The next morning, when John cracked his eyes open, his brain was already churning. He needs to figure out how to bullshit his way past Catherine’s inevitable grilling. That “one jealous woman at a time” line st night? Dumb as a bag of hammers. No slick excuse yet.

  “John, are you awake?” Catherine’s voice hit from the hall. She actually sounded calm, too calm. Not a good sign at all. Storm’s always quiet before it rips.

  “Nah, not really,” he mumbled, half-assed.

  “Then why’re you talking?” She sounded like she's done, his brain-dead lie not even worth a fight.

  “Just woke up, Mom. If there's anything, can we wait tilll tomorrow?”

  It’s just 8 a.m. Tomorrow?

  Catherine rolled her eyes so hard as if they were shoved into her skulls. But she actually skipped the tangle, and said something else. “It’s not about your stupid remark st night, John. A police officer’s here for you. Get out now.”

  Then the bedroom door swung open fast. John was already dressed, neat as a pin. He fshed her an awkward grin to Catherine, and before she could say another word, he bolted to see this unexpected guest, leaving Catherine standing there, shaking her head.

  A cop sniffing around was never good news, especially not for John, not after all the shady shit he’d pulled. Kidnapping, screwing with heads, with Fucker A, B, and C still locked up in Liam’s basement. Last thing he needed was this officer leaning in, all cool and casual, asking, “Hey, you know where Fucker A, B, and C disappeared to?” His gut twisted, half expecting handcuffs, half praying this cop would just buy his bullshit and leave. Too much dirty undry, and he wasn’t ready to air it.

  But then there was this officer herself, standing there, looking like she’d walked out of some te-night fantasy he didn’t deserve to have. Hard to bitch about a grilling when the griller was this. Tall, near his own height in those sleek bck heels clicking sharp against the floor. Bck suit, crisp and tailored, jacket hugging her frame, pants tight enough to trace every curve but still screaming that she’s a professional. Her hair was jet-bck, long, and straight, all swept back into a single, no-nonsense braid that swung like a pendulum when she shifted, catching the light just enough to glint. Inside that jacket, a white wide-colr tee. It’s nothing low-cut, nothing cheap, but it didn’t matter. It’s nowhere near to hide those tempting breasts? Jesus, they were E-cup at least, straining the fabric, practically begging to bust loose despite her buttoned-up vibe. Waist cinched tight, forming a razor-sharp contrast—professional as hell, but no amount of starch could hide the heat rolling off her. She moved like she knew it too, leaning forward just a tick, one hip cocked, arms crossing slow under that rack, pushing it up even more. Dry, deadly, gorgeous. Fuck, it was distracting.

  “Hello, Mr. John Doe. My name is Seo-young Park from NCPD. Need a word with you,” the officer said, voice smooth as a bde, not even flinching at John’s wandering eyes. Like guys gawking was just another Tuesday for her, probably was.

  John snapped back, focus smming into pce. Cop at my door, shit. Last thing he needed was her dropping some bomb that’d freak Catherine out. He jerked his head toward the door, waving her out. “Let’s take it outside.”

  Out front, he fished a smoke from his pocket, sparked it up with a flick, old habit kicking in. Took a drag, let the burn settle his nerves, then eyed her. “Alright, Officer Park, now we can start. What’s this about?”

  Seo-young’s shoulders eased, like she’d been holding her breath till now. One brow arched, fshing a little cocky. “It was actually a good call dragging me out here, so I can cut the crap.” She reached out, swatting his smoke cloud away with a zy flick of her wrist, those E-cups shifting under the white tee just enough to taunt.

  “Rex, I don’t know what you’ve been up to, and I don’t give a shit. You’re always tangled with Vivian, so no way you’re some w-abiding boy scout, right? I’m here for help.”

  Vivian’s name hit like a jab. John’s gut reaction spilled fast. “I ain’t pying undercover shit for you, okay?”

  She cracked up, a full-on ugh, head tipping back, those hefty mounds jiggling with each chuckle, straining that prim jacket. “What? Me sending you to snitch on Vivian? Not a chance, man.” She caught his squint, still grinning. “It’s the other way around. She’s the one who told me to track you down. Been chasing some serious cases tely. Zero leads. Asked her if she’d heard anything. Not a thing from her, but she said if it’s brainwork, you’re the best person to talk to.”

  John sucked another drag, smoke curling as his head spun. Normally? He’d jump at this. Detective games were his jam, a little ego stroke on the side. But Mina’s mess loomed heavy—ropes, sweat, that cursed itch. He shook his head, ready to bounce. “Sorry, can’t help you now.”

  “Hold up, not so fast,” Seo-young cut in, stepping closer, heels clicking sharp. “This is something concerning your women, actually, every woman in Nexis City.”

  And that stopped him cold, Mina’s gzed eyes fshing back. Things could be linked. He kept the [charm] magic under wraps, pying it vague. “You mean that thing where women got ‘sick,’ and then docs say it’s just ‘sex repression,’ tell ‘em to let it out, and then those women actually die in about two weeks?”

  Her hand twitched upon hearing his words, darting for the gun at her hip, pure reflex. If John wasn’t the perp, how’d he know the gritty details? But then Vivian’s description of him clicked fast, so she eased off, fingers rexing.

  He caught it, smirked, pointing at her gun. “Well, thank you for not shooting me.” Like he’d read her damn mind.

  Seo-young squinted, sizing him up, slow, deliberate, like she was peeling back yers. “Guess Vivian wasn’t bullshitting at all. You’re pretty smart. But how the hell do you know about this ‘disease’?”

  There was no point dodging the question now. So he jabbed a thumb toward Miko’s pce just across the street. “Got a ‘patient’ right over there.” But then he dropped his head, sighed heavily, smoke trailing low. “Problem is, I’m stumped too. I was gonna hit Vivian up today for intel, but if she’s sending you to me, sounds like she’s got nothing to offer.”

  Seo-young’s face hardened the second John’s words sank in, her sharp jaw tightening like she was chewing steel. “It’s not just these ‘patients’ anymore。 Nexis City’s got a serial rapist-murderer running loose too. Same MO every time. There is no hard proof ties the two, but the timing? Dead-on match.” She spat it out fast, eyes locked on him.

  Meanwhile, John fished another cigarette from his pocket, sparked it up with a zy flick. The smoke curled thick, and her nose scrunched, brow furrowing deep as she swatted at the haze again, clearly hating every damn puff. Still, she pressed on, voice clipped. “This ain’t the spot to talk. Come to my office. I’ll show you the files.” Then, quick as a whip, she tacked on, “But no smoking in there, none!”

  John’s face twisted, pure yeah, right vibes rolling off him. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke leak out as he smirked. “Then get those files somewhere I can smoke, and then we’ll chat.”

  “You!” Seo-young’s eyes fred, ready to call him out for being a rude prick, but she controlled herself. She was the one asking for help here. She’s still pissed, though. Her lips pressed thin, a little growl bubbling under her breath.

  “Fine!” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “But heads-up, alright? Don’t get any weird ideas about me. Vivian warned me about this. You’re a fucking pig.”

  That’s uncalled for as hell! John’s brain barked, the insult stinging sharp. But then it clicked—fair shot, honestly. He shrugged it off, shoulders slumping casual. “Meh, tell me something I don’t know about. Look, if all you’re feeding me is shit I already got, this case ain’t cracking.”

  “You!” She was done, full-on ready to blow, chest heaving under that tight jacket, braid swinging as her temper fred. But John was already turning, tossing a zy wave over his shoulder. “Vivian’s got my number, so call me when you’re ready. Laters.”

  “Asshole,” Seo-young muttered, flipping his back a middle finger. Her heels dug into the ground like she could stomp the smug right out of him.

  Recently, Selena couldn’t shake this strange feeling off her head. Her son Anthony was turning into a damn stranger, and it was gnawing at her hard. In the past, he’d storm around the house, all teenage snarl and smmed doors, barking back at her like she was the enemy. But now? He’d gone soft, too soft, like the gentle son she had before he hit puberty. Last week, she’d told him to grab milk on his way home, half-expecting a “fuck off” or at least a groan. Instead, he’d nodded, quiet, almost sweet, and brought it back without a peep. Even fshed her a small, tight smile when she thanked him, his blue eyes lingering a little too long before he shuffled off. It should’ve felt good—her boy finally listening, warming up, but it didn’t. It creeped her out, like he’d grown back to a child.

  Then there was the academy shit. Anthony used to live for that pce, strutting out the door every morning, bag slung over his shoulder, ruling the pce like he’s the damn king. But now he dodged it like a pgue. “Too much hassle,” he’d mutter when she pressed, sprawled on the couch with a book he barely cracked, “I can study here, Mom. It’s better anyway.” Last night, he’d even tossed in a “This keeps me away from John, like you wanted.” That hit her like a brick. Sure, she’d nagged him to steer clear of John plenty, but hearing him parrot it back so easy? This was all too neat, too rehearsed. Her gut twisted. Something was off, way off.

  At first, she’d chalked it up to the academy mess. Philip and his two dickhead shadows, aka Fucker A, B and C, vanished into thin air, and maybe this spooked her son. Rumors were flying about fights, drugs, or even worse. She’d even asked once, casual over dinner, “Are you scared of what might have happened to Philip’s crew?” But he’d just shrugged, fork scraping his pte, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “Nah, just tired of the bullshit there.” It did sound like he was telling the truth, suggesting it’s nothing to do with the pathetic trio.

  But at nights, he was barely home, slipping out after dark, back at dawn if she was lucky. She’d catch him sometimes, stumbling in with that same tight smile, eyes dodging hers, smelling like sweat and something sharp she couldn’t pce.

  Worse, she’d overheard him twice now, muffled phone calls through his bedroom door. Last Tuesday, she’d paused in the hall, undry basket propped on her hip, ear straining. His voice was low, clipped—“Goods are set… yeah, port’s good… tomorrow, maybe.” Goods? Port? What the hell? She’d pressed closer, heart thudding, caught a few other lines: “Tell ‘em it’s all handled. Just keep it quiet.”

  None of this sounded like a schoolyard crap, more like some shady deal, all edges and shadows. Anthony? Her Anthony? The kid who’d never hustled a dime. He didn’t need to at all, not with all the money they had. No way he’d turned into some wannabe businessman overnight.

  She paced the kitchen now, coffee gone cold in her mug, nails tapping the counter, as worry chewing her raw. Too tame with her, too cagey about school, too gone at night, too slick on those calls. Her chest tightened, as every odd piece clicked wrong.

  This is too damn weird. Is it that kid again, that John? She’d always half-bmed him for Anthony’s rough streaks. “Philip and his crew disappeared after he got close with their victim Liam.” And now this? “I’ve got to talk to him,” she muttered, voice low, desperate, half to herself, half to the empty room. Anthony was out again tonight. But whatever was twisting her son up, she’d rip it out by the roots.

  Meanwhile, across Nexis City, the night was bck as tar, moon choked out, wind slicing through the streets like a bde. A shadow slunk through the gloom, low and lean—hood up, boots scuffing soft against the pavement, sticking to the edges where the streetlights flickered weak and died. His breath puffed faint in the cold, a predator’s grin curling under the dark fabric as he tracked his prey: a girl, maybe twenty, ponytail swinging with each step, gym bag slung over her shoulder. She moved quick, headphones in, oblivious, cutting through the empty blocks toward home. He’d been tailing her for ten minutes now, ever since she’d left the 24-hour gym, her tight leggings and sweat-damp tank clinging just enough to spark his itch. Fucking disgusting, his eyes glinted, locked on her ass, already picturing the score.

  He dipped into an alley after her. The dead-end alley was narrow, stinking of piss and trash, walls closing in with graffiti scars. Perfect.

  Then a system pinged in his skull, mechanical voice ft as a sb.

  [Host, target acquired. Activate Charm skill? Y/N.]

  “Nah,” he rasped, voice low and oily, spitting the word like it was beneath him. “This bitch looks like she hits the gym hard. Gimme [Body Boost] instead.”

  [Body Boost activated. Strength Level increased from 1 to 3. Speed Level increased from 1 to 3. Duration: 30 minutes.]

  He flexed his hands, knuckles popping, muscles tightening under his skin like coiled wire. “Hit me with that [Sound Barrier] too,” he muttered, smirking.

  [Sound Barrier activated. Isotion radius: 3 meters centered on host. Contain sensitive activity within range.]

  He chuckled, two sharp, nasty barks that echoed off the bricks. “This skill system’s fucking handy,” he said, licking his lips, then stepped toward her, shadow stretching long and ugly in the dim.

  Fifteen minutes ter, the alley was still quiet, almost too quiet. The girl was not in sight, just a crumpled gym bag left in the muck, zipper busted open, spilling a water bottle and a cracked phone. The shadow loomed over it, slow and smug, zipping his pants back up with deliberate care. His fingers stained, jeans sagging loose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a wet smear glistening under the faint light, then he kicked the bag aside like it was trash. “So damn good,” he drawled, voice thick with sick satisfaction. “This one’s gonna keep me buzzing for three days. Means I can skip that shitty pill for a bit.” He stretched, arms cracking loud, spine popping. Then he grinned wide, yellow teeth fshing. “This world’s too fucking perfect.”

  And with that, he sauntered off, whistling low, disappearing into the night’s bck gut, leaving the alley to rot in silence.