cold metal, and I remembered the night I’d taken it from the first cape that fell to my hands. Sunstrider had been powerful, but he hadn’t been my match. Killing him hadn’t just earned me infamy; it had given me a name. Eclipse.

A stifled laugh broke through my thoughts, sharp and unexpected.

Onyx stiffened beside me, her smile vanishing as her eyes darkened. She turned toward the man standing in front of the elevator panel, her posture coiled like a predator. “What,” she asked slowly, “was that?”

The driver raised his hands slightly, though his expression stayed eerily blank. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”

I caught Onyx’s arm before she could do something regrettable. “Don’t,” I muttered. My voice was low, steady, enough to keep her anchored but not calm her sharp edge. Turning my attention to the man, I asked, “What’s so funny?”

The question hung in the air like a blade.

The man froze, his eyes darting between us. And then… nothing. No explanation, no stammering excuse. Just silence. His face remained devoid of emotion, like all traces of personality had been scrubbed clean, leaving only an empty shell behind.

An uncomfortable chill ran down my spine, but I said nothing else.

The elevator slowed, the numbers on the display blinking one after another until they reached the very top. With a soft chime, the doors slid open, and the driver’s voice returned, smooth and professional. “We’ve arrived,” he said, stepping aside. “Please, go on.”

Onyx and I stepped over the threshold, and the first thing that hit me was the emptiness.

The entire floor stretched out in a pristine expanse of polished marble and glass, the city’s lights spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and painting fractured patterns across the space. There was nothing here, except for a single table positioned dead center beneath a halo of light.

Crow sat there, alone.

The sound of him chewing was the only noise in the room, sharp and deliberate, echoing against the bare walls like a metronome. He wore a perfectly fitted suit this time, black with subtle pinstripes, his long hair tied back in a neat ponytail. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his eyes: sclera black as pitch, and irises white as bleached bone. His eyes were cold and unblinking as they settled on me.

“Please,” Crow said, his voice smooth, almost melodic, “sit. The food is still hot.”