The room was dark, lit only by the glow of monitors replaying the mysterious disappearance of Viper's car in the tunnel.
Isaac sat rigid, his blue eyes fixed on the screen, replaying the moment again and again—yet nothing made sense.
The footage showed agents surrounding Viper's car, but the showdown where the Sleeping Prince exited and spoke was missing. Instead, the video captured Isaac and Davis approaching the vehicle, followed by a deafening thunderclap and a flash of lightning that plunged the tunnel into darkness. When the lights flickered back on, the car had vanished without a trace.
What unsettled Isaac most was that the agents present remembered only what the monitors displayed. None of them had seen the Sleeping Prince. None recalled the conversation.
"You should give up."
A low, husky voice cut through the silence beside him.
Isaac slowly turned his head toward Davis, who sat slumped in his seat, face hidden beneath a cap. He looked like he was napping.
Isaac reached over and lifted the cap, revealing bloodshot eyes—proof he had been asleep.
"You've been at it all night," Davis yawned. "You really should give it a rest. No matter how much you try, you won't find what you're looking for. I've already treated it like a bad dream—something imaginary. Maybe you should do the same and forget about it."
Isaac sighed and looked back at the screen.
"You know that's impossible," he said quietly. "At least for me."
Davis straightened in his chair, watching Isaac replay the scene yet again.
"Isaac…" he called gently. "Please stop, man."
He reached out, touching Isaac's arm. "Please stop."
Isaac exhaled and finally stopped the footage. He slumped back in his chair, covering his face with one hand. Another long breath escaped him before he rubbed his eyes.
"What have we gotten ourselves entangled in, Davis…" he muttered.
"I don't know," Davis replied, stretching in his chair. "But one thing's for sure—I didn't sign up for this shit."
Isaac chuckled lightly. "We never sign up for this shit, Davis. We're just two unlucky sons of bitches."
Just then, Isaac's phone vibrated.
Davis leaned in, saw Patricia's name flashing on the screen, then turned to Isaac—who remained stoic, face still covered, unmoving.
"Aren't you going to take that?"
Isaac didn't respond until the call went to voicemail. Patricia had already tried eighteen times since last night, and Davis wondered why Isaac wasn't answering or calling back.
"Taking a break?" Davis asked.
Isaac exhaled softly. "Not really."
Davis raised an eyebrow. "Okay… so what gives? Ignoring your Sweeches' call? Are you seeking death? Unless…" he paused, smirking. "You're trying to avoid something."
Isaac sighed. "It's not that I don't want to talk to her," he murmured. "I just have too many emotions right now. I don't want to risk saying the wrong thing—something that could cause real problems. And I already have enough on my plate."
"Mmm… let me guess. Crisby," Davis said.
Isaac stayed silent.
Davis shook his head. "Look, man, I get it. It hurts to see someone you love in the arms of another guy—especially after they promised you a lifetime of loyalty. But you've got to understand… sometimes it's not easy. We're human. We're not perfect. We waver, we let people down, we make mistakes. What matters is how we feel about it. Sometimes those mistakes aren't even by choice—it's just how it is."
Isaac lowered his hand from his face.
"Let's face reality," Davis continued. "You're always away on missions, barely spending time with Patricia. And that guy… he's there almost all the time. Plus, they share the same passions and interests. So yeah, I kinda understand if she starts to waver. But that doesn't mean she'll fall deep and walk away—unless you give her a reason to. And this…"
He picked up Isaac's phone. "This is definitely a reason to make her walk away. Believe me, I know. This ain't my first rodeo."
Isaac exhaled and took the phone from his hand.
"Thanks for the speech, Mr. Casanova. Guess you're not the playboy dumbass I thought you were," Isaac said sarcastically.
"Ouch! But thanks. Glad I finally got something inside that hard‑boiled egghead of yours," Davis replied.
Isaac sighed. "You're really impossible."
Davis shrugged.
"Anyway, thank you, Davis. And you're right. Ignoring her instead of facing her is more cowardly than facing the music. I mean, I love Patricia. I really do. And I know she's in love with me too. But this… aah…" He exhaled. "Maybe I'm more hurt because I allowed this to happen. I've been absent most of the time, barely giving her the attention she deserves. My lack of availability is what's pushing her to waver. And not to mention the chaos I caused to reign between us because of that bloody cursed thing. I've added more sorrow to her life instead of joy and peace."
He paused, sitting straighter in his chair.
"Patricia has gone through a lot in her life. A whole lot. And I don't want to see her hurt again—especially because of me. I can't bear to see her suffer. She's endured enough and deserves nothing but care, love, support, and attention. All of which I'm more than willing to give. But… I just can't. Not with the situation as it is. I'm afraid I'll bring her more pain than joy. And I don't want that, Davis. I don't want it at all. So even if it kills me to see her in another man's arms… if he can give her what I can't… then I have no choice but to let her go."
He sighed, pain etched in his eyes. Just the thought of letting Patricia go shattered him into pieces. But if it meant her happiness, he wouldn't hold her back. Even if it tore him apart, he couldn't force her to stay when he wasn't giving her enough reason to.
Davis saw the anguish in his friend's eyes, and it broke him too.
Broken.
Hurt.
He wished it was all just a nightmare—that his captain and best friend could finally find the happiness he deserved.
Patricia wasn't the only one with a tragic past. Isaac had suffered deeply too. Though he had only confided a few details—what happened to his father and brother—Davis sensed there was more. Much more.
And he knew they needed each other. Patricia and Isaac needed each other for healing, for survival. He could see it, feel it—they were destined. They just had to realize it themselves. To stop hurting each other and instead embrace the storm together.
Davis shook his head and sighed. "I get it, man. I feel the same way with Nicole. You have no idea how relieved and happy I am whenever she replies to my texts or calls. It shows the light is still green, and that makes me more than happy. These missions keep dragging us away from our Sweeches and Hooligans, and I hate it. But it's already a blessing they haven't given up on us yet. And I'm grateful."
Isaac hummed. "Yeah. It truly is a blessing." He paused. "And we've got to make it up to them."
Davis nodded. "Yeah. Maybe after the Derby competition we can treat them to a little vacation. Just a getaway to unwind before coming back to face the storm. What do you think?"
Isaac nodded. "Mmm… that's a good idea. I think we should go for it."
Davis smiled. "Yeah. Now lose that weary face of yours and get home to your Sweeches. She's going to have a big day tomorrow, and you need to be by her side instead of wallowing in regret."
He stood and stretched. "As for me, I'd better pay a quick visit to my Hooligan—to show her I'm still alive for her kicks. And maybe steal a little romance away from her hawk of a brother. That guy seriously needs to get a life instead of prying into other people's business. Sheesh!"
Isaac chuckled. "Well, with you as the boyfriend, I really have to keep my eyes peeled. You never know when the sheep will turn into a wolf. So I agree with him."
"Yeah, yeah. Of course you'd still think of me as a player. But I told you—I'm a changed man now. I'll only be a Casanova for my Hooligan and Nicole.One's rough and gets the adrenaline pumping, the other's sweet and gentle and gives me peace. My beautiful two in one. So yeah, I'm one lucky Casanova," Davis said as he walked toward the door.
Isaac chuckled, rising from his chair to follow. "You're impossible. You know that."
Davis just laughed—until he opened the door.
Cold black eyes met his. An elderly man stood there, short black hair, flat nose, pink lips, sharp jawline. He wore a navy suit, a black patterned tie, and a black shirt.
"Chief," Davis uttered.
But there was no response.
Davis swallowed hard. The look on the Chief's face said it all. He was furious. And he was about to unleash one hell of a storm.
Davis quickly stepped aside to let him enter, standing at attention with a salute.
Isaac, taken aback by his presence, quickly followed suit.
"Chief!"
"At ease, Phillips. Hammock," the Chief ordered.
Both men relaxed their stances, exchanging uneasy glances.
The Chief walked to the monitors, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screens.
"How is your morning, sir?" Isaac asked.
The Chief turned, his gaze sharp.
"Do I really need to answer that?" he replied, and the tension in the room thickened.
"Bloody hell, Phillips! I've got a warehouse blown to smithereens—valuable evidence destroyed, lives erased without a trace! A dead man whose body practically melted into powdered ash! You and Hammock nearly killed—twice! A ghost criminal vanishing in the middle of the night from a titanium‑secured facility! And now cars disappearing into thin air! And still no suspect in custody! What the hell is going on? What kind of shit is this? You owe me an explanation, soldier, and I want it now!"
Isaac drew a deep breath. "My apologies for the inconveniences, Chief. But unfortunately… I wish I had an explanation. I don't. I'm caught in the same maze, the same storm, without answers. But I promise—I'll find them. And when I do, you'll have them."
The Chief sighed, shaking his head.
Just then, Isaac's phone buzzed. A new message appeared on the screen.
Both men turned to read it.
Isaac. Please call me back as soon as you get this message. Alisha and I found the author of the book The Dark Knight and His Tulip. It was said to have been given only to elite socialites, and we need your help to know who it was so we can get another clue. Call me.
The Chief exhaled before stepping closer to Isaac, stopping just inches away.
"The Supreme President of Aphilis is already burning my ass," he said in a low voice. "And he won't stop until you bring Montenegra to him in chains. Don't forget—that's why he gave you the Milton assignment in the first place. Using an enemy to bring down an enemy."
Isaac's fists clenched.
The Chief leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth.
"So don't get all lovey‑dovey, son. Otherwise everything you've lived for will mean nothing. And Milton will pay the price. I wonder how she'll feel when she realizes one of her sworn enemies is sharing her bed—without an ounce of shame. So be careful. Do what you were told. Don't lose it all for petty love. Got it?"
Isaac's body trembled with rage. He turned slowly, bloodshot eyes locking on the Chief, fists still clenched.
The Chief exhaled and stepped back.
"I'm giving you three weeks. Since it's complicated, I'm already being generous. Three weeks—or you're both off the case. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Davis and Isaac responded in unison.
The Chief gave them one last look before walking out.
The tension didn't dissipate—it lingered, suffocating the room.
Davis could feel it. Whatever had passed between Isaac and the Chief wasn't good. He didn't know the details, but the heavy aura said it all.
Isaac stood motionless, staring at Patricia's picture on his homescreen. She wore a brown, flower‑embroidered sun hat, her wavy black hair cascading down her shoulders and back. A brown derby jacket over a white blouse. Rosy lips parted in a sweet smile. Eyes glowing like obsidian. She looked beautiful.
And the sight made his heart ache. A sharp, stabbing pain tore through him.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "Patricia… I'm sorry."
A silent tear slipped down his cheek, landing on the phone's screen.
The tear said it all.
Pain is inevitable.
But hope remains—that love will conquer all.