The warm domestic moment shattered with a sudden, thunderous slam of the front door. Rosie yelped, spinning around to find Mr. Sketch looming in the doorway. His long trench coat flapped behind him like a dark banner, and his cold eyes cut through the room with ruthless intent.

"Well, well, well," Sketch sneered. "What a cozy little scene we have here. Shame I have to ruin it."

Carmine stepped in front of Rosie, gripping a knife tightly in one hand. "Who the hell are you? And what makes you think you can barge into my house like this?"

Sketch ignored Carmine, his gaze locked onto Rosie. "Where is she?"

Rosie's eyes widened in confusion and fear. "W-who? Who are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, sweetheart," Sketch growled, stepping menacingly closer. "Sylvie. I know she's been up to something. Where is she hiding the merman?"

Carmine's jaw clenched, muscles tightening as he took a step forward, voice low and dangerous. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you so much as look at my wife the wrong way, you'll regret it."

Sketch chuckled darkly. "Big talk for a butcher. You don't scare me. I got to where I am by not backing down from guys like you."

With a swift movement, Sketch drew a sleek pistol from his coat and leveled it at Carmine. Rosie gasped and clutched Carmine's arm.

"Please! We don't know anything! Leave us alone!" she pleaded.

Sketch's cruel smile widened. "I don't believe you. Sylvie's been sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Now my property is missing. I know you know something. I'm not leaving until I get answers."

Carmine gritted his teeth, lowering the knife slowly but refusing to back down. "You think a gun's gonna get you anywhere? You're dumber than you look."

Sketch laughed harshly. "Oh, I'm smart enough. And I'm running out of patience."

Carmine glanced at Rosie, sighing heavily as protective instincts warred with the danger. Finally, he stepped aside, shoulders slumping in reluctant defeat.

"Fine," he grunted. "You wanna know? Sylvie's got the damn merman. She's been hiding him."

Rosie stared at him, shock and anger mingling on her face.

"It's the only way," Carmine said, voice low but firm. "I'm not letting this psycho hurt you."

Sketch smiled triumphantly, lowering his pistol just slightly. "See? Was that so hard? Now tell me where she's keeping him, and maybe I'll leave you two lovebirds in one piece."

Rosie stepped forward defiantly, ignoring Carmine's attempt to hold her back. "You think you can threaten us and walk away? Sylvie won't let you hurt him. You'll never get what you want."

Sketch leaned in, twisted smile cruel as ever. "That's where you're wrong. Nobody defies me and gets away with it."

Carmine stepped between them again, gripping his knife tight. Sketch laughed, savoring their fear, then turned and strode to the door.

"You've been real helpful, Carmine," he said coldly over his shoulder. "I'll be seeing Sylvie very soon."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Rosie and Carmine in tense silence. Rosie hissed, "How could you tell him?"

Carmine rubbed his temples, frustration clear. "I did what I had to do. He wasn't leaving without something, and I'm not letting some psycho hurt you. We'll warn Sylvie. She'll know what to do."

Rosie took a shaky breath, nodding slowly with determination. "We have to protect her. And Azule. Sketch can't win."

"Damn right he can't," Carmine growled. They shared a determined look as the soft crooning of Sinatra played on, an eerie contrast to the tension that now filled the room.

Elsewhere, Sylvie sat at the edge of the bathtub, staring down at Azule, who rested in the murky saltwater. The air hung heavy with uncertainty. Her hands trembled as she absentmindedly trailed them through the water. Her phone sat nearby, screen glowing softly, but she hesitated to call anyone. Just then, the phone rang, breaking the silence.

Sylvie glanced at the caller ID. Rosie's name blinked on the screen. Her heart skipped a beat, and she answered quickly, desperate for distraction.

"Hello?" Her voice trembled slightly.

"Sylvie, it's me, Rosie. Listen carefully. You have to release the merman. Now."

Sylvie frowned, confusion knitting her brow. "What? What do you mean?"

"Mr. Sketch knows. He knows you've got him, and he won't stop until he gets Azule. You need to let him go before things get worse."

Sylvie looked down at Azule. His wide eyes searched hers, filled with confusion and trust. Panic clawed at her chest.

"I... I can't..." she whispered.

Suddenly, Azule jerked, splashing water loudly. He grabbed a bottle from the counter and hurled it at Sylvie.

"Azule! What are you—" she ducked as it smashed against the wall.

Azule let out a desperate, guttural cry, thrashing in the tub, pressing against the sides as if trying to climb out. Sylvie rushed to his side, kneeling and placing a soothing hand on his back.

"Calm down, Azule. Please."

Rosie's voice came through the phone, urgent but steady. "Sylvie? Are you okay? What's happening?"

Sylvie's heart pounded. "He's freaking out! I don't know what to do!"

"Listen to me," Rosie said. "You have to release him. It's not safe— for him or for you. Sketch won't stop."

Sylvie shook her head, dread twisting in her gut. "He can't go like this. He won't make it out there alone."

Azule suddenly stilled, body stiffening. A soft whimper escaped him, heart-wrenching and almost human. Sylvie's throat tightened.

"Syl... vie..." he whispered, voice shaky and strained.

Her eyes widened. He'd never spoken her name before. It hit her hard—he was trying to reach out, to connect.

"I don't know what to do..." she whispered, choking on the words.

Azule gazed up at her, pleading silently. Time seemed to slow as the conversation on the phone blurred away. Sylvie swallowed her tears and made a decision.

"Okay," she said softly, determination rising. "I'll let you go, Azule. But not like this. Not when you're like this."

She pulled him gently back into the water, soothing him with tender strokes. Then, turning back to the phone, she whispered, "Rosie... I'll figure this out. I'll let him go. But I'm not ready to lose him yet."

She hung up, staring at Azule in silence. Her heart ached, but she knew it was the only way forward. As Azule calmed in her arms, she whispered softly, almost as if trying to comfort herself as much as him.

"I promise, Azule. I won't let him take you. We'll figure this out. Together."

The room was still, bathed in muted light, a fragile hope lingering between them amidst the storm looming just beyond the walls.

The heavy rain hammered against the windows, a relentless downpour that cast the apartment in shades of gray and shadow. The storm outside was a mirror to the turmoil inside—a cold, heavy weight pressing down on everyone in the room.

Sylvie stood by the bathroom doorway, her hands trembling slightly as she glanced at Azule lying quietly in the tub. His once restless movements had settled, replaced by a stillness that spoke of resignation. His wide, trusting eyes met hers with a gentle understanding, as if he already knew this was goodbye.

Her voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper.
"It's time... isn't it?"

Noir stepped forward from near the door, his expression firm but heavy with emotion. He reached out, resting a steadying hand on Sylvie's shoulder.
"We'll do it together. He deserves this, Sylvie. We can't keep him locked up forever."

Behind them, Frost and Cinder stood a few feet away, faces taut with the pain of what was unfolding. Frost's usual calm faltered, his voice soft and tinged with regret.
"You're really letting him go, huh?"

Cinder swallowed hard, struggling to keep her composure.
"It's for the best. You've done everything you could for him."

Sylvie drew a shaky breath and wiped the tears that welled in her eyes. She forced a faint, fragile smile toward them, even as her heart cracked in two.
"Please... hold down the fort while we're gone. We won't be long. I'll... I'll bring him back, I promise."

Noir squeezed her shoulder gently.
"It's not forever. He'll be alright. We have to trust that he'll find his place."

Thunder cracked overhead, louder this time, shaking the walls. Sylvie stepped toward the door, the cold knot of fear and sorrow tightening in her chest. Azule's gaze followed her every movement—wide and unblinking, as if soaking in these last moments together.

Before leaving, she looked back toward Frost and Cinder. Her voice was fragile, but carried a deep hope.
"Stay safe. Please... stay safe. We'll figure this out, okay?"

Frost nodded, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Cinder's lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded quietly, hands clenched tightly to hold her emotions at bay.

The silence stretched between them—a suspended breath held too long—before Sylvie and Noir crossed the threshold into the storm. The cold rain hit them immediately, soaking through their coats as they made their way to the waiting car.

As Noir opened the door and they slid inside, he turned to her with a sad smile.
"It's not going to be easy. But we're doing the right thing."

Sylvie said nothing, staring out the rain-smeared window instead. Her heart throbbed with the weight of what she'd done—and what she was about to do. The storm's roar filled the car, thunder rolling in harmony with the ache inside her.

Her voice was barely audible, a trembling whisper meant only for herself.
"I hope he finds peace out there... I just hope he doesn't hate me for it."

The engine rumbled to life, and the car pulled away, leaving the apartment and its silent watchers behind. Frost and Cinder remained in the doorway, their forms swallowed slowly by the shadows and rain, the heavy sorrow of the moment lingering long after the door shut.

The storm's fury battered the apartment like a relentless drumbeat, rain slashing against the windows and wind howling through the cracks. Inside, the silence was thick and suffocating, shattered suddenly by the heavy slam of the door.

Mr. Sketch stepped inside, his presence like a dark storm in itself. His eyes darted wildly around the room, scanning every shadow, every corner, as if the walls might whisper secrets. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator and the distant roar of the tempest outside.

He moved with cold, calculated menace, stepping carefully through the apartment as if tracing an invisible trail. Photographs hung crooked on the walls, half-packed boxes cluttered the floor—signs of a life in flux. Yet something was missing, something vital. A silence spoke louder than words, and it gnawed at him.

Frustration twisted his face into a snarl as he kicked a chair aside, the noise echoing sharply.

"Where is she? Where's that damn merman?" he muttered fiercely, pacing the room.

His gaze fell on the bathroom door. The shower curtain was drawn back, water still dripping faintly from the faucet. Wet footprints streaked the floor, glistening faintly in the dim light.

He seized the handle and yanked the door open, eyes scanning the empty bathtub. It was vacant now, but the telltale signs lingered—water stains, a salty scent in the air, and the faint shimmer of scales clinging to the porcelain. Rage darkened his eyes.

Tearing through towels and shelves, he searched with growing fury until a small calendar hidden beneath the sink caught his attention. A date circled boldly in red ink: "Release Azule - Stormy Night."

His voice was a venomous hiss.
"So, it's true. She's been keeping him... and she planned to release him tonight."

He threw the calendar aside and stormed out, his steps pounding as he crossed the apartment. In the living room, Frost and Cinder sat frozen, their faces pale and tight with fear.

His voice dropped low, threatening.
"You two know something. Where is she? Where's that damn merman?"

Cinder's hands trembled as she met his gaze, trying to keep calm.
"We... we don't know where she went, Mr. Sketch. Sylvie just—"

Frost cut in, voice steady but edged with dread.
"She didn't tell us anything. She... she took him somewhere safe. That's all we know."

Sketch's eyes narrowed like knives. He stepped closer, tension radiating off him like heat.
"You think I'll believe that? You're both hiding something. Tell me where she's taken him... or I'll make you regret it."

The silence that answered only fanned his fury. His eyes swept the room again, resting once more on the bathtub—its dampness almost tauntingly fresh.

His fingers clenched around a nearby lamp, the weight of it solid in his grip.
"I know she's been keeping him here... but where did she take him after that?"

His gaze flickered toward the bookshelf, where Sylvie's worn collection of books sat neatly. He stalked over and began rifling through them, searching for a clue. Suddenly, a folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages, fluttering to the floor.

He bent down and picked it up—a map, with the same location circled in bold red ink as the calendar.

A slow, triumphant smile crept across his face.
"I know exactly where she's going."

He turned to Frost and Cinder, his eyes glinting with cold malice.
"You've been helpful. Now... stay out of my way."

Without waiting for a response, Mr. Sketch stormed out into the storm, the door slamming behind him with finality.

Frost and Cinder exchanged a glance heavy with dread, knowing the storm outside was nothing compared to the storm heading straight toward Sylvie—and the merman.

The rain continued its relentless assault, as if the heavens themselves mourned what was to come.

The flickering bulb cast erratic shadows across the grimy walls, barely illuminating the small, cramped room where Mr. Sketch stood like a storm about to break. His cold, calculating gaze fixed on the creaking door, a cruel smile curling on his lips—half amusement, half menace.

The door swung open slowly, revealing Pointer. He stepped inside hesitantly, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes darting nervously around the room. His hands trembled uncontrollably, betraying the turmoil inside. He knew this moment might be his last—but the information he carried was too important to keep hidden.

"Mr. Sketch..." Pointer's voice was barely more than a whisper, strained and shaky. "I... I learned something. About Sylvie... and the merman."

Sketch's head snapped toward him, eyes gleaming with sudden interest. The faint smile didn't waver, but it grew colder, more sinister. "Oh? Finally, some answers. Well then, Pointer... spill it."

Pointer swallowed hard, fighting the urge to flee, to run from the darkness surrounding him. "She's going to the old pier tonight. The one by the cliffs. That's where she plans to release him. I overheard her... talking."

Mr. Sketch's eyes narrowed as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "You're... useful. More than I thought."

Before Pointer could react, Sketch's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him effortlessly off the floor. Panic flashed in Pointer's eyes as the world spun. He gasped, his feet dangling helplessly.

"You're nothing but a weak, pathetic rat," Sketch snarled, slamming Pointer hard against the wall. The impact stole Pointer's breath, pain exploding in his ribs.

"Please," Pointer choked out, desperation breaking through his fear. "I gave you what you wanted! I can help more! Just—please—don't—"

A dark chuckle escaped Sketch's lips as he took a step back, savoring the moment. His voice dropped to a cold whisper, void of mercy or hope. "You think I need you? After everything? You're nothing."

He turned toward a nearby table, selecting a jagged, cruel instrument designed to crush and torment. Pointer, weakened and gasping, tried feebly to crawl away, but there was nowhere to hide.

"You should have stayed in the shadows," Sketch said with cruel finality. "Now, you'll pay the price."

The sharp object hovered ominously above Pointer's trembling form. Panic turned to agony as the cruel edge found its mark. Pointer screamed, his body convulsing, blood staining the floor beneath him. Sketch watched with detached satisfaction, his face a mask of cold indifference.

"I'll make sure you remember this," Sketch hissed. "Every second, every scream. When you're gone, only your failure will remain."

Tears streamed down Pointer's face as darkness crept into his vision. The room faded to black, pierced only by Sketch's cruel laughter echoing in the shadows.