Damian walked through the headquarters without stopping for anyone.
Officers greeted him as usual, but he merely nodded before continuing toward the investigation department. His shoes echoed against the polished floor, each step carrying the frustration he had been suppressing since the previous night.
The wooden box.
The recording.
The warning.
The old news broadcast.
And Vane.
Everything somehow led back to him.
The office door stood half open.
Inside, Vane was pacing from one side of the room to the other with his phone in one hand, occasionally glancing at the entrance every few seconds. His usually messy hair looked even worse than normal, and several empty coffee cups littered the desk.
The moment he looked up and saw Damian standing there, relief washed over his face.
"Oh, thank God."
Before Damian could say anything, Vane rushed over.
"Where the hell were you?" he blurted out. "Do you know how many times I called you?"
Damian looked at him blankly.
"No."
"I counted."
Vane held up his phone dramatically.
"Twenty-three missed calls."
Damian took his own phone out, looked at the screen for a second and slipped it back into his pocket.
"It says twenty-one."
Vane frowned.
"...The other two were emotional."
For a split second, Damian almost smiled.
Almost.
"You disappeared," Vane continued, the humour fading. "You weren't answering messages. Headquarters couldn't reach you either. I even checked your apartment."
"You did?"
"Yes."
"You broke into my apartment?"
"I have the spare key."
"I never gave you one."
"You didn't."
Vane scratched the back of his neck.
"I made one."
Damian stared at him.
"...That's illegal."
"So is dying before telling your best friend where you're going."
Silence filled the room.
Vane folded his arms.
"You scared me."
The words came out much quieter this time.
No jokes.
No sarcasm.
Just honesty.
Damian looked away for a brief moment.
"I was investigating."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You weren't answering me either."
"I was in archives trying to identify that girl!"
Vane replied immediately.
"I wasn't ignoring you."
"I found something."
"So did I."
They both stopped speaking.
The atmosphere became noticeably heavier.
Vane pulled out a chair.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Boss."
"I said I'm fine."
"And I said sit."
Damian looked at him for a moment before silently taking the chair.
Vane let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Good."
He leaned against the desk instead of sitting.
"So..."
His eyes searched Damian's face.
"...Where did you go?"
Damian didn't answer immediately.
He simply reached into his coat and placed his phone on the table.
The photograph of the locked wooden box filled the screen.
Vane's expression changed instantly.
He picked up the phone.
His eyes remained fixed on the picture for several long seconds.
"You found this..."
"It was hidden behind the bathroom mirror."
Vane slowly lowered the phone.
"You went to Emen's apartment."
"I did."
"...Alone."
"Yes."
Vane rubbed both hands over his face.
"What were you thinking?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"No, you can't."
"I can."
Damian stood up.
"You've been keeping things from me ever since this case started."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was trying to—"
"Protect me?"
Damian interrupted.
"That's becoming your favourite excuse."
Vane sighed deeply.
"It isn't an excuse."
"Then explain."
"I can't."
"There it is again."
Damian laughed quietly, though there wasn't any amusement in it.
"'I can't.'"
"That's all you ever say."
Vane looked exhausted.
"I wish I could tell you everything."
"Then do it."
"I can't."
"Why?"
Silence.
Damian took a slow step closer.
"I found a recording inside that apartment."
Vane didn't react.
"It mentioned the 2019 explosion."
Still nothing.
"It mentioned a girl."
Vane lowered his eyes.
"It called me by my name."
That made him freeze.
Only for a second.
But Damian noticed.
"You knew."
"I suspected."
"You knew."
"I didn't know everything."
"But you knew enough."
Another silence settled between them.
The office suddenly felt much colder.
Damian looked directly into Vane's eyes.
"I trusted you."
"You still can."
"Can I?"
Vane opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"I've stood beside you in every investigation," Damian continued quietly. "I've defended your mistakes, covered for your reckless decisions, listened to your ridiculous theories at three in the morning..."
A faint smile appeared on Vane's face.
"You remember those?"
"I remember all of them."
The smile disappeared just as quickly.
"So tell me..."
Damian's voice became firmer.
"...why does it feel like I'm investigating my own assistant?"
Vane clenched his fists.
"I'm not your enemy."
"Then stop acting like one."
"I can't tell you."
"You won't."
"I can't."
Damian stared at him for several seconds before shaking his head.
"No."
He picked up his phone from the desk.
"I'm done hearing that sentence."
He walked toward the door.
Vane followed him immediately.
"Damian... listen to me."
His voice had lost every trace of humour now.
"If I tell you everything before the right time..."
He stopped.
"...I'll lose you."
Damian's hand rested on the doorknob.
He didn't turn around.
"If you're innocent..."
His voice was calm.
"...I'll find out."
A pause.
"And if you're hiding something that puts this investigation at risk..."
Another pause.
"I won't look at you as my best friend."
Vane's breathing hitched.
"I'll look at you as a suspect."
The words struck harder than a slap.
For the first time since they had met years ago, Vane didn't know what to say.
Damian opened the door.
Then, without another glance behind him—
he slammed it shut.
The loud bang echoed through the corridor.
Inside the office, Vane instinctively flinched.
His eyes remained fixed on the closed door long after Damian had disappeared.
"...I'm trying to save you, idiot."
He whispered to the empty room.
"But one day..."
His shoulders slumped.
"...you're going to hate me for it."
---
The streets of London were unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon.
Golden sunlight slipped through the tall buildings, scattering warm patches across the pavement. Children chased pigeons near the fountain while office workers hurried past with coffee cups in their hands. It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Damian walked with slow, measured steps, barely noticing the city around him. His hands remained buried inside his coat pockets while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.
The conversation with Vane refused to leave his head.
His warning.
The silence.
That look in Vane's eyes.
It didn't make sense.
A cool breeze brushed against his face.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again—
The world shifted.
The cheerful laughter around him faded until it sounded distant, as though someone had lowered the volume of reality itself.
A woman standing across the street wasn't moving.
She was simply staring.
At him.
Then another face turned.
And another.
No expressions.
No blinking.
Just eyes.
Watching.
Damian's breathing slowed.
His fingers curled inside his pockets.
"Ignore it..."
He had learned that years ago.
Don't run.
Don't answer.
Don't believe it.
A child suddenly smiled.
Too wide.
His heartbeat stumbled.
The sunlight seemed colder now.
The whispers began again, so faint they were almost carried by the wind.
"...behind you..."
"...don't look..."
"...she found you..."
Damian shut his eyes.
One breath.
Then another.
The voices didn't disappear.
Instead—
Thunk.
Something soft yet surprisingly strong bumped straight into his shoulder.
His eyes flew open.
A bicycle lay sideways on the pavement.
Its owner was sitting beside it, completely tangled between the pedals and a mountain of shopping bags.
"...Ow."
The girl blinked once.
Then twice.
She looked at the bicycle.
Looked at the shopping.
Then finally looked at Damian.
"Oh."
Her eyes slowly widened.
"Oh..."
A tiny pause.
"...that's not good."
She scrambled to her feet far too quickly.
The bicycle almost fell again.
She caught it with one hand, lost her balance, stumbled forward and somehow managed to stay standing.
"...I meant to do that."
Damian looked at her in silence.
She wasn't dressed like most people walking through the city.
A cream coloured cardigan hung loosely over a pale blue dress sprinkled with tiny embroidered flowers. The sleeves were slightly too long, covering half her hands whenever she moved. A white ribbon held her hair together, although several loose strands had already escaped and danced freely in the breeze.
There was something strangely... comforting about her.
Like she belonged in a little bookstore instead of the middle of London's busiest street.
Then she noticed the small cut above Damian's eyebrow.
Her smile disappeared instantly.
"Oh no..."
Without thinking, she stepped closer.
"I'm so sorry."
Her voice became much quieter now.
"I didn't see where I was going."
Damian reached up and brushed the blood away with his thumb.
"It's nothing."
She looked unconvinced.
"It doesn't look like nothing."
"It is."
"...Are you saying that because you're polite?"
"No."
"...Or because you're stubborn?"
Damian looked at her.
She gave him the smallest, most sheepish smile.
"...I get told that a lot too."
A tiny laugh escaped her own lips before she crouched beside her fallen bags.
She searched through them with complete seriousness.
A packet of biscuits.
A notebook.
Two oranges that immediately rolled away.
"...Not again..."
She chased one.
Caught it.
Stood up proudly.
Then continued searching.
Finally, she pulled out a neatly folded twenty-pound note.
She held it out with both hands.
"For the medicine."
Damian didn't even glance at it.
"I don't need it."
"I know."
She nodded.
"But I do."
He frowned slightly.
"What?"
"I need you to take it..."
She looked down at the note for a second before speaking again.
"...otherwise I'll keep feeling guilty all day."
There wasn't a trace of pity in her voice.
Only honesty.
That somehow made refusing harder.
Damian sighed quietly.
"...You're persistent."
A bright smile instantly bloomed across her face.
"My grandmother says persistence is just stubbornness wearing good manners."
For reasons he couldn't explain—
That sentence almost made him smile.
Almost.
She noticed anyway.
Her eyes sparkled.
"...There."
"What?"
"The corner of your mouth moved."
"It didn't."
"It absolutely did."
"It was the wind."
She tilted her head, pretending to think about it.
"I didn't know wind could smile."
For the first time that afternoon...
The noise inside Damian's mind became quieter.
Not gone.
Just...
quieter.
And somehow—
he didn't mind standing there for another minute beneath the warm London sun beside the clumsy stranger who had apologised as if scratching his forehead was the greatest crime she'd ever committed.
The city had begun to settle into one of those rare London afternoons where nothing seemed hurried.
A warm breeze drifted through the streets, carrying with it the faint scent of roasted coffee and fresh flowers from a nearby florist. Sunlight poured over the pavement in long golden strips, soft enough to make even the cold concrete look inviting. People passed by without paying much attention to one another. Some walked with shopping bags swinging at their sides, others sat outside cafés, letting the afternoon stretch a little longer before returning to work.
It was peaceful.
A kind of peace Damian had almost forgotten existed.
He remained where he had fallen, one knee resting against the pavement, his palm supporting his weight. The scrape above his eyebrow stung faintly, though he hardly noticed it. His attention lingered somewhere far away, still trapped between the voices that had only moments ago filled his mind.
The hallucination had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Almost as if it had never existed.
He hated that.
Sometimes the silence that followed frightened him more than the voices themselves.
"...Um."
A small voice carefully interrupted his thoughts.
Damian looked up.
The girl had already gathered herself from the ground. She brushed invisible dust from her blue dress before awkwardly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her bicycle lay beside her like an innocent accomplice, its front basket tilted to one side, surrounded by scattered groceries that still waited patiently to be collected.
She noticed him watching and offered an apologetic smile.
"I think..."
She glanced between him and the bicycle.
"...my driving lessons aren't going very well."
Damian's gaze shifted toward the bicycle.
"I noticed."
She let out a tiny, embarrassed laugh before crouching to pick up a paper bag that had split open. Two oranges rolled away across the pavement.
"Oh..."
She sighed dramatically.
"They always escape."
Without thinking, Damian bent down and caught one with the side of his shoe before it disappeared beneath a parked car.
The girl looked pleasantly surprised.
"Thank you."
He simply handed it back.
She accepted it with both hands, smiling as though he had rescued something much more valuable than a piece of fruit.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It simply existed.
The kind that arrives naturally between strangers who have no reason to rush a conversation.
When the last of her groceries had finally been rescued, she stood again and dusted her hands together.
Only then did she seem to notice that Damian was still sitting awkwardly on the pavement.
Her brows knitted together.
"You should get up."
"I will."
"You've been saying that for almost a minute."
"I know."
Another pause.
Then, without making a fuss about it, she stepped closer.
She wiped her palms once against the sides of her cardigan before quietly holding one hand out toward him.
There was nothing dramatic about the gesture.
No pity.
No insistence.
Just a simple offer.
"If you want..."
Her voice softened.
"...I can help."
Damian looked at the hand for longer than he intended.
It was small.
Slim fingers, a tiny silver ring resting on one of them, sleeves slipping over her wrists because they were slightly too long.
Someone else might have accepted without thinking.
Damian couldn't.
He had spent years learning not to rely on people.
Years convincing himself that standing alone was safer than accepting a hand that might disappear later.
"It's alright."
His voice remained polite.
"I can manage."
He planted one hand against the ground and pushed himself to his feet without touching her.
The girl's hand lingered in the air for a heartbeat before she quietly lowered it.
"...Right."
A tiny smile remained on her lips.
But it wasn't quite the same one.
She slipped both hands into the pockets of her cardigan and looked down at her shoes.
"I thought..."
She laughed softly at herself.
"...Never mind."
She wasn't offended.
That somehow made it worse.
Damian brushed the dust from his coat in silence.
He should leave.
There was no reason to stay.
Yet as he took two steps forward, something pulled at the back of his mind.
Not a voice.
Not another hallucination.
Just...
The image of that hand slowly disappearing back into her pocket.
He stopped.
A quiet breath escaped him.
"...Miss."
She looked up immediately.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
It felt strangely awkward.
Almost childish.
Then, with the smallest shift of his balance, he allowed himself to lean slightly to one side.
"I may have..."
He cleared his throat.
"...overestimated myself."
For a second, she simply blinked.
Then her face brightened so suddenly it was almost impossible not to smile back.
"I knew it!"
She hurried over, trying very hard not to appear too excited.
"This time," she declared with surprising seriousness, "no acting tough."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
"I wasn't."
"You looked exactly like my grandfather after he tried fixing the roof by himself."
Damian raised an eyebrow.
"I'm twenty-seven."
"Mm."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"You still have grandfather energy."
He decided not to argue.
Carefully, she extended her hand again.
This time...
He accepted it.
Her fingers wrapped around his almost immediately.
Warm.
Soft.
Ridiculously small compared to his own.
She inhaled deeply as if preparing herself for an incredible feat.
"Ready?"
"I believe so."
"Good."
She planted both feet firmly against the pavement.
Her expression became one of absolute determination.
"...One."
Damian watched her with quiet curiosity.
"...Two."
She tightened her grip.
"...Three!"
She pulled with every bit of strength she possessed.
Nothing happened.
For one glorious second, she looked genuinely confused.
Then physics remembered to exist.
Her shoes slipped against the smooth pavement.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh..."
The word barely left her lips before she pitched forward.
Straight into Damian.
Instinct took over.
He caught her around the shoulders before she could fall.
Unfortunately, catching her shifted his own balance.
They both stumbled backward together.
The bicycle tipped over with a loud clatter.
And somehow...
They ended up sitting on the pavement again.
The girl remained frozen for exactly three seconds.
Then realisation slowly spread across her face.
She was practically leaning against him.
Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink.
"Oh no..."
She whispered.
"...I did it again."
She scrambled backwards so quickly that one of her hair ribbons came loose.
"I'm so, so sorry."
The apology tumbled out between nervous little laughs.
"I promise this wasn't intentional."
Damian looked at the fallen bicycle.
Then at her.
Then back at the bicycle.
"...I believe you."
She let out a relieved sigh.
"Thank goodness."
"I was starting to think the bicycle had something personal against you."
She laughed.
A clear, genuine laugh that made a few nearby pigeons flutter away.
"I think it does."
Together, without another failed rescue attempt, they stood once more.
This time they managed it successfully.
She brushed the dust from her dress before extending her hand again, though now it was for an entirely different reason.
"I'm Mira."
She smiled warmly.
"Just Mira."
There was something honest about the way she introduced herself.
No attempt to impress.
No careful posture.
Simply herself.
Damian looked at her for a moment.
Old habits refused to loosen their grip.
"My name is..."
A brief pause.
"...Daniel."
The lie came naturally.
Mira studied him with narrowed eyes.
"...Daniel?"
"Yes."
"Hm."
She tilted her head.
"I don't think that's your real name."
"It is."
"I don't believe you."
"And why is that?"
She smiled mischievously.
"I don't know."
She shrugged.
"You just have one of those faces."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're terrible at pretending."
Damian almost argued.
Almost.
Instead, he remained silent.
Mira laughed quietly.
"Fine."
She lifted her bicycle upright again.
"If you won't tell me..."
She looked at him from head to toe, pretending to think very hard.
"...I'll make one up."
Damian folded his arms.
"I'm listening."
She grinned.
"Grandpa Man."
He stared.
"...Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"I don't resemble a grandfather."
"No."
She shook her head innocently.
"You just sigh like one."
"I breathe."
"You sigh dramatically."
"I do neither."
She laughed again.
This time even he couldn't completely hide the faint curve that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Mira caught it immediately.
"There."
She pointed triumphantly.
"I knew you could smile."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"It was involuntary."
"Even better."
She climbed carefully onto her bicycle, adjusting the basket before looking back over her shoulder.
"Take care, Grandpa Man."
"And maybe..."
Damian called after her.
"...learn how to ride before buying another bicycle."
She laughed so loudly that a passing couple turned to look.
"I'll consider it."
With that, she pushed herself forward.
The bicycle wobbled dangerously for several metres before finally finding its balance.
She lifted one hand to wave.
Then disappeared into the slow afternoon traffic, her laughter lingering long after she was gone.
Damian remained standing beneath the warm sunlight.
The city still bustled around him.
The case hadn't become easier.
The voices hadn't disappeared forever.
Nothing about his life had changed.
Yet, for reasons he couldn't explain...
The weight pressing against his chest didn't feel quite so unbearable anymore.
For the first time in days—
he walked away carrying something other than the investigation.
He carried a ridiculous nickname.
And somehow...
he didn't mind it at all.
---
By the time Damian reached his apartment, the sky had already begun to change.
The warmth of the afternoon was fading, leaving behind a cool breeze that wandered through the nearly empty streets. The city lights slowly blinked awake one after another, reflecting against the windows of the buildings around him.
He unlocked his apartment door.
The familiar silence welcomed him.
No television.
No voices.
No hacked screens.
Just the quiet ticking of the clock hanging above the kitchen.
For once...
It felt normal.
Damian placed his keys inside the small wooden bowl near the entrance before hanging his coat on the rack. His shoulder still ached faintly from the earlier collision, and the tiny scratch above his eyebrow had dried into a thin red line.
He walked into the kitchen, filled a glass with water and stood there for a while, absentmindedly watching the evening settle outside his window.
His thoughts wandered back to the girl.
Mira.
The way she had looked so determined while trying to pull him to his feet.
The way she had almost declared war on gravity.
"...Grandpa Man."
A quiet breath escaped him.
Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
And yet...
The nickname refused to leave his mind.
He found himself shaking his head before taking another sip of water.
People really were strange.
His phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
Damian reached for it without much interest, expecting another report from headquarters.
The screen lit up.
28 unread messages.
Almost all of them carried the same name.
Vane.
«Where are you?»
«Boss, answer your phone.»
«Stop ignoring me.»
«I know you're mad.»
«At least tell me you're alive.»
«Headquarters has been asking for you.»
«Damian.»
«Please.»
«You're worrying me.»
He slowly scrolled upward.
The messages became older.
Less irritated.
More anxious.
«I checked your apartment.»
«You weren't there.»
«Call me when you see this.»
«I'm serious.»
«Don't make me come looking for you again.»
Damian stared at the screen for several silent seconds.
He remembered the look on Vane's face earlier.
The relief.
The guilt.
The fear he had tried so hard to hide.
With a tired sigh, Damian typed only three words.
«I'm home.»
He looked at the message for a moment before pressing send.
Almost immediately—
Seen.
A reply began to appear.
Vane is typing...
Damian didn't wait to read it.
He locked the screen and leaned back against the kitchen counter, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes.
Another vibration echoed through the apartment.
Then another.
Curiosity made him unlock the phone once more.
A new notification appeared beneath Vane's messages.
His thumb froze.
It wasn't a message.
It wasn't even a missed call.
It was only one quiet sentence.
Angle has blocked you.
For a long moment...
Damian simply looked at the screen.
No expression crossed his face.
No surprise.
No anger.
Just silence.
"..."
He read it again.
Angle has blocked you.
The apartment suddenly felt much quieter than before.
Outside, the wind continued to brush softly against the window.
Inside...
Something about that single notification lingered far longer than it should have.
He had known her for barely a day.
A strange girl.
A shared coffee.
A returned handkerchief.
A ridiculous promise linked by two little fingers.
Nothing more.
So why...
Why did that one sentence leave such an odd emptiness behind?
Damian switched the screen off.
The room fell into darkness once again.
And for reasons he couldn't explain...
He no longer felt like smiling at the memory of being called Grandpa Man.
---
(AN : HELLO LOVLIESS! Here is the 9th chapter and I hope you loved it if you did please support don't be a silent reader thank you and a big high ❤🙌🌸)