Special thanks to those who read/reviewed. To the anonymous guest who asked me about review count: No, I won't be setting a minimum review par for releasing another chapter. I'm not a fan of "hosting a story as a review hostage" as they put it; I write because I want to tell this story, not because I want reviews (although they are greatly appreciated). Thank you for the kind words! TW: smoking.

4.

The sun was setting as Nico di Angelo and his partner arrived back at the FBI field office. With Will in the passenger's side, Nico drove down to the basement garage where Will's car was parked.

"So here we are," Will began, unbuckling his seatbelt as Nico's car tipped downwards from the descending slope of the garage entrance. "No leads, no clues. You might as well just seek out every doctor or medical student and all of their affiliates in this city and start interviewing them."

"I still don't understand the connection though," Nico replied. He stopped next to Will's cream-colored Ford and took a bottle of aspirin out of his car's cupholder. "What does the Jason Grace have to do with the Harpy?"

"Maybe after his patient died, he found out about something he wasn't supposed to," Will theorized, making a face of uncertainty. "Maybe the killer wanted him dead because he knew too much?"

Nico tipped two miniature white pills into the palm of his hand and downed the aspirin without any water. He wiped his mouth. "How many doctors do you know actually keep up with their patients?"

"Not many, admittedly." Will shrugged, starting to get out of the car. "I don't know. Maybe Jason Grace had some other sort of connection with the killer, and the killer wanted to stop him from digging any further. Just as a preventative measure, so to speak."

"That makes sense, except it doesn't make enough sense." With a frustrated sigh, Nico sat back in his chair, tilting his head back in the hopes of driving the migraine away. "I feel like everywhere I look, there is some sort of a missing link. These things almost fit together, just not quite. It's like I'm looking for the most crucial puzzle piece that unlocks where everything else fits."

"I agree," Will sighed, slamming the car door shut. He began to walk away. "We've hit a dead end. Either way, working hours are over, so I'm out. Maybe we can think of an explanation tomorrow after a good night's sleep."

Nico muttered an incomprehensible sigh of agreement under his breath. "See you tomorrow then."

The aspirin bottle fell back into the cup holder.

. . .

"You're late."

With a kick, Nico di Angelo discarded his shoes to the side of his apartment door. "I was working late," he called to the voice in the kitchen. "It's not my fault."

"Your dinner's getting cold, little brother." Bianca di Angelo emerged from the kitchen, her long ebony hair in a braid and barefoot, work clothes discarded for a casual t-shirt and shorts. She was two years older than Nico yet two inches lacking in height, but she made up for it in how she cared had for him ever since they were orphaned. When Nico walked past her on his way to the kitchen, she ruffled his hair. "You seem down today. Is work getting to you or something?"

With a sigh, Nico sank down in his chair, placing his hands on the dining room table. The apartment they shared wasn't small, but it was dull and plain. In the living room and sort-of dining room, there were two couches, a table for dinner and breakfast, two folding chairs, one unused TV, and a desktop computer in the corner. A small hallway extended to two bedrooms, a shared walk-in closet, and one bathroom with a semi-functional ventilation system. The walls were all painted in the same dull color of white, the carpet the same dull tone of cream. A small ash tray rested on top of the dining room table's wooden surface.

If it had been only him using the apartment, the place would be a huge mess. However, Bianca insisted that he kept everything clean and tidy.

One day, Nico told himself. One day we will get a house.

"You look gloomy," Bianca noted, pushing a plate of what Nico presumed to be microwaved macaroni and cheese towards him. "Gloomier than usual, I mean. You always look gloomy."

"Thanks." Nico accepted the plastic fork Bianca handed him and began eating. After a few mouthfuls, he explained. "It's just this case. I can't make head or tails of this one."

"What about Will Solace?" Bianca asked. "How is he?"

Nico stared at the crescent moon tattoo on the left side of his sister's neck, the only tattoo she said she would ever get. He hesitated before answering. "I don't think he knows where to start with this one either. We've been chasing our tails for the whole day."

"I meant are you happy when you're with him?"

Nico didn't reply, keeping his eyes on the macaroni and cheese.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"Bianca..."

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "Look, you don't have to say anything," she told him gently. "You think I don't know what's going on in my little brother's life? I just care about whether or not you're happy, and if Will Solace makes you happy, I'm not going to poke my nose in it. I work at a bank, for heaven's sake; I know how to add two and two together, Nico. I know what he means to you."

"Thank you," Nico told her gratefully.

"But what about this case, huh?" Bianca kept rambling, probably to gloss over the uncomfortable moment for Nico. She picked a piece of pasta off the side of his plate and popped it into her mouth. "After all these years, this is the one you're stuck on?"

"You say 'after all these years' to me, but it's only been one year," Nico reminded her.

Bianca waved her hand dismissively. "One year, two years, ten years, it doesn't matter. Everyone eventually runs into a case that they just can't solve no matter how hard they try."

"That's encouraging."

"For what it's worth though," Bianca continued, ignoring his remark. "I've been with you for years, and if there's one thing I've learned from looking after you, it's that you're smarter than what everyone thinks. You're smarter than you think, actually, and you tend to underestimate yourself. You'll figure it out eventually."

Nico made an ambiguous sound and stood up, taking his empty plate to the sink. "I sure hope I figure it out. I just don't know where to look in all of this."

Bianca drew a box of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her shorts, holding one end up to the fire. Nico accepted one from his sister and pulled the ash tray towards himself. "It's a real shame they don't allow smoking at work," she told him.

Thin whiskers of smoke rose to the ceiling and filled the space around the two siblings as they sat in heavy silence, each deep in thought. Out of the corner of his eyes, Nico noticed that the stars were already lighting up the sky like Christmas lights on a tree. The days were getting shorter.

"You remember that movie we saw when we were kids?" Bianca asked after a while. "Willy Wonka? Charles and the Chocolate Factory?"

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," Nico corrected. He cracked a smile, watching the smoke of his cigarette drift in casual wisps of gray towards the ceiling. "You were obsessed with it."

Bianca smiled, lost in memories. "God, I loved that movie; it's probably still my favorite one. But I was thinking—maybe your case is kind of like that movie?"

"How so?"

"Well, there were thousands and thousands of chocolate bars all around the world, right? But only a few of them had the golden tickets in them. Maybe you've just gotta keep looking until you've found the right chocolate bar with the golden ticket inside, the one clue you need. You need to look deeper and see past all the things that might appear to be the same to you when you first looked at them, that's all." She shrugged.

Nico leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. He put out the cigarette after inhaling the last of it, rubbing the stub against the bottom of the glass ash tray. Twin columns of smoke erupted from his nostrils as he exhaled.

"Maybe," he said to himself. "Maybe."