Oud-Batavia. The rain had passed; morning light found the cobblestone streets reluctant to wake. Steam hissed from pipes along the red brick walls, coal smoke curling low between the buildings. Ox carts rolled past, a steam-powered airship droned overhead. The wet market's rising chatter pressed into the morning air—none of it seemed to reach Buitenzorg Police Station. Inside—
Fluorescent buzz.
Metal table.
The smell of stale air, kretek cigarettes, and old coffee lingered. The room felt cold, but the temperature wasn't the problem.
Annelies van der Nachtwacht entered the interrogation room, footsteps almost silent. Her chestnut hair fell in soft waves, framing sharp green eyes. Her coat was immaculate. Her patience was not.
Outside the room, beneath a flickering corridor lamp, Zahra stood perfectly still, hands folded behind her back, eyes fixed on the closed door. The constable beside her shifted his weight for the third time, gaze sliding everywhere but toward the handle. From inside, nothing—no raised voices, no struggle. Just silence.
The man sat, cuffed to the table, and lifted his head. Same crooked smirk. Same infuriating calm. Same pair of green eyes.
Big brother. The one I hid behind when thunder rolled.
"Well," he drawled, voice lazy, brittle as broken glass. "Speak of the devil. Little Nelle finally shows."
"No games." She set her brass-studded case on the table. "Talk, Diederik."
He shrugged. "What's there to tell?"
"You were found at a crime scene. The victim is dead."
"They usually are."
The corner of her mouth twitched—once. She let the silence stretch.
He leaned back, chains clinking softly. "Look. Even if I told them the truth, they wouldn't believe it. They don't know about the darkness that hides. They see a body, they see me, they see a hysterical woman pointing fingers. Case closed."
"So, she lied?" she asked.
"Of course she lied." His eyes glittered. "You know me, Nelle. Innocent girl? Never."
"I walked right into her trap." He tilted his head. "All these murders? She's behind them. Her own brother included."
Annelies remained standing. One hand rested lightly on the back of the chair, the other on the brass case. Composed. Evaluating.
"Start from the beginning. Slowly."
He reached for the glass of water. His fingers brushed the rim in a way that was almost delicate. He watched the liquid settle before speaking.
"Buitenzorg. First body. Then three more. I drove down when I heard. Thought it smelled wrong. It did. And now I'm here. Congratulations."
Annelies' voice was tight. "What does Papa think about all this?"
"He doesn't have a theory."
"Why not?"
"He's not here."
"Not here? What do you mean?"
"Not here," he repeated. "He's doing his own thing. I'm doing mine."
"You're hunting alone?"
"I'm twenty-six, Nelle."
"You and Papa never split assignments."
His grin twisted. "Never thought the three of us would either. Life proves you wrong. Are you helping or not?"
A subtle sharpness entered his voice now. Too precise. Too cold.
"What happened between you two?"
"You left," he said lightly.
"Remember? Amsterdam. University. Academic dreams. How's that treating you, Little Nelle?"
He didn't smirk after saying it. He didn't tap the table with his fingers the way he always did. He just watched her. Too still. Too patient.
"Who are you?" she asked softly.
He blinked. Then smiled wider. "Maybe this is the new me."
"I read the report." Her fingers slipped inside her case, brushing cool steel hidden in the lining. "You were laughing. While she screamed."
The smile sharpened.
"Her screams?" he said. "Music."
Diederik never savored. He mocked, he teased, he provoked—but he did not savor.
In one smooth motion, Annelies drew a black dagger and slashed across the back of his hand.
The blade kissed skin. It hissed, and a thin smoke curled from the wound.
His pupils dilated. His shoulders loosened, almost blissful.
He smiled.
He leaned back, chains rattling, and laughed.
"Vervelend, echt! Where is my fucking brother, demon?"
She pressed the dagger's edge beneath his eye. Not enough to pierce. Enough to promise.
"Where."
He inhaled deeply, as though savoring her perfume. "Kill me," he whispered. "In a police station. Go on. That'll be amusing."
"What did you do to him?"
A pause. Then, softly—
"Anything I wanted."
Rage detonated.
The taste of iron flooded her mouth where she had bitten her tongue. Her knuckles split against bone; the impact rang up her arms.
She struck him. Once. Twice. Again, and again until her knuckles burned and his lip split and blood ran bright.
Still, he laughed.
"You know what, Little Nelle? Best thing I've ever tasted." He murmured through blood and teeth, leaning close enough that she could smell something sweet and rotten beneath the scent of her brother's cologne. "If you touch his hip just right, the moan—"
Her vision went white.
She slammed his head into the table. The metal shrieked.
It doesn't get to wear his face.
She stopped.
Because fury was easy.
This thing wore Diederik perfectly—except for the way it blinked too slowly. His posture. His cadence. Even the slight dip in his left shoulder from an old hunting wound.
Perfect. Too perfect.
"What's wrong, Nelle? Can't handle the truth?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"Already have," it grinned.
Annelies kicked him down to the floor. Heart hammering, breath ragged. Loathing boiled over—
She stepped back slowly. Then pounded the iron door. "I'm done."
The guard opened it an inch. "Everything alright, Nona Annelies?"
She was already walking away.
Zahra hurried to catch up. "Nelle? What happened?"
Outside, rain had started again—fine and relentless.
Annelies and Zahra walked toward the waiting auto-rickshaw. The driver straightened, adjusting the hood, though it was already tight. When they turned into the narrow streets and the wheels found their steady rattle over slick cobblestones, she spoke.
"That wasn't my brother."
Silence stretched between them.
"Then what was it?" Zahra asked quietly.
Annelies closed her eyes briefly.
"Our family is one of the keepers of old ledgers," she said. "We hunt demons."
The engine coughed once.
Zahra laughed. Then stopped when Annelies did not.
"You're serious."
"Painfully."
The auto-rickshaw lurched forward, wheels slicing through rainwater.
"Batavia Central Hospital," Annelies ordered. "Fast."
Annelies flexed her bruised knuckles and stared at the blood drying beneath her nails.
If that thing was telling the truth, Diederik—
She exhaled slowly.
This demon had bragged.
Good.
Bragging meant attachment.
Attachment meant weakness.