"Be careful of the waters you tread in, Mr. Crawford because you might become the very thing that lurks beneath."
In the gritty underworld of London, Rhazien Crawford leads a double life. By day, he works as a detective, solving crimes and bringing...
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In the dead of night, where the velvet tranquillity slept amongst the darkness, creating an eerie yet calming atmosphere outside London's veil. The silvery mist swept along Rhazien's leather boots as they clung and swirled around him with ghostly tendrils. The yellowed grass, shrivelled flowers, and bushes lined the path were withered and lifeless as if the mist's touch had drained them of all vitality. Despite the stillness of the night, Rhazien couldn't shake off the feeling that something or someone was watching him from the shadows.
As he stands there, his eyes scan the area and fixate on the old, rusted gate in front of him. The letters that were once there have long since disappeared, and the metal is now weathered and worn, a testament to the passage of time. The gate seems to embody the weight of the years gone by, and the missing letters only emphasize the inevitability of change and decay.
"Welcome to Hell," Rhazien mutters, remembering long ago, the letters above once said the school and orphanage he used to attend until he was adopted.
Following his conversation with James earlier that day, he quickly deduced that this was the designated location. A nagging feeling of unease settled in his stomach as he approached the yard. Despite the absence of any visible signs of danger, he remained alert, knowing that he couldn't let his guard down. The man he was supposed to meet was nowhere in sight, and the silence was deafening. Every rustle of leaves or branch creak made his senses more aware, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. He relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath as Corvus scans the yard from above.
Standing before him was a forsaken building, worn and beaten by time and the elements. Its walls were layered with grime and moss, obscuring the once vibrant red bricks that now looked faded and lifeless. The windows, long since shattered, were boarded up, leaving no room for light to enter and allowing the howling wind to seep through the cracks and gaps in the building. The doors hung precariously on their hinges, creaking eerily with every gust of wind. As he gazed upon the abandoned structure, he couldn't help but feel that harrowing memories lay amongst the structure.
He raises his hand toward his ear, placing his two fingers against the smooth black surface of his earpiece.
"No sign of our guy," he comments, keeping his eyes peeled on his surroundings.
"Do you think he might have bailed?" James spoke from the other line.
"If he wants to talk, we'll talk," he replies, pacing closer to the yard.
"Look, Rhazien, before you go any further, there's something you should know." Rhazien halted his steps as he continued to listen to James.
"You know the rookie from the other day? It turns out he was stabbed multiple times yesterday night. By the time I got there, he was barely holding on. He mentioned something about burning candles and killing light -- some gibberish. Since then, he has received medical attention, though he still hasn't woken up, and he still is barely holding on. I have a feeling that the man you're about to meet is more dangerous than we had anticipated -- correction: a psycho. If we can get him to admit to the stabbings, then for sure, we have him," James explains.
