“You planning on working tonight?” Rick asked, eyes on the road.
Ash turned his head to look at him. “What’s it to you?”
“You’re not off the hook yet. You’re still our number one suspect.”
Ash snorted. “And here I was, thinking we were finally starting to trust each other.”
Trust him?Like hell, Rick thought. He couldn’t even tellwhathe was, let alone if he could be trusted. “Right,” he grunted.
Ash shifted in his seat, voice softer now. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t trust me either.” He took a long drag, the ember flaring briefly, a stream of vapor trailing upward in soft tendrils. Then he stubbed the burning tip into the dash tray, cinders hissing as they died.
The unexpected sincerity hit closer than Rick liked. He didn’t reply. Just kept driving, the windshield streaked with dried rain and the blur of Court Square sliding past like a dying reel of film. He could feel Ash’s stare on the periphery of his vision, a violet arrow piercing through the dancing smoke straight into his skull. His smell was almost overpowering in the confined space, stronger than tobacco, too sweet, too intoxicating. Rick crushed the spent butt into the tray and clenched his jaw, refusing to glance his way.
Minutes passed. They rode across the Rockwell Bridge, the Bellona River glinting dull and murky below, its slow current dragging memories and sorrows toward Blackwater Bay and the waiting Atlantic. The drive fell quiet: only the low thrum of the tires and the wind off the water, carrying the faint breath of the ocean.
Ash’s fingers tapped a rhythm against the doorframe, an attempt to fill the silence with sound. “You’re not like most cops,” he said at last.
Rick shot him a look. “Yeah? How so?”
A beat of silence. Then: “You’re too careful. You think too much. You ask the right questions, but you’re afraid of the answers.”
Rick huffed. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“No?” Ash said, studying him. “I think you’re afraid of me. Of what I make you feel.”
That snapped the tension. Rick slammed on the brakes a little harder than necessary at a congestion, the tires screeching slightly on the wet pavement. “You flirt with every cop who arrests you, or am I just lucky?”
Ash reclined his head against the seat, eyes half-lidded. “Only the ones who glower like it’s an Olympic sport.”
Rick exhaled sharply through his nose. “Everything’s a joke to you, is it?”
Ash’s gaze snapped toward him, expression unreadable. “It’s the only way to stay sane in a crazy, cold world. The wicked inherit the earth. The rest of us do our best to survive.”
Rick shifted gears as the light turned green. “You’re a real piece of work, kid.”
“And you’ve got a stick so far up your ass it’s picking up radio signals.”
“Get this straight.” Rick turned to face him, voice gravel under pressure. “I don’t know what you are. But I know you’re not just some pretty face with a difficult past. Something’s off. People bend around you. You make them… nervous. Obsessed. And until I figure out what it is, I’m keeping my eyes on you.”
Ash laughed, but it was hollow. “Maybe I’m simply charismatic.”
Rick slammed his palm on the wheel. The horn bleated once, sharp and angry. “I’m trying to help you, dammit!”
“No.” Ash scoffed. “You’re trying to understand me so you can shove me back in a box when I don’t fit into your narrow, black-and-white worldview. Sorry, Detective. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Try me.”
Ash smirked. “You wouldn’t survive me.”
They stared at each other, the car humming around them. The silence now wasn’t just loaded—it was radioactive.
A horn blared from behind.
Rick jerked his gaze forward. “Goddamn it,” he muttered and gunned the gas, hands tightening on the wheel.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, the kind that gritted between teeth. They pushed deeper into Duskhaven now, the soul of New Town’s rot. A child’s balloon floated up between two buildings, their windows like eyes half-shut against the light. A tarot reader smoked behind a beaded doorway. Neon signs glimmered, red as a whore’s lipstick. Pizzerias and liquor stalls. Psychic shops and tattoo parlors. Back-alley galleries and used bookstores. Life went on.
Rick kept his eyes on the road, letting the tension settle like dust. Beside him, Ash stared at his phone, thumbs flicking off a brief message before the screen went dark again. They didn’t speak again until the Eclipse came into view. Its marquee lights were off, the gold trim catching just enough daylight to hint at last night’s glamour. The nightclub was closed, but not deserted—someone was expecting him.
