chapter432

When they arrived at the quiet residential complex, Lowell was already waiting.

The moment the car came to a halt, Lowell swung the passenger door open and hopped in, his eyes bright with uncontainable curiosity. "Tarquin, why the sudden interest in Ms. Thorne’s children? Why are we tailing them?"

Tarquin didn't look at him, his voice low and distracted. "Are they still inside?"

"Where else would they be on a night like this? It’s freezing. They’re probably tucked away with a bedtime story."

Leaning back into the leather seat, Tarquin lit a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the lights of the Thorne residence. The smoke curled in the dim light of the cabin, but he offered no further explanation.

Seeing that Tarquin wasn't in a talking mood, Axel stepped out into the biting air. Lowell followed close behind, desperate for the answers Tarquin had withheld. "What’s the play here, Axel? Why is he so fixated on those kids?"

"No clue," Axel replied.

"You’ve noticed he’s been acting strange today, right? Something is off."

"Yeah."

"Any idea why?"

"Nope."

Axel’s monosyllabic responses acted like a bucket of ice water on Lowell’s burning curiosity. Lowell scratched his head, staring at his colleague in disbelief. "Aren't you even a little bit curious? Doesn't the 'why' matter to you?"

"Not really," Axel said flatly, continuing his slow perimeter walk.

Lowell watched Axel’s retreating figure, baffled. How could a man be so devoid of the natural urge to know the secrets of the powerful? Was Axel simply a machine in human skin?

The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Winter in Jindale City brought a bone-chilling cold that drove everyone indoors, leaving the streets deserted and the shadows long. Axel kept to those shadows, his hands in his pockets, instinctively avoiding the reach of the streetlights. He wasn't entirely ignorant of Lowell’s questions; he simply preferred the efficiency of silence over the burden of speculation.

Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared at the edge of his vision. Axel stepped deeper into the darkness, blending into the side of a building.

Blossom emerged, bundled in a heavy down jacket and a fluffy hat that made her look like a small bear. She was sniffling and sneezing—the clear signs of a lingering cold—as she trudged toward the communal bins with a heavy trash bag. A sudden gust of wind whistled through the alley, sending a visible shiver through her. She quickened her pace, but her boots caught on an uneven patch of ice.

"Ah!"

She tumbled forward, the trash bag rolling toward the bin as she hit the ground. After a moment of stunned silence, she scrambled up, huffing with frustration and brushing the snow off her jacket. She gave the ground a sharp, annoyed stomp as if scolding the pavement for her clumsiness.

Hurrying to finish her chore, she tossed the bag into the bin, wrapped her jacket tighter around her frame, and rushed back toward the warmth of her building.

As the wind shifted, it carried a faint, metallic scent—the unmistakable smell of blood.

Axel’s brow furrowed. Once Blossom was safely inside, he approached the bin. He reached for the bag she had just discarded, his movements clinical and precise. What he found inside caused his expression to turn stone-cold.

Moments later, Axel returned to the car. He didn't say a word as he handed his phone to Tarquin. The screen displayed photos he had just taken of the contents of Blossom's trash.

Tarquin glanced at the images, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Axel for an explanation.

"It’s from Professor Folly’s daughter," Axel said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "I just found this in her trash. It seems the secrets in that house are much darker than we anticipated."