'Kiku!' Yao shouted from the porch, the lazy afternoon sun warming his skin. He could see Kiku standing beneath the shade of a tree, staring up at the branches.

He's so tiny, Yao thought, remembering how Kiku had been even scrawnier only a year ago. It had taken much of Yao's persistence to get him to eat more, to fill out his bony frame. But even a year later, Kiku still very much looked like the child Yao had found in the dirty alleyway, the same starved eyes and the same skinny build.

It worried Yao, had him thinking that maybe he wasn't doing his best to care for him even though Yao was no more than a child himself. He was still a grade schooler, a kid who had his own preoccupation with doing his best in class to please his parents — perhaps even one day surpass his cousin Jin, who his mother had almost always held up as a 'stellar' example of success.

But for Yao, Kiku was his real success. Kiku was his own, in some way. Yao had found him, had fed him and taught him how to read. He had even taught Kiku a bit of Mandarin, though Kiku never seemed all that interested. But even so, Yao had felt as though he had made him, moulded him out of the shivering child he had met a year ago. More than a friend or brother — Kiku was his.

'Kiku!' Yao shouted again, hopping down the steps and walking across the dead leaves that were strewn across the front yard. 'It's getting dark. Come inside.'

Kiku didn't answer, didn't even turn to look. Yao sighed in exasperation, quickening his steps to reach Kiku.

'Ki-ku,' Yao dragged the name out as he shook Kiku's shoulder, finally earning Kiku's attention. His eyes, a deep chocolate brown in afternoon sunlight, looked at Yao as if watching something far off and distant.

'It's stuck.'

'What's stuck?'

Kiku nodded up towards the tree branches. Yao followed his gaze, finding a red ball lodged between two branches.

'Oh.' Yao frowned. He wouldn't be able to reach it, in spite of the fact that he was a little taller than Kiku. 'Well, maybe we can get my dad to take it down for you —'

'He's not going to.'

'What do you mean?'

Kiku's brows furrowed slightly, the only indication he ever gave of annoyance or anger. 'He's just not.'

'But he's just inside —' Yao turned around towards the house, spotting his father through the living room window. His father was watching, arms crossed.

'I tried to climb up before. I fell down and he didn't do anything.' Kiku paused, as if deciding something. 'He hates me.'

'My dad doesn't hate you,' Yao said, though he knew it wasn't entirely true. Of course his father didn't hate Kiku. Neither of his parents did. They wanted the best for Kiku, just as Yao did, surely.

But Yao knew Kiku was an extra mouth to feed for his parents. Almost a stranger, which Yao had brought into the family of his own accord. Initially, his parents had firmly told Yao 'no', treating it as though Yao had brought home a dirty stray and not a human being. But Yao had persisted, snuck Kiku into his room and kept him in secret. When his parents had found out and sent Kiku on his way — back onto the streets and the grimy alleyways — Yao only snuck him back in again. Blood or no blood, Kiku was his brother. It was only a matter of time before Yao's parents begrudgingly give in.

'I'll get it for you, Kiku.' Yao pat Kiku's shoulder. 'There's nothing your older brother can't fix!'

'We're the same age.'

'Um. No…' Yao started to inspect the tree, looking for potential footholds and branches to hold on to. 'I'm like, two months older than you.'

'But my birthday comes before yours. February, remember? Yours is in October.'

'Aiyah… I know the order of the months, Kiku.' Yao took hold of the lowest branch, setting his foot onto a small stumped branch and hoisting himself up onto the tree. 'But your birthday isn't in February. It's in December. So — I'm older.'

'That's a lie.'

Yao's foot slipped on the tree bark, struggling to regain his footing. 'It's not!'

'It is. I turned eleven in February. You just turned eleven last week.'

'Okay, but like, listen.' Yao pulled himself up to the next branch, feeling the bark scratch at his palms. He could see the ball sitting not too far, close enough to reach. 'I found you on December 28th, right? So that's kinda like, that's the day you became my brother, you know. Which means —'

Yao reached out to grab the ball, stretching himself out to try and catch it. His fingers just about brushed against it, though not quite close enough. He shifted his grip on the nearby branch, giving himself just that extra leeway he needed to lean in and —

His foot slipped on the branch stump, his hand abruptly pushing the ball off the branches. He gasped and fell to the ground face down, the air knocked out of his lungs. He heard the ball roll across dead leaves, crunching over them slowly.

Yao groaned, tears pricking his eyes as a sharp pain shot through his forearm. He bit his lip, not wanting to cry in front of Kiku. He struggled to get up, every movement sending a new wave of pain from his arm.

'Are you okay?'

Yao looked up. Kiku was watching him with the red ball in his hands, expression withdrawn and blank as always. His brows, however, were pinched ever so slightly. Yao could see it — he was concerned. It was a subtle expression, most people wouldn't recognize it. But Yao could. He really could.

'I'm fine, Kiku,' Yao croaked out, not sure how much longer he could ignore the pain. He heard the front door of the house open, furious footsteps of his father on the porch. 'But… Why didn't you…'

'Why didn't I what?'

Yao hesitated, looking at the red ball in Kiku's hands. 'N-Never mind.'

He raised his uninjured hand to Kiku, feeling Kiku's cool palm take hold of it. Kiku pulled him up.

'You're uh… You're staying for dinner, aren't you?' Yao asked, spotting his father approaching. In spite of the bruises and scratches burning up raw on his skin, Yao blinked away the tears. Kiku couldn't see him like that. Neither could his father. He would only blame it on Kiku.

'I don't think your parents want me to stay…'

Yao shook his head and smiled. 'Doesn't matter. I want you to stay.'

Kiku blinked, though Yao couldn't tell what he was thinking. A quiet, reserved nod from Kiku. And for a moment — just for a moment — Yao could almost fool himself that there was a smile on Kiku's lips, too.

.

Alfred knocked on the door, stuffing his hand into his coat pocket before the cold could sting it. His fingers met the sharp edge of a photo, tempted to take it out and look at it again as he waited for the door to open. When Kiku had fished it out of Katyusha's wallet the other day, Alfred had expected to be shown the same face he had seen at 'The Poisoned Apple', of Yao Wang's and his stone-black eyes. Instead, he found himself looking at the face of someone entirely different, an almost angelic looking entity.

Vanya — was what had been written on the back of that photo, along with the year it was taken. Though he was young in the picture, he would have been around the right age now to fit the description of their second killer. And though there were no records of such a person ever existing, Alfred was sure this was the 'Ivan' Natalya had mentioned.

The image of that face disappointed him somehow, as if Alfred had wanted this 'Ivan' to at least look the part of the monster. But he didn't… Alfred supposed that was the way it always was with truly terrible people.

Impatient, he pulled his hand out of his warm pocket to knock again. Upon the first knock, the clunk of the door unlocking startled him. Alfred's hand retreated, the door opening by only a few inches. Natalya peered out, her brows settling into a frown at the sight of Alfred.

'What is it?'

'I called you, didn't I?'

'I told you I was busy.' Natalya went to shut the door. Alfred blocked it with the cane.

'I need to talk to you.'

'So you can save the lives of those pigs?' Natalya nearly spat out the last word. 'Don't be stupid. Leave.' She kicked the cane, dislodging it from its place, and shut the door with a slam.

'Natalya!' Alfred pushed against the door, though it was too late. He heard the clicks of the door being locked, the chain sliding into place. 'Natalya, please! People's lives are at risk —'

(Arthur's life is at risk)

'They might be horrible people, Natalya, but they have families that would grieve! Children that would grieve! Natalya —'

'Don't use my name like that! Don't ask me to feel sorry for them!' She hissed from the other side of the door, apparently still listening. It gave Alfred a sliver of hope. He pulled the photo out from his pocket and slid it beneath the door.

'Help us find him, Natalya.' Alfred pressed his forehead against the door, waiting for a response. It had gone incredibly quiet, save for the sound of the photo sliding against the floor as Natalya picked it up.

She gasped, her voice becoming soft and trembling. 'Where did you find this?'

'Let me in and we can talk.'

He heard the chain rattle, the door promptly unlocking as soon as Alfred had spoken. Alfred withheld a sigh of relief, lifting his head away from the door as it opened. Without saying anything, Natalya turned around and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, expecting Alfred to follow.

Alfred shut the door behind him, walking into the living room. The room was dark, save for the sparse morning light escaping through dense curtains. Natalya pulled them back, the room flooding with light.

'Sit.'

Alfred took a seat on the couch, noticing the weathered teddy bear on the other side of it. Having perhaps stared at it for too long, Natalya snatched it from the couch, striding out of the room and returning empty-handed.

Alfred made no comment, watching her take a seat where the teddy bear had been. She folded her hands in her lap, the photo cradled in them as she glanced at it. The moment stretched out, her eyes seemingly unable to tear away from the photo.

'It's him, isn't it?' she said, breaking the silence. 'Ivan's been killing them.'

Alfred nodded. 'That's what we suspect so far. But he's not alone.'

Natalya snapped her head up at this, an odd ferocity in the gesture. 'He's with someone?'

Alfred paused. 'Don't worry about that for now. Just tell me about Ivan. How did you meet him?'

Natalya's frame slackened by the slightest, her gaze not quite as direct. 'We were at Glen Hills together. At least, for a while we were. He escaped before I could. We were supposed to escape together, you know… But he was more scared than I was, I guess.'

Natalya reached up to scratch her throat, hand pushing back a curtain of ash-blonde hair. Alfred caught a glimpse of numbers on her throat, skin tinged red around the faded ink.

('She's got a rather lovely neck, don't you think?')

Alfred furrowed his brows at the memory — Arthur had known, even then. Yet he had kept it to himself, only leaving Alfred little crumbs to follow. Had Arthur not been missing, Alfred might have felt a pang of annoyance. But he could only worry more. Wherever he was, Arthur was surely toying with his captors, too. Alfred could only hope he hadn't pushed his limits with them.

'That mark on your neck…' Alfred said.

Natalya's hand froze for a second, pulling away hastily.

'They gave it to us when we arrived at Glen Hills. Ivan had one, too.' Natalya brushed through her hair, setting it back in place where it covered the markings. '22105 was his number… He was always scratching at it, sometimes making it bleed. The nurses never liked that. If they saw there was a new scratch or scab, they'd —' She paused, pursing her lips as if she had said too much.

'They'd what?'

Natalya clasped her hands together in her lap, tightening her grip. 'Ivan was easy to bruise. Even I knew that. I used to hold onto him so tightly he'd get bruises on his arms. The nurses, the doctors, they knew it, too. They liked it when you were easy to hurt.'

She opened up her hands to peer at the photo once again, sighing. 'He looks a bit older here, but he still looks just as fragile. To think he's doing all those horrible things…'

The room fell quiet, Natalya's watery gaze remaining fixed on the photo.

'Natalya —'

'Please don't call me that anymore.' She shook her head, hiding the photo away in her palm. 'Just Linda is fine.'

Alfred furrowed his brows, the woman before him softer, not quite as harsh as before. 'Linda, I know it might be too much to ask of you right now, but I need you to help me. I need to know who Ivan is going after next.'

Alfred pulled out three photos from his coat pocket, laying them out on the coffee table. Before he could even set out the third one, Natalya shrank back in her seat and shook her head.

'No. Put those away,' she croaked. 'I don't want to see them.'

'It's the only three remaining staff from Glen Hills.' Alfred left the photos on the table, men's haggard and withered faces watching the ceiling with an unblinking glare. 'All doctors.'

'Yes, I know. I know who they are. Now please —' She swept the photos up towards Alfred. 'Just take them away.'

'Linda, I need your help.'

'Linda can't help you.' She picked the photos up and shoved them into Alfred's. 'Neither can Natalya.'

'I can't do this without your help. One of these men could be dead by tonight, and I can't afford to hazard a guess or watch all three of them without having to thin out security.'

'That's your problem, then.' Natalya stood up from the couch, still cradling Ivan's photo in her hands.

Alfred stood up from the couch, too, the three photos crinkling in his fist. 'Do you want Ivan to kill again? Is that what you want? For him to get blood on his hands again?'

'No!'

'Then help me find him.'

'I can't do that either!' Natalya choked out, her voice crumbling beneath a sob that was waiting to burst out. 'I can't! He's just a child, he's a hurt child and all you want to do is punish him again for it! You'll just do what they did at Glen Hills! You'll take his name away and give him a number, you'll tell him he's sick, that he needs help and that you can fix him — but you'll only just pick him apart. And when you're done with him, you'll throw him away. You'll kill him and send him off so some other man can pick him apart, cut him up until there's nothing left…'

Her voice had grown withered, too tired to keep itself from falling into a whisper. 'That's what you do. But it's not fair, is it…?'

Alfred took a step forward, watching her flinch away. He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn't know what, until a child's voice sounded out softly in the room.

'Auntie…?'

Both Alfred and Natalya's gazes snapped toward the voice. At the living room doorway, a young boy stood, his pale blonde hair ruffled and his pyjamas crumpled as if he had just rolled out of bed. In his hands, the teddy bear Alfred had seen on the couch earlier.

Natalya was the first to react. Hastily wiping away her tears, she hurried over to the child. 'Kevin, it's still too early. Go back to bed.' She placed her hand on the child's shoulder, guiding it towards the hallway.

'You're crying.'

Natalya shook her head, bursting into a forced chuckle. 'No, Kevin. Auntie's fine… Go back to sleep.'

'Is it about Da-'

'Please,' she said, her voice straining itself once again. 'Just say in your room until the man leaves.'

The boy glanced at Alfred, his pale blue eyes piercing with curiosity. Alfred darted his gaze away, focusing on the feel of crinkled paper in his had until he could hear the boy's footsteps patter away. Natalya sighed, returning back to the living room.

'He's Mr. Bowman's son, isn't he?' Alfred said.

Natalya stopped in her tracks before she could approach the couch. 'You can't tell anyone.' When Alfred remained silent, she spoke again, her voice shaking. 'Alfred, you can't tell anyone! He'll get taken away from me, they'll take him away and put him in some cold, horrible place. Alfred —'

'What about Emily? All the other children the victims left behind?' Alfred turned to face her. 'You keep them, too? Or just the ones that look like Ivan?'

Natalya's hand struck across Alfred's face, his cheek stinging. 'I took him in because he had no one left. The others — they had family, places to go. Kevin had no one. I was the only person that could give him a real home, so I did.' She leaned in closer, hissing. 'Don't you ever mistake that for anything else.'

'It doesn't matter why you did it.' Alfred took a step back. 'The court isn't going to see that way.'

'What court?' Natalya grabbed his arm, nails digging in through the sleeve. 'What court, Alfred? You're not telling anyone! You can't!'

'I have to.'

'N-No, you don't.' Her grip tightened as Alfred tried to pry her hand off. Her fingers grasped on like claws of a hawk, and it was in trying to undo this desperate grip that Alfred felt a little guilty. He stopped, looking up at Natalya and sighed.

'You're right. Maybe I don't,' Alfred said, hearing Natalya sigh as she loosened her hold. 'But you gotta help me out, Linda. I'd be going out on a limb for you here.'

She tensed, her brows pinched in distress. 'Don't ask me to give Ivan up. Don't —' Her nails bit into Alfred's arm, holding on even as Alfred flinched. 'Don't ask me to save their lives! You can't just ask me to do that!'

'Linda.' Alfred pried her fingers away, having to tear her hand away from him. 'It's Ivan or Kevin. I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to choose.'

Natalya's eyes, once icy and cold in their gaze, burned into Alfred with hatred. She would never forgive Alfred for this, he knew that. But it didn't matter to him — it was never about winning everyone's hearts, like the glorified hero he once dreamt to be. No, it had always been about the monster, about the lengths Alfred would take to kill it, even if in the end everyone hated him. Real heroes didn't exist; only men willing to do terrible things for the sake of another.

.

The sun smouldered in the sky, sinking behind the tree lined horizon as Ivan walked down the road. He took a moment to look back at the house, now small and fragile looking in the distance. It was too far away now, much too far away for Ivan to even see the warm light that would be spilling through the boarded up windows, to even catch a glimpse of Yao's shadow. Even his footprints in the snow, seemed too far away to see, the trail disappearing beneath the falling snow.

('We're practically ghosts…')

Ivan smiled faintly. It had only been a few months since Yao had said this, and yet it seemed like an eternity ago. He had said it so confidently, so calmly, as if it were the best thing to be in that moment. Ivan could only dream they would remain this way — invisible.

He turned back to face the road, furrowing his brows when met with an empty road. Katyusha should have been here by now, though Ivan knew she was not always on time. Worry planted itself in Ivan's chest, his feet leaving scraped trails across the icy asphalt. He preoccupied himself with the thought of Yao, the stubborn way in which he had watched Ivan leave.

'Don't leave me here with this idiot for too long,' Yao had said, brows knit together as Ivan stepped out into the snow. '… Are you sure you don't want me with you?'

Ivan had to lie, to tell Yao that he really was fine doing this alone. Truth was, he wasn't. The thought of killing three men on his own, going back to that solitude which had become so foreign to Ivan in the past few months, sent his stomach into an uneasy, twisted mess.

I want you with me — but those were words Ivan had to keep to himself. These killings were his to carry out, not Yao's. He didn't want any more blood on Yao's face, on his hands which were so quick to reach for Ivan's. Today would be the last of the killings, and Ivan would make sure of that.

The minutes passed by painstakingly slow as Ivan waited for Katyusha's car to show up, growing more and more restless as the road only stared back at him in empty silence. The sun was gone now, swallowed up by the snowy treetops and leaving the sky bleeding red. He stole another glance back at the house, checking as if it too, might have been swallowed up by the sky somehow.

The sound of an engine sent his gaze snapping back towards the road. In the distance, a car — but it wasn't Katyusha's. Ivan took a hesitant step back, struggling to see the driver through the heavy snowfall. Whoever it was, they weren't out here in the middle of nowhere by chance. This, Ivan was sure of, even as the black car swerved in uncertainty before pulling up beside Ivan.

The window rolled down, merely a sliver at first. Then an inch, two inches, as if the driver wasn't sure if he wanted to be doing this. A young man peered out, green eyes flickering with uncertainty as they studied Ivan.

'I-Ivan Braginsky…?'

Ivan took a step closer to the car, the man flinching in response. There is no way this man is a police officer, Ivan thought. But even so, he eyed the car and its driver carefully.

'… Yes?'

A quick sigh burst out of the man, his head nodding. 'Okay, good. It's you. Please uh… Please get in the car.'

Ivan furrowed his brows at the request. The man flinched again, a nervous smile on his lips.

'S-Sorry, I forgot to say — I'm Toris. Katyusha sent me. She uh… said you needed to be picked up…?'

'Where is she?'

'She's not uh…' Toris scratched the back of his neck. 'She's not feeling well.'

'She hasn't called me.'

'Th-That's because she couldn't! I told you — she's ill.'

'But she called you?'

Toris's eyes widened, taking a nervous swallow. Ivan took another step closer to the car, leaning into the window.

'Who are you again?'

'T-Toris! Toris Laurinaitis. I work for Katyusha. I'm… I'm her receptionist.'

Ivan furrowed his brows. Toris was shaking, eyes flitting nervously as if they could never rest. 'Has she told you what I do?'

'Uh. Not really. Just that — you know. You need to go places.'

Ivan eyed the car. It was much too small to fit three bodies in the boot. Unless Toris was comfortable driving with three corpses in the backseat, Ivan would have to improvise body disposal on his own. He might just have to burn them at the locations. He hummed in thought, glancing back at Toris.

'Da. That's exactly what I do, Toris.' Ivan took hold of the window frame, offering a polite smile. 'I go places. But there is one thing I need to make sure of…'

'W-What is that, exactly?'

'Your silence.'

A yelp escaped Toris' lips. 'K-Katyusha didn't mention anything like that!'

'If you are telling truth, it's because she trusts you. But I don't, so I need to make a couple of things clear, da?'

Toris swallowed and nodded.

'I tell you where to take me, and you get me there. You don't know my name, you don't know where I live. I'm a stranger who needed to get somewhere and you were kind enough to help. You don't remember my face, you don't know why I needed to go to these places. And when you wait inside the car for me to come back, you are asleep. You don't see or know anything of what I do inside the house. Is that clear to you?'

'Y-Yes,' Toris croaked out.

'Good. Let me into the car now. It's very cold out here, da?' Ivan chuckled, watching the colour drain from Toris' face. Toris nodded and unlocked the car doors. Ivan got into the passenger seat, stuffing his large black bag into the back seat. Toris glanced at it curiously. His mouth opened to ask a question, only for him to sigh instead. He started up the car engine.

'How much is she paying you for this?' Ivan asked.

'Ah, n-nothing! Nothing.' Toris rolled the window up, pre-occupying himself with adjusting a rear-view mirror that needed no adjusting. 'This is just... part of my job, I guess. Not that… picking up creepy strangers is a part of my normal work day.'

Ivan glanced at Toris.

Toris swallowed down a cry. 'Forget what I said.'

'Da, that would be best for both of us.'

'R-Right.'

Toris started the car up, making a clumsy u-turn on the icy road. Ivan took a last glance at the house, a part of him wishing he had simply stayed with Yao instead. But he would be back soon, anyway. He wouldn't be long, and when he returned, it would be without the burden of Glen Hills on his back.

.

Cool night breeze teased through the open car window, sending a shiver down the nape of Alfred's neck. He rolled the window up by the slightest, and for a moment he considered having a smoke to ease his jittery nerves. But with Kiku on the phone, he curbed the temptation.

'Which one are you monitoring?' Kiku asked over the phone.

'Evans. One of the Glen Hills committee members,' Alfred said. He watched the trees sway from the wind, looming over the entrance to a large but humble-looking house. There were no gates, no guard-dogs or security. A nicely paved path led right up to the front door — an open invitation. Alfred was essentially offering this man on a silver platter, waiting for the killer to take the opportunity. He hadn't even told the man he was being targeted, something he could never get away with had Kiku — or anyone else, for that matter — been here with him.

It was a risk many ways, not just for the man's life but for the investigation altogether. Alfred knew that. But it was his beast to catch, wasn't it? Whatever he had to do, he would do it.

'Did Ms. Sterling point you towards Evans?' Kiku asked.

'Yeah, sorta,' Alfred said, taking a glance at a balcony window from which warm light was escaping through. 'From what she told me, the Glen Hills director is probably the one being 'saved for last'. He was the brains behind the entire child 'treatment' program, and somehow got away with it even after the scandal broke out. That leaves two other potential victims, both on the Glen Hills committee. Evans and Bohren.'

'And you're assuming Evans is next on the killers list?'

'A guess is the best I can do right now.'

'I see.' Kiku sighed, the sound of paper being flicked through on his side of the phone. 'Who is at Bohren's then?'

'Carriedo and Vargas.'

A pause. 'Oh.'

'Hey. Nobody else was available tonight, okay? If I could make doubles of myself or you, I would.'

'And who do you have with you?

'Uh… No one.'

Kiku stayed silent.

'Look, I didn't have time to grab someone from the station, okay? Vargas and Carriedo were the only guys who didn't have patrols or shifts, but I needed them to keep an eye on the Bohren residence. Nobody else left, so… It's just me.'

'You could have taken me with you.'

'You were busy,' Alfred said. It wasn't quite a lie, but it felt dirty on his tongue. He should have brought Kiku with him. But if he did, Alfred doubted he would be allowed to leave the place so open and unguarded.

'Are you sure you won't need backup?'

'Hey, if I need backup I'll call backup, alright?'

'But you're confident you can take down the killer on your own?' The question didn't come across as doubtful or sarcastic. It was concerned, as Kiku often was. Alfred smiled a little at the sentiment.

'I call you as soon as I get him, Kiku. You'll be the first to know.'

Kiku hummed, more so in polite acknowledgement than anything else. Alfred glanced over the house, checking in again on the window with the balcony. It was still lit, somehow reassurance for Alfred that the killer had not struck without his notice. He turned to check on the road, sighing.

'Whatcha working on anyway?' Alfred asked.

'I'm actually on my way somewhere… An old family home of Katyusha's.'

The breeze outside started to pick up, startling a pile of papers on Alfred's dashboard. It blew some of them away, sending them spilling onto the passenger's seat. Alfred muttered a curse and started collecting them up, spotting a small piece of paper on the floor. He bent down to reach for it. When he sat up, he saw the scrawled 'Vanya' on it, the photo of a younger Ivan on the other side of it. The sight still startled him, unable to match the face to the bloodied corpses it had left behind.

'Alfred?'

'Sorry, I just…' Alfred set the photo back onto the dashboard. 'I… dropped something...'

Looking back up at the house, something looked off. Alfred frowned, realising the light from the balcony had become much dimmer, and the window was wide open. It wasn't an incredibly suspicious phenomenon, but something in Alfred's gut twisted uneasily at the sight of it.

'… Kiku, I need to hang up.'

'Oh —'

Alfred closed the phone, stepping out of the car and feeling the icy wind bite his skin. A shadow moved beyond the balcony window frame, and without further thought, Alfred bolted towards the house. His breaths started to heave by the time he kicked the door down, heart pounding as he pulled his gun out and made his way upstairs.

He slammed his back against a wall. His heart felt as though it was pounding against his ribcage, ready to burst out at any moment. He tried to still his breaths, his heart, as he listened to the gentle creaks of the door opening and closing slightly. He took a deep breath and burst into the room.

'Police! Don't move!' Alfred's gun automatically aimed at the looming shadow in the centre of the room, wavering though he tried to keep it steady. Something dripped, making a soft splattering noise as the figure lifted what looked like a pipe.

'I said don't move!' Alfred said, hands going clammy on the gun. 'Or I shoot!'

The air was rank with the scent of blood, carried by the night breeze. Alfred could vaguely make out the killer's outline, framed by the gentle light of dying embers in the fireplace. He was tall, wearing something of a large coat, from what Alfred could gather. But he couldn't see his face, couldn't tell if it was still that same innocent expression, or if it had twisted and grown into something sinister over the years.

Alfred stepped forward, carefully. 'Put the weapon down.'

He heard the killer's breaths, slightly laboured and heavy. The friction of gloves against the metal pipe, which was still held up so that Alfred could hear blood dripping from it. And then, a chuckle.

'You were waiting for me to kill him, weren't you?' the voice drawled out softly, chillingly sweet amidst the words that were being spoken.

Alfred inhaled a shaky breath, spotting the open balcony window and its wildly swaying curtains. Snow was drifting in, melting on Alfred's skin. 'Drop the weapon.'

'You didn't protect this man at all…' A pause, as if considering something. 'Did you know him?'

'Not really.' Alfred took another step, smaller this time. 'But I know you, in a way. You're Ivan, aren't you?'

'You say my name funny.'

'Yeah. Probably.' Alfred readjusted his grip on the gun. 'But you know what, Ivan? I'm taking you down to the police station today. Whether or not you get there in one piece is up to you. So do yourself a favour and drop that pipe, will you?'

Ivan hummed, the pipe twitching in his hold. The wind outside picked up, roaring and sending the house groaning as if it were in pain. The curtains were yanked in towards the room, flailing uneasily as Ivan started to set the weapon down. His face crossed into the moonlight, pale features partially illuminated so that they seemed incomplete, half-shrouded in darkness.

The pipe clanged against the floor. Alfred stepped closer.

'Good. Now get on the ground and raise your hands up.'

Ivan kneeled to the floor, seemingly not caring that he was amidst the crumbled remains of Evans' head. He raised his gloved hands into the air, and looked at Alfred in question. Keeping his gun aimed at Ivan, Alfred approached. His footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, the door behind him groaning as the air pulled and pushed at it gently. His gun close to Ivan's forehead, Alfred thought how easy it would be to break this moment, to pull the trigger whilst he still had the chance.

'You took someone I knew,' Alfred said, swallowing down a nervous lump in his throat.

Ivan's eyes flickered up to Alfred, cold and numb in their gaze. 'Did I…?'

'Yeah. Arthur Kirkland. Does the name ring a bell?' Alfred nudged Ivan's forehead with his gun. 'Or did you not even bother to catch his name before you killed him?'

'Arthur… I did catch his name.'

Did you kill him, too? The question was burning in Alfred's throat, but he was too afraid of the answer he might get, the anger that might make him squeeze the trigger. Alfred loosened his grip on the gun, palms growing sweaty. 'Where is he?'

Ivan blinked, eyes brightening with faint amusement. 'My friend is taking care of him...'

The entire house seemed to be groaning, as if it were an old ship at sea. Papers from a desk were violently thrown off by the wind, doors swinging back and forth and setting Alfred on edge. It was with a sudden pang of dread that Alfred realised they might not be alone in the house. There was another killer, another beast Alfred had forgotten about, that may very well be waiting for the right moment to strike.

'And… And where's your friend?' Alfred asked, his muscles tense with unease.

A small smile etched across Ivan's lips. 'Behind you.'

The door slammed behind Alfred. He spun around and fired his gun, blindly following his own reflexes. Before he could even blink, something metallic crashed into his head. His vision spun, sickeningly dizzy as he felt his body hit the ground. He groaned, a throbbing pain in his temple as he rolled over to his stomach to get up. He raised his gun towards the balcony window, seeing double of Ivan's shadow climbing out of it.

'Stop…'

A shot rang out, but it missed and hit the open balcony door instead. Glass shattered and rained down onto the floor, smaller pieces swept up by the storm-like winds. Alfred crawled up towards the window, through the blood of Evans and through the broken glass. He stood up and aimed his gun outside, down to where Ivan must have landed, in a patch of shrubs and bushes.

But there was no one there.

Alfred heard a car drive away, tyres screeching against asphalt in the distance. He seethed a curse through his teeth, fighting the urge to puke when he found blood dripping down from his temple.

'Fuck.'

He shakily grabbed his phone, began to dial up a number and pressed the phone to his aching head. Rings played out, taking their time, so leisurely it boiled the blood in Alfred's veins.

He had him. He had him.

Another ring played out. Alfred kicked at the broken glass. Fuck.

.

Snow was swirling in ferocious winds, screeching and hissing against the glass of the window. Between the wooden boards blocking the window, Yao could see the darkness of the sky outside. It was late, though not late enough to warrant Yao's expectation that Ivan should be back soon. Even so, his chest tightened both in anxiety and anticipation. He thought of Ivan's quiet smile this morning, words that were meant to comfort Yao, somehow.

('We'll celebrate when I get back, da?')

Even his kiss, given hastily and sweetly, felt like a sugar-coated pill. Yao had been the first to pull back — he didn't like the way Ivan was holding him, the closeness of it all, as if it were fleeting and precious. It wasn't. It shouldn't be. Yao wanted that kiss to be treated like there would be a thousand more to follow, wanted it to be taken for granted like every breath they took. Because there would be more of it. Surely, there would be more of it.

Yao yanked open the kitchen drawer, picking out masking tape and rope. They were running out of the stuff, though Yao imagined they wouldn't be needing it after today. He made his way down to the basement, opening the door without the courtesy of a knock.

'Get up.' Yao walked into the basement room, grabbing a sleepy Arthur by the arm. He pulled him up, Arthur groaning in protest.

'What…? Oh.' Arthur blinked tiredly, stumbling in his balance. He focused his tired gaze on Yao, a lazy smile stretching across his lips. 'Morning, Yao.'

'Aiyah. Don't smile like that. Just behave and come with me.' Yao dragged Arthur out of the basement, ignoring his complaints that this was hurting his shoulder wound. Reaching the foot of the stairs, Arthur halted, nearly knocking Yao back.

'Is this… really it?'

Yao turned around, sighing. 'Is it really what?'

'Can I at least know beforehand how you're going to kill me?' Arthur's brows were furrowed, the smile dissolved from his lips. 'I mean, I'm assuming if you're the executioner then it's probably going to involve asphyxiation —'

'I'm not going to kill you!'

Arthur's eyes widened, green irises softer somehow. 'You're not?'

'What the hell is wrong with you? No, I'm not! Just — come with me.' Yao yanked at Arthur's arm, pulling him along to go upstairs.

'You're going to torture me, then?'

Yao growled in annoyance. He wouldn't answer this time. Let the man think he's going to die some gruesome death, or lose all his fingernails, or whatever horrible thing Yao could have easily done if Ivan would let him.

Having guided Arthur to the entrance hallway, Yao motioned towards the floor. 'Sit.'

'Really, Yao, you've got me stumped on what you're trying to do here.'

'Sit,' Yao seethed. Arthur obeyed with a curious look. Sat criss-cross on the floor, Arthur looked up at Yao.

'I think I've got a good guess, actually. You want to talk again, don't you?' Arthur's lips were tugged into a smile, though his eyes still held uncertainty in them.

Yao scoffed. 'No.' He knelt down, setting down the masking tape aside and holding up the rope. 'Turn around.'

'… You're not tying me up, are you?'

'What does it look like I'm trying to do?'

Arthur seemed to think for a moment, gaze flickering between the rope and Yao. The corners of his lips quirk.

'Well —'

'No,' Yao snapped. 'Enough with that! Enough with you! Just turn around and give me your hands.'

Arthur sighed, turning around and offering his hands to Yao behind his back. Yao scoffed and tied them up. He picked up the masking tape, tearing off a piece. He went to place it over Arthur's mouth, only for Arthur to tilt his head away.

'Darling, I can behave without a gag, thank you,' Arthur said, evading the masking tape.

'We both know that's a lie.' Yao grabbed the side of Arthur's head, almost wrestling with it. 'Now sit still —'

'What's this all for, anyway? Are you and Ivan moving me elsewhere?' Arthur slipped out of Yao's grip, a chuckle bursting out of him. 'Am I really too much for the two of you?'

Yao grabbed the back of his collar. 'As a matter of fact — Yes, you are. I wanted to dump you in the acid bath. But that's not what we're doing today. So consider yourself lucky that you only have to stay quiet for a few hours.' Yao managed to grapple Arthur's head, arm locked around his throat.

Arthur winced, bruises on his throat being pressed on. 'You're not going to tell me where I'm going —'

Yao slapped the masking tape over his mouth, breathing out in relief when Arthur's voice had been reduced to a muffle. He let go of Arthur, setting him to sit against the wall. Yao sat opposite of him in the hallway, resting his head back on the wall and ignoring Arthur's fidgeting.

He's like an annoying child, Yao thought. Way too much talking and way too many questions. Yao couldn't wait until he and Ivan could leave him on the side of a road, somewhere far out and away from them. Not too far out, though, as Ivan had insisted. Close enough to civilisation for someone to pick him up at some point, perhaps. Close enough for the idiot to find his way home.

Yao drew out a long exhale, shutting his eyes and wanting to sleep until Ivan came back. It was stupid, dangerous, to free someone who had seen their faces. But perhaps they would be gone before Arthur would even make it home — Ivan hadn't specified. A knowing smile was all Yao got when he had asked.

Yao felt Arthur kick his foot. He opened his eyes and looked at him in question. Arthur said something through the masking tape.

'I can't understand you...' Yao said half-heartedly.

Arthur exhaled sharply — perhaps what was meant to be a laugh. Or perhaps a cry, Yao couldn't tell. Arthur's eyes seemed glassy, changed somehow. Arthur nodded his head up toward the ceiling. Yao took a weary glance up. Nothing. Just the old, mottled wall of a house that should have been taken down years ago.

'What?'

Arthur nodded up again at the ceiling, voice muffled as he spoke again.

Yao sighed, getting up. 'If this is another one of your games…'

Arthur shook his head vigorously, still bothering to try and speak through the tape.

Yao ripped the tape off. 'What is it?'

Arthur nodded toward the ceiling. 'Faces. You can see faces, can't you?'

Yao blinked. He went to replace the tape over Arthur's mouth.

'No, no, no, no! Wait! Just — Just have a look.'

Yao glanced up. 'Nope. No faces.'

'Not even Ivan's?'

'Is that what you're seeing?'

Arthur chuckled. 'No, no… Someone else's. I… I was wondering…'

'Wondering what?'

Arthur hesitated, for once not eager to spout out his thoughts. Yao wondered what could have done this, what little wound was being pressed with Yao's prying.

'You're not a murderer, if that's what you're wondering,' Yao said. 'Cutting a dead guy's tongue doesn't count.'

Arthur burst into laughter, the sound mechanical and forced to Yao's ears. 'So I'm not part of the club, then? What a shame…' He shifted in his seat, not quite meeting Yao's eyes. 'But uh… That wasn't quite what I was worried about.'

'What were you worried about?'

A small smile crept on Arthur's lips. 'It's a silly thing. Are you sure you want to know? It might make it harder for you to kill me, you know.'

'Aiyah… I told you I'm not killing you! Stop reminding me of that.'

'Alright then. You want to know?'

'Just spit it out already.'

'I was wondering if I'll be missed.'

Yao wanted to put the tape back on in that moment, regretting he had even asked. He didn't want any more of that pitiful look, any more of those softly spoken words. Somehow, it reminded him of something. Whatever it was, it only stirred the anxiety in his stomach, the uncertainty of whether Ivan was going to come back in one piece.

But instead, Yao tore the rest of the tape away, seating himself back on the opposite wall. It didn't feel right to shut him up then. Sharp green irises had grown softer and more hazel like, gentler like Ivan's when he had spoken of the scar on his throat.

Yao drew out a tired sigh. 'So whose face were you seeing then? Wouldn't they miss you?'

Arthur blinked, as if not expecting Yao to take interest. 'Perhaps. Though, I suppose he would be looking for me whether he wants me back or not.'

'He?'

Arthur's lips broke into a smile. 'You're one to judge, Yao.'

'I wasn't —' Yao pursed his lips, feeling his cheeks grow hot. 'It was just a question.'

'I know.'

Yao rolled his eyes. 'Well then? Who is he?'

'Someone I used to like to bother.' Arthur's eyes drifted off to stare at the floor, the smile softening on his lips. 'I think he liked being bothered. He must have liked it, to keep putting up with me…'

'Maybe he was just stuck with you.'

Arthur chuckled, the sound soft and lonely enough to make Yao feel a sting of guilt. 'Maybe… That sounds about right, actually…'

Yao furrowed his brows. 'Hey —'

Something softly fell to the ground outside. Yao froze.

'What is it?' Arthur asked.

Yao waved a hand to shush him, listening closely. Silence.

'That could be the blizzard outside, Yao…'

'Will you keep quiet?' Yao hissed, trying to listen for more of what could have been footsteps. But then again, it could have been an animal, or the wind. Whatever it was, it was no longer making noise. Yao turned away from the door, only then just noticing the thumping of his heart. What time was it anyway? Surely by now, Ivan would be back.

'So this is what worried looks like on you…'

Yao snapped his gaze back to Arthur. The softness in Arthur's expression was gone, replaced by the wolfish smile that suddenly looked so fake to him.

There was a loud bang, sending Yao nearly jumping in his seat. He got up, thinking that the sound must have come from the back of the house.

'Did you leave a door open?' Arthur asked.

Yao darted a glance at him and shook his head. His hands, now trembling slightly at the sudden uncertainty, balled into fists.

Footsteps, quiet. Yao swallowed.

He didn't have a weapon on him, was too far away from the kitchen to grab a knife. He yanked Arthur up by the collar, arm locked around Arthur's throat.

'Make a noise and I'll snap your neck,' Yao hissed, hoping Arthur couldn't hear how unsteady Yao's breath was. He walked down the hallway with him, hearing the footsteps of the intruder grow closer.

'Who's there?' Yao asked.

A man stepped into the hallway, gun shakily aimed at Yao. Yao felt the blood drain from his face at the sight, his grip on Arthur tightening. A knot grew in his throat as he tried to speak.

'Kiku —'

'P-Please step away from Dr. Kirkland,' Kiku said, dark eyes watching him just as they did then, when they were only clueless children. Watching Yao as if there were a vast, empty distance in front of him instead. The expression was familiar and unsettling, comforting and terrifying all at once as Yao took a tiny step back.

'W-What are you doing here?' Yao said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. 'How did you —'

'You're under arrest for first degree murder, and the kidnapping of Dr. Arthur Kirkland. Let Dr. Kirkland go and put your hands in the air.'

Yao felt his legs grow weak, the sight of a gun in Kiku's hands making him feel sick. Again, it was happening again. Only with a gun instead of a knife. A police badge, instead of hatred. He shook his head, wanting to be able to spit out this horrid knot in his throat. 'N-No! No…'

'P-Please—' Kiku swallowed, adjusting his aim. 'Put your hands in the air and face the wall! Now!'

Kiku took a step forward. Yao took one backwards, closing his grip further around Arthur's throat and earning a hoarse choke.

'Stay away from me.'

'Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be.'

'Then leave.'

Kiku cocked the gun, the sound sending a prickly chill across Yao's back.

'You wouldn't…' Yao croaked out.

Kiku said nothing, brows pinched in concentration. Yao exhaled sharply, his grip weakening. He let go of Arthur and shoved him away. He raised his hands up, only to realise that Ivan might have already been caught, already held at gunpoint and thrown into a cage. The thought wrapped itself around Yao's lungs, squeezing.

'Face the wall and put your hands behind your back.'

Yao obeyed the instruction, turning to the wall and offering Kiku his trembling hands behind his back. He felt a cold handcuff clasp onto one wrist, tightly winding around it until it was biting into him. The same happened to his other wrist, tight enough to bruise. Yao pressed his forehead to the wall, hearing his own breaths quicken as Kiku spoke.

'You have the right to remain silent…'

'Don't bother, Kiku,' Arthur said. 'You'll get your chance when we've got the two of them together —'

Yao rammed Kiku back into the opposite wall, hearing his gasp. The gun went off, the bang echoing and ringing in his ears. Yao heard Arthur cry out, but didn't take a moment to check. He head-butted Kiku, pain bursting from his head as lights exploded like stars in his eyes. Kiku fell to the floor, the gun beside him.

Yao's breath burst out in relief, stumbling back against the opposite wall and sliding down to the floor. Arthur was lying on the floor, too, blood pooling from his leg.

'Bugger…' Arthur hissed, curling up and trembling.

'Can you…' Yao panted. 'Can you get your hands free?'

'I can try and wriggle them out.' Arthur winced, arms shifting and turning behind his back. 'Perhaps if you hadn't made it so bloody tight —'

'Just hurry up!' Yao said.

'I'm bleeding to death, Yao. My best is my only option. Now —' Arthur grit his teeth, an elbow jutting out as the rope loosened. 'Almost there…'

Arthur yanked his arm out, sighing and resting his head to the floor. 'Done…'

'Good. Now get the keys.'

Arthur glanced up in question.

'The handcuff keys. Get them.' Yao nodded toward Kiku.

Arthur's expression softened. 'Now why would I do that?'

'Because!' Yao seethed, realising just how futile this all was. 'Because…'

A phone began to ring, the sound muffled. Arthur's eyes darted toward Kiku, then back to Yao.

'Arthur —'

Arthur propped himself up, dragging his injured foot as he crawled toward Kiku. Yao drew his hand-cuffed hands towards his feet, having to curl up to pull the handcuffs to the front. The handcuff chain snagged onto his heels, Arthur reaching into Kiku's pocket to pull out a phone. Panic ran cold in Yao's veins, hands shaking uncontrollably as he dragged the chain over his heels and towards his front. He lunged forward, grabbing the gun from the floor.

'Keep still or I'll shoot!' Yao said, the gun unsteady in its aim as he got up. It felt heavy, cold and terrifying in his hands. Arthur only smiled, a pained chuckle escaping his lips.

'Will you really?' The phone dangled teasingly in Arthur's hands, still ringing like a beacon calling. 'I'm sorry, Yao. But it's over.'

'No.' Yao shook his head, kneeling down and pressing the gun tip to Arthur's chest. 'It's not. Answer that phone, and it's you it's over for.'

Arthur studied Yao for a second, the gaze flickering and curious. Like a flame, the expression extinguished, leaving behind a pitiful look. 'Sorry, love.'

Arthur answered the phone, pressing it to his ear. Yao cocked the gun, a final warning — because surely, Arthur wouldn't let him do this, wouldn't let Yao kill him so easily. It was a stupid way to die, a pathetic way to die. Don't be an idiot —

'Alfred, dear…'

Yao pulled the trigger, shutting his eyes for the blood that would splatter onto his face.

Nothing.

Yao opened his eyes, still staring at widened green eyes. The gun was empty.

Yao kicked the phone out of Arthur's hands, slamming the back of the gun into Arthur's head. Arthur fell back to the ground with a thump. A voice called out from the phone, tiny and grainy in the near quiet hallway.

Swallowing back down a cry in his throat, Yao let the gun slip through his fingers. He picked up the phone and closed it, wanting to crush it in his grip. It was gone now, whatever little chance, whatever little sliver of hope that he and Ivan could live without nightmares and corpses. And for all Yao knew, Ivan was gone, too.

Yao threw the phone against the wall, sinking to the floor as his legs grew weak and unsteady. He stared at the handcuffs on his wrists, trying to imagine a life in them. Trying to imagine Ivan's wrists in them.

Yao stifled his cry, blinking back tears. He couldn't let it happen. It wasn't going to happen — it was this that Yao repeated to himself as he got up, as he took the keys from Kiku's pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. He began to drag Kiku and Arthur's bodies into the basement, watching a trail of blood smear onto the floor.

And for a moment, Yao could almost see Ivan's face in it.