Below is the FULL, FIRST chapter of this story. You can find the full story on my Patreon! Link: https://www.patreon.com/zeffervescent OR in my profile bio!

A thick fog coated the deep green leaves in a viscous moisture, heavy droplets of cold water landing in a soft, rhythmless chorus onto his black jacket. His pointed, leather shoes avoided every puddle as he took quick strides. His fingers slipped between his lips, inhaling a deeper breath, air funneling into a shrill melody. The taxi heard the whistle of an impatient figure in the distance, desperate to leave the grey sky's wrath. It pulled up to the curb, dwindling in speed as it came to a stop. A thick wave of rushing water spills onto the concrete, washing away a lone cigarette stub that laid among the dirt.

The droplets seemed to aggressively pound against every surface now, a wave of chaotic drummers as it picked up substantial speed. A sudden, relentless wind tore through flowers budding from their bright leaves. His hand reaches for the burned-yellow taxi cab, and as soon as his head dips inside, the pounding and drumming of the rain settles, fading into faint waves of water washing down the cement streets just before he shuts the cab door. Droplets pound onto the windows as he breathes out an address to the driver, an elder man with thick eyeglasses.

He settles in his seat, skin cold, the tips of his hair curling over his temples lifelessly, damp with rain water. Dropping his duffle bag by his feet, he witnesses the state of his pants, soaked entirely. Spring days like this one were his least favorite, which made traveling in its conditions the most inconvenient ordeal. A warm sigh passes his pink lips, he sits up and averts his eyes out the window.

A passing view of a small town comes into view once they leave the train station. The scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, the taxi saturated by the thick air. He ignores the stench of nicotine and burnt carbon, his eyes observing the way a group of young girls laugh as they run into a coffee shop on Gregory St. The shop was a warm light, a safe haven for an escape from the frigid waters that soaked through all matter in sight.

He grew accustomed to the now immediate fact he was in Worcester. He lived about two hours away by train in New York. This relocation was purely for work and an interest in a case that presents a disheartening reality of insecurity for the townspeople. Now that the local police found the case had advanced drastically, their findings futile as the investigation grew stagnant, federal agents were in dire need. Time is of the essence, as the next murderous strike will be unexpected, and his resources will be useful in apprehending suspects.

Besides his desire to investigate the increasingly abhorrent case in question, no other reason led him here. Every case he came across he regarded with the identical gravity. He had a bad habit; once he cracked one piece of the puzzle, an insatiable need to pursue every single last one devoured him.

On top of that, he had a hard time admitting he was that much of a workaholic, but when it came down to it, his work consumed many aspects of his life. While some found that sad, he figured he was young at twenty five, advanced far into his career because of his reluctance to quit, and he had time to worry about the simpler things. Things that were simpler required complex devotion on an emotional level, a time commitment to say the least. He was not prepared to spare the emotional time and work he exhausted into his work at the moment for the very reasons he drives himself to exhaustion in his work.

And as Harry sits at the back of the cab, the elder driver switching between grain and static radio stations to find a particular channel, he deduced that this weather was fitting for the circumstances. It suited the direness and the somber essence that saturated the streets and those who walked them, drove them, ran them. Nevertheless, he was spirited about the investigation, a contrast to the shadow of distrust and fear that was casted over the residents. His specialty was specific, and he knew he would only be heading to a certain place if his superiors believed there was a considerable need for his presence. Therefore, he always arrived with answers and new directions. He enjoyed that part the most; when the investigation runs cold, but he can take it apart and rewrite the strategies. He would not call himself a fan of puzzles, though his partner certainly is. All kinds of puzzles, crosswords especially. However, he would say he had a niche for discovery.

As the cab approached The Flora Hotel, Kiani Lopez sat in the lobby, a spacious room of polished, stone floors and high, elegant cream walls. The high ceiling adapted to a large, rose gold chandelier in the middle of the lobby. A water fountain piece in the middle of the space mimicked the sounds of the rain outside, a waterfall splashed smoothly onto a pool cut into the floors. It was surrounded by thick plants and vegetation adorned in a way that was satisfying to her. She stared at the running water, finding the stream endless. Aimlessly, she observed it, soon recalling the laptop in her lap. Her baby blue fingernails tapped onto the keyboard with a finesse only a perfect memory of the keys could ensure. She had a lot of experience with keyboards and computers, her fingers moved with astonishing ease every series of dashes, numbers, and codes she typed.

Kiani is never in one place for too long. She has a habit of lounging at various expensive hotels across the country. What led her to Worcester was too intricate and complicated for her to even fully conceptualize it, and this constant uncertainty that follows her perpetuates this transiency. Her habits were not changing at The Flora, she would stay there for a total of two days, and then she would pack her things in preparation for her next trip. Her expenses racked zero dollars however, as she knows her way around a hotel database and their collection of data based on reservations, occupancies, and so forth. Utilizing the hotel's own network, she managed to put in a reservation for Amanda Eckleson for two days, March 18th and March 19th, paid in full with a debit card she found on file.

Once the brief task was completed, she stood from the cream and cold sofa, one of many situated in lounging corners across the vast, polished, and immaculate lobby. The hotel had an aesthetic that appeared as expensive as it was on paper. It was a fair price, she thought, but she wasn't going to pay it. She bites her lip, fighting an amused grin as she sighs. Grabbing the straps of her bags, she heads to the front desk to check-in. Her spirited attitude and the polite smile that curves into her lips provides her with an equally spirited, kind front desk worker. The man is happy to help her settle in. While he goes to check for her reservation, Kiani stands by the brown, marbled front desk, baby blue fingernails tapping the smooth, glossy countertop.

A tall, lean figure stands next to her, another front desk worker helping the incoming customer searching for shelter away from the insanity of the downpour outside. As she taps her fingernails, he begins to shrug off a noticeably damp coat, his pointed shoes squeaking onto the floors when he moves slightly. Brown, damp hair falling over his temples, an exhaustive sigh escaping his lips. He sets his dark blue duffle bag onto the floors. He speaks in a low voice to the hotel employee, providing the confirmation number to his reservation.

Kiani noticed more details when the employee assisting him retreated to grab his room keys. The employee before her quickly excuses himself to do the same. This gave her eyes the chance to roam freely, her wonder cut short as she views his profile. Eye candy, she huffs to herself. A tall, lean and toned body adorned in dark articles occupied the space to her right. A set of candid, nearly transparent, mint eyes wander the counters, lingering aimlessly onto brochures marketing unappealing hotel entertainment. His angel-like pink lips were pursed as he sighs in private if it weren't for her curious eyes. The black sweater he wore folded at his elbows, the fabric bunched up, exposing a series of intricate ink work on his skin. It tucked into his matching pants. The dark colors suited his demeanor, and despite the wet hair, the exhausted eyes paling with every long second that passed, he looked collected.

He must have felt her in his peripheral, his head turning to look at her. The keenness in his eyes was surprising. Curiosity tempted her to stare, and she had been caught red-handed. His calmness and unresponsiveness were clear indicators that he had already noticed her, but Kiani found another reasoning for it. He must think she was odd for obviously staring too hard. But he had noticed her. The second she approached the front desk, he had just been arriving. He was only a few seconds behind her, and her walk was hard to miss.

She sways her hips smoothly, every step a foot in front of the other. A feminine divinity circulated her like a misty, pink glow, a powerful, compelling aura. She oozed an erotic power with warm, cat-eyes that could fool the smartest man in the room. Her dark curls framed her heart-shaped face, full, deep pink lips glossy from a recent application of raspberry chapstick. Her nose straight, doll-like. She was a caramel-skinned, curvy girl in her early twenties. Her presence is quiet. He wouldn't have noticed her stare if he hadn't already been staring at her moments before. A quiet huff settles in his throat as the left corner of his lips raises slightly.

His eyes linger on her, almost distractedly. She wonders why the employees are taking so long with their respective key cards. Kiani bites at her bottom lip, fighting an amused grin that begins to curve her full mouth. His eyes lower and he receives the hint, a dark eyebrow raising as he looks away in amusement. Her chest rises a bit and she wonders for a fraction of a second what this alluring stranger may be like in bed. Focus, her consciousness bites. She had a schedule filled with a number of tasks that required all of her time during her stay in Worcester. Coincidentally, Harry's thoughts mirror the same conclusion. He certainly stares when she walks away with her key card towards the main elevators. But that was it. He did watch her sensual, sexy walk, and her body in that dark purple, fitted off-the-shoulder shirt, cleavage exposed. The hue complimented her skin, and the black fabric that hugged her waist and below... Not a good idea, Harry, he huffs to himself. Despite the eyes she was making at him, he has more pressing issues to attend to.

She knows he's staring as she walks away. Giggling, she sees his reflection in the mirror behind the front desk, observing his curious gaze as it travels her figure. Instead of being disturbed like she would usually be, she was biased because he was handsome. Their secretive exchange provided some needed comic relief. Something triumphant came from her ability to make him stare. But as quickly as it all happened, she lost her interest in the eye candy. And he soon forgot about the pretty girl beside him as she disappeared behind the reflective, glossy elevator doors.

The corridors were saturated in hues and splashes of colors originating from abstract artwork. A dash of green is noticeable every few seconds as some kind of flowering plant hung elegantly from a sculpture drilled to the walls. She makes her way down the carpeted floors, her bags held tightly as she searches for her room. 802...802...802, she hums to herself. Her feet come to an abrupt stop as she reaches the end of the hall, the lower numbers on that further end. A breath passes her lips as she tests the key card, and the lock blinks green, the locks releasing. She pulls down on the handle, pressing her shoulder into the sleek, wooden door open. Inside, a king-sized bed, a large living space all decorated in a simplistic nature of whites, occasional splashes of colors, and plants greeted her. It smelled of soothing vanilla, and she remembers just why she could never truly afford to stay at a place like this one.

And suddenly her movements are a sharp breeze, shifting and changing directions frequently. The door shuts and she sets her bags onto the bed, pulling a zipper down and grabbing her electronics. Her numerous tasks begin now. Soon enough, her laptop is plugged into a network cable into the wall, another black cord charging the battery of her device. Her hazel eyes reflect the light of her screen as she stares hesitantly at the desktop. With a loud sigh, she sits at the desk, having cleared it of all excess hotel complementaries. She begins to encode a protective firewall over the network she uses, aware of its temporary strength.

The rain stops. A hot, steamy shower soothed the strained muscles of his neck and shoulders, relaxing the ones of his back. He stood under the hot running water for several long minutes, his mind running over potential directions he wanted to take the case. It was no doubt that the facts of the case went as follows: a local girl went hiking and turned up dead alongside the bodies of three other runaways with possible international identities. The answers to the case were with the victims, and while they are unable to provide their first accounts obviously, the identities they left behind will be a point of interest.

A white long-sleeve rolled up at his elbows covers his torso, black pants, and his usual pointed black shoes accompany the article. He presses his finger into the spray of his cologne, letting the solution pool at each of his wrists, rubbing them together before applying it to his neck. He was not one for ties and suits. He and his partner dressed casually when they weren't at the main office in New York. It seemed easier to maneuver that way, and he and his partner were active on the field. Equipped with a gun at his hip bone, his badge at his hip as well, he exits the room in quite a hurry. Before his next destination, he decides to stop for some coffee on the way. The mere action of drinking coffee provided him a boost he was not proud of abusing, but like most Americans, he's adapted to the lifestyle.

Coffee in his hand, he pushes past the doors of the police station in Worcester. He did not bother with his coat, the rain having stopped and the sun peeking through fading clouds. A warm, sunny glow casted over the town. The coat hanging over his forearm, he goes unnoticed by most of the officers present as they're submerged in their daily tasks. He appreciated the silence and tranquility of the station, an energy that would allow avenues for focus to appear. As he pushes past a set of doors that lead to a private conference room adjacent to the Chief's office, he hears a familiar voice say, "And this isn't a straightforward case, as we've seen -- it's unlikely it will be."

The familiar voice belonged to his cheerful, fiercely loyal, and at times idiotic best friend, or his partner, Ray Enderson. He sported a grey short-sleeve and Harry could tell he had visited the barbershop back home in the city before he arrived in Worcester. His black hair was buzzed cut and lined up neatly, his facial hair following. His dark skin glowed and Harry oftentimes would sacrifice a playful punch or two when he insists Ray's fiance has him looking like a glowing baby. The brown of his irises meet with Harry's pale eyes, both of them sharing a knowing look as Ray stands by a white board, their presentation just having started.

"Sorry I'm a bit late, gentlemen. My train was delayed by an hour," Harry apologizes briefly to a room of two detectives, the Chief of police, and a few officers at the scene of the crime, setting his coat on the back of the nearest chair. He takes one quick sip of his coffee, noting that it would soon cool down to a less than ideal temperature. Silently sighing, he approaches the white board, a series of photos displayed there alongside a few red notes written in Ray's handwriting. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scans the board for any new information, seeing nothing he hadn't already known.

Behind him, Ray proceedingly states, "Judging by the victimology here, the crime scene, and the evidence, we can be looking at something much more intricate than what might've been initially believed. We've got a local girl's body to examine. But for now, that provides zero information for us other than to theorize the kind of subject we are looking at. Clearly, one that can travel through experienced hiker trails in good enough condition to successfully incapacitate their victim."

As Ray leads the conversation, Harry reviews the information, grabbing a file off the desk. He faces the room, sitting over the steel desk. Hands handling documents and additional photographs, his eyes scan a few of the minor details. His focus, however, returns to the mere fact that the three girls are still unknown. That was a problem. Displeased by this missing information, he taps his finger onto the small stack of documents in one hand just as one of the detectives, a dirty-blonde with bright blue eyes, snaps in annoyance for the slow pace and lack of new information provided by the conversation. Impatiently, he huffs, "Oh, come on --"

Uncaringly, Harry speaks over Detective David Banneker, his voice flat and cutting as he announces, "Forensics came back, indicating malnutrition and different times of death. Traces of the same compounds were found on the bodies. We can assume, for now, that unsub housed them in the same area. As for the different times of death, they must have taken the girls as well as housed them at different periods. The dumping of their bodies must be due to the fact that the unsub was at capacity for storing dead bodies...implying they even have the capacity to store."

Detective Banneker's bright eyes lower as his brows furrow. He steadily questions "Are you talking about a....serial killer?" The detective adjusts his tie as he leans forward in his seat, sitting up with slight curiosity.

"Maybe," Harry answers, his head lifting, eyes meeting with the impatient detective. The coldness and the disdain in his pale eyes is strong, evident through his disinterested gaze.

The second detective, Francisco Alvarez, a dark-haired, bronze older male, huffs to himself, jabbing, "Thought the feds were supposed to help." The Chief of Police lowered his thick, greying eyebrows, disapproving of Alvarez's combative tone. The detective perceives this passive censure, and uncomfortably shifts in his seat. Lifting the sides of his blazer, he sits up and clears his throat, quickly and coolly adding, "We know it's a serial killer. All the signs point to it being a high possibility."

"I'm sorry, how many serial killer cases have you worked?" Ray is quick with a remark, his sarcasm acerbic and incisive, searching for reason to further provoke the idiocy he was hearing from frustrated, impatient detectives ready to conclude just about anything. Alvarez tilts his head, eyes squinting at Ray with growing animosity.

Harry holds his hand up, a warning for Ray to cool it on the fighting remarks. The detectives here were eager for some answers, for a new direction. With time, they could provide that with the utmost certainty. For that level of certainty, however, this required more digging and extra hands. Knowingly, Harry and Ray share a look of decreasing patience themselves. The barriers between the local forces and the Bureau was also the exposure to varying information and resources. Harry could not simply walk in there and point out all their errors without providing some of that knowledge to correct prior mistakes. Throwing haughty remarks was more counterproductive than helpful in these situations.

Instead of responding with serial killers are rare right away, he considers a few more productive ways to alleviate some of their angst surrounding the progress of the case. Suppose he did have all the answers, which he didn't, the work still had to bring the case to a close. Averting his eyes from the scene, Harry turns to the white board. There, he picks off three of the photographs, maneuvering past Ray, placing each picture onto the middle of the conference table. The members of the force lean in, and as he backs away, Harry asserts, "We know nothing about the three runaway girls. They left zero digital footprint."

Intrigued, Banneker's bright eyes linger on the photos, his chin resting over his cupped palm, elbow leaned into the table. Face contorted into a deepening, reflective frown, he mutters, "What else are you suggesting?" His eyes widening as he sighs, finding deep contemplation fruitless to understanding where Harry was taking the discussion.

"Gentleman, y'all know our department?" Ray interjects strangely, knowing they must have not paid close attention to the details. Keeping himself calm, Ray refrains from rolling his eyes or huffing out in disbelief. There were reasons Ray and Harry were there, in this particular town, in said station, working a specific case. The Chief remains silent, almond brown eyes gazing over at his detectives with similar suspicion, curious to know if they were aware. As the oldest man in the room, he had experience with federal agents, and he typically found them pretentious with a severe superiority complex. However, while he found the two agents pretentious as hell and rather arrogant, he admired their professionalism. It was appreciated considering the severity and poignancy of the case.

The officers contemplate too slowly for Harry's pace, and instead of letting them aimlessly ruminate on the subject, he sighs and dryly asks, "Did you explore the national missing persons cases?"

"Yes, of course," Banneker nods.

"Run it internationally," he advises swiftly, ignoring the tight stare he receives from Alvarez seated beside an increasingly eager Banneker. Exhaustively, he lets out a breath as he turns to reach for his coffee, announcing, "Ray and I will begin this investigation tomorrow morning when we've run a full report of missing persons across international hotspots. Until then, we will not find anything else. This case begins strictly with the victims."

The room went silent except for an inquisitive tone that rings, a middle-aged, dark-haired officer raising his hand. "International hotspots? For...human trafficking?"

"Bingo," Ray softly reveals, his hand raising, fingers snapping as he quickly discloses, "Our supervisor sent us down here on an intuition this case involves human trafficking, which is luckily our division." He leans into another steel desk behind him, his hands going into his pocket, a humorless smile forming on his lips. "Your Chief strongly agrees with that theory, so it's the first one we're testing now that everything this force has given it comes up empty. The information you've gathered so far will help further this investigation."

Finding it necessary to elaborate among the surprised, curious or perplexed faces, Harry sighs out, "We're looking at girls with zero record of an identity, but they have identifiable faces. If they cannot be found in the United States, they could very well be from outside of this country. This is my first year in this division, I typically work international operations from the UK. My approach can be broad, only if necessary. Let's get to work then."

The room begins to clear out, Banneker and Alvarez murmuring among themselves. Harry's eyes follow Bannaker's gaze as they walk out. Admittingly amused by the standoffish detective, Harry raises his eyebrows, indifferent to the combative nature of the head detectives on the case. He grabs the photographs from the table, walking to the white board, effortlessly hanging the photos again. Dropping his arms, he sighs yet again. As the door closes, his best friend stands next to him. Pale eyes focused on the information displayed, Ray's own gaze following that of Harry's, they stand in momentary silence.

"They're going to give us a hard time," Ray breaks the silence.

His index finger taps the side of his cup of coffee, bringing it up to his lips. Quietly taking a sip, he tastes the coffee in an almost indulgent fashion, leisurely. "You mean the erm...two dickheads who clearly feel threatened by feds?"

A faint smirk curved into his mouth, Ray glances at Harry. "Why is that, you think?"

"The feeling of inferiority, incompetence? I'm not sure," he swallows, clearing his throat. His focus diverts from the board to his coffee, looking down at the lid before taking another quick sip. In a breath, he then alleges, "If the girls are missing internationally, things are going to get very serious, quickly."

Nodding to himself, Ray squints at the board. "We need to find this guy. Soon. And find out how he managed to get these girls."

"We might need Jack and Sadie," he states warily. It wasn't that he wasn't fond of the dynamic, tech duo. They were masters with a monitor and a computer. However, Jack was on the more frantic, jittery end, nervous around Harry every single time they were in any conversation whether that was professional or a casual interaction, not that those occurred that often anyway. He was somewhat convinced Jack was crushing on him, which made plenty of comedy material for Ray. And Sadie was, frankly, an arsehole. She was agitating, but Harry was tolerable of his colleagues, many of which had plenty of flaws, like himself. He wasn't the easiest to work with, and he just happens to be in the same division as his best friend, which explains his current good streak. However, he feared that this was going to unravel a rather massive case, which is not good for all parties involved.

Their conversation eventually shifts to a more light-hearted topic. Ray wonders, "How's the hotel? Is it worth the three hundred a night? -- Can't believe Taylor approved that on our budget, by the way."

Humorously, Harry turns his head, looking at him with a narrowing, playful stare. "How's the two hour commute every morning and night? Must be fuckin' tiring."

Lowering his head, a surprised, amused look on his face, Ray scoffs and jokingly spits, "Don't be mad that the only thing waiting for you back at that fancy hotel is your right hand and some low-budget porn."

"And whiskey," Harry chuckles, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he fights a more evident laugh. His grin produces dimples into his cheeks, his eyes blinking away the strands of hair that fall too close to his eyes, hanging past his temples.

Fighting his own amusement, Ray unfolds his arms and turns around. He walks towards the conference table, gathering a few files and stacks of documents. Pushing them together, lifting them vertically to fall into place, he suggests, "You just gotta stop thinking about work, and...I don't know...order room service and take a bubble bath."

"A bubble bath?" Harry dryly mutters, eyebrows raised as he fights a witty remark about how Anita, his fiance, is changing him.

"What man, that shit's relaxing."

Chuckling to himself, back to Ray, he fully turns around and taking a few strides towards his coat, he mutters, "The whiskey's the relaxing bit."

Packing up his things into his side bag, Ray banters, "Take some time to yourself, low-budget porn and all. Self-care is important, man."

Harry sets his coffee down, grabbing his coat and beginning to place it over his shoulders, lowered eyes gazing over at him. "Fine, I'll buy a facemask, too," Harry jabs at him, knowingly. When he breaks into a laugh, Ray's gaze hardens, though he fights a smile from curving into his mouth. "I'm serious," he feigns innocence, his bright eyes widening momentarily.

"Aight, fuck you, Harry. I can't hear you behind the huge pores on your nose."

Laughing more loudly, Harry shakes his head as he adjusts his coat. He looks down at himself, checking for any of his belongings. He double-checks his gun and his badge are at his hip, then reaching for his coffee. Continuing to press him, he snaps his fingers as he sips his cup, eyebrows furrowing. He hums, "Hm, wait -- what's a good bubble bath soap? I'm thinking of something with lavender? What do you think? What's most self-care-ish?"

"Have fun masturbating, asshole," Ray grabs his bag after having zipped up his coat, his hand reaching up to lightly smack Harry over the head. He ducks his head in response, just missing the playful hand that brushes past the top of his hair. Ray exits the room, choosing to ignore Harry's insistence on mocking him.

Harry looks around the room, his amusement fading as he's alone. Ray was right about one thing for certain -- he needed to relax. And relaxation was a tough task for Harry. There were a lot of things Harry did, but the main one was his avoidant nature. Whenever he was faced with an emotional, internal conflict, he ignored it and submerged himself into his work. For a few months he had been battling an incident with a stubborn ex-girlfriend. His interest in all things romantic reduced to nearly zero, he found plenty of time to devote to his career. In those few months, he flew back and forth between a number of states, working case after case. He made notable strides in his profession, and his superiors were impressed. The status of his work-life was all he could care about right now despite feeling internal fury and heartache over a now agitating ex.

Dinah, he thought to himself as he saw her on the caller ID, his phone vibrating in his hands. Silencing the call, he shoves his phone into his pocket and tightens his jaw, his stare hardened at nothing in particular. He absolutely cannot stand her, although part of him refuses to block her number just to feel pride over being able to easily ignore her calls. He figures he's going to do it when he cares enough to even devote two seconds to her. Deciding on ending his day there, he takes Ray's advice, and heads out of the station back to the hotel. At the bar, the whiskey awaits him.

Kiani was not fond of crowded areas, and she tried to avoid them as much as possible. The hotel was quite populated, especially the bar. But to her surprise, a familiar handsome stranger was seen seated in the empty side of the bar. She pressed her glossy, deep pink lips together in contemplation, stopped by the entrance of the spacious lounging area. It was purely coincidental that he'd be at the bar, waiting for her almost. She wears the same outfit from earlier, and she sees he had changed his to a white shirt. She was planning to smuggle drinks back to her room, prefering to drink in peace and knowing the drinks at the bar were complimentary -- not the ones on room service.

He stares up at the television, viewing the baseball game displayed on the large flat-screen. She bites the inside of her cheek, eyeing the stranger. His hair dried flattered his features, falling at his temples in a very prince-like fashion, pink angel lips closed. A somber expression captured in his face, the faint hairs across his jaw adding to the exhaustion that appears to saturate every detail of him. He looks angry. Dark eyebrows lowered, sight narrowing at the television, he takes a swig of his drink. From where she stands, she predicts it's a whiskey, no ice. Her stomach turns and she thinks what the hell, her desire forming in her abdomen. Walking towards him, she calculates how much time she had to fool around. Not a lot, but she is celebrating a rather impressive and successful hack. This is a great way to celebrate, she thinks to herself, fighting a faint smirk.

Letting out a soft breath, she finally approaches the stool beside him. As she sits, she kindly speaks to an expectant bartender, his eyes locking with hers as she quietly ordered, "Whiskey, no ice."

She refuses to look at him, although her proximity, her voice, and her order are all factors in getting him to look at her. He looks down at his glass as he lifts it a few inches before slowly setting it down again. His attention had left the television, his glance averting quickly to the side of her face. He quickly recognizes her, but subtly observes her pretty, hazel eyes with long lashes as she slowly blinks, her glossy, sensually full lips pouted as she pretends to be interested in the game on the telly. He looks at her silently, watching as she sighs, accepting her drink from the bartender with a friendly, beautiful smile, white teeth displayed. Her wide smile diminishes, and she only stares at her drink for a moment, bringing it to her mouth.

Glossy lips by the rim of her glass, her eyes staring up at the TV behind the bar, she gently says, "You're staring at me."

Her tone was calling attention to his lingering stare. Harry blinks, unsure if she was speaking to him. But then, she turns her head, their eyes locking, her warm, hazel ones with his cool, green ones. She giggles softly through her mouth, head tilting forward as she finds amusement in his slight embarrassment. She enjoys his surprise more than she should, his handsome face contorted into a growing frown.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes soon after, his voice low, raspy, and definitely English. Much to her delight, she's much more intrigued now that he has a voice. He refrains from flirting with her, however. She knew that he knew she wanted him to stare. They were aware of that, and she had noticed his refusal to entertain it. He looks back at the TV, his body still oriented towards it in an attempt to avoid a conversation. She noticed.

"Long day?" She asks politely, her voice soft, angel-like, and for a second he wonders how her cat-eyed, sensual self could have such a sweet, soothing voice.

"A bit, yeah," he responds flatly and nods after a long second, debating with himself if he should entertain this gorgeous stranger that just happens to be interested in him as well. He looks down at his glass of whiskey, swirling it with smooth, leisure movements of his wrist. He wasn't too fond of conversation right now, and Kiani could sense that from how withdrawn he was almost immediately. His phone suddenly lights up next to his unoccupied hand on the bar. A picture of a blonde, bob-cut, doll-like girl with bright blue eyes appeared. Her eyes catch his swiftness, the way he quickly silences the call, the screen going black as quickly as it lit up.

Kiani decides to ignore whatever that was, and she brushes a curl behind her ear, pressing her full lips together before sweetly humming, "Well, I'm celebrating."

"What's the occasion?" Harry asks, satisfying her need to make conversation. He was a little weak. He had been steadfast about avoiding people for the night and keeping to himself. But anything she said, he not only heard, but he listened. Kiani oriented her body towards him, and he got the opportunity to glance at her figure. And he did, much to her amusement. The shirt was fitted to her nipped waist, and the pants hugged her round hips and her thighs. It hugged her chest, the pendant that falls just above her cleavage glistening as it catches the light with her movement. As he looks at her again, he notices her pink cheeks, the glossy, sensual look of her lips and her sharp, yet warm eyes that silently dared him to care.

She eyes him with a subtle smile, and with lowered eyebrows, he watches her, curious now. "I achieved a goal," she answers lightly, her grin adoring as it appeared on her face. He lowers his eyes as he nods his head, not curious enough to know exactly what her goal was. And neither was she willing to share. She still hadn't touched her drink, and he saw that she had set it aside.

Gulping down the rest of his drink, he sighs and winces soundlessly at the strong taste before clearing his throat, raspily murmuring, "I'm glad." He sets his emptied glass down, a huff at his throat as his mouth curves into a slight grin at a thought that pops into his head. Kiani stares at him skeptically as a few moments pass. He looks to her knowingly, his eyes lowering and squinting just barely as they observe her.

"This is your chance to spill your sorrows to a stranger at the bar. I'm new to it too, but here, I'll start...what's wrong?" She asks him teasingly, her grin wide, dimpled cheeks mirroring his growing smirk, shaking his head as he folds his hands onto the bar.

He leans more into the countertop, lowering his head as he looks at her. It wasn an accustomed move, one that signalled he was growing comfortable with talking to her. She hadn't forgotten about their infinitesimal encounter earlier at the front desk. If she hadn't forgotten, neither did he now.

"I'm avoiding people," he truthfully confesses.

Kiani's eyes flicker to his phone, knowing that he must be talking about something to do with the call he just ignored. She inches closer to the bar, leaning her elbows onto it as she kindly speaks to the bartender, ordering another drink despite the fact that she hadn't even touched her first. Turning to him again, Kiani softly replies, "That's sort of sad, but I can understand that. I'm doing the same thing." She takes the drink the bartender brings to her, the white-haired man failing to question her hoarding drinks. "How many drinks do you think I can successfully smuggle back to my room?" Her tone is serious, however mischievous she was being.

Harry finds amusement in this, realizing what she was trying to do with a quick laugh spilling past his lips, eyes finding the untouched whiskey. As she turns to witness his broad grin, dimpled cheeks, and white teeth in display to produce a boyish, knowing smile, her expression changes, one forming on her face. He squints his eyes at her again. "I don't know. Five at most?"

"I'm thinking three. However...three is not enough. I'm no lightweight," she responds defensively, continuing the banter. Her eyes go to the two glasses she's accumulated, and she pouts in disappointment.

"It's interesting you'd mention that. It's usually the first thing out of a lightweight's mouth," he remarks, his eyes unmoving, fixed on hers. He sits up straighter, tilting his chin a little higher, his body now oriented towards her as well. His knees nearly brush hers.

Kiani glances down at his body, a deep breath filling her lungs, chest raising as she quickly looks at his face again. She ignored the fact that he was so tall, lean. A tall glass of...rewards. She did a good thing today, she might as well reward herself. She hadn't expected anything rewarding from her deed except for a good conscience, and the thought of preventing tragedies.

Humming, she squints at him. "Are you calling me a liar?" Her mouth parts, corners lifted into a stubborn grin.

His lips press together, and he visibly fights a grin as his nostrils flare, setting his jaw as he stares at her in the face, directly now. She had weaved herself into whatever curiosity was in him, and she looked good, she looked so good. And she might be better than the whiskey alone. She won, he admitted it the way he was looking at her. "Not necessarily. That depends."

Raising a dark eyebrow, she giggles and teasingly asks, "Are you interested in finding out?"

Hesitating to answer on purpose, dragging out her subtleness, he lets his eyes fall down past her lips, her chin, down the cleavage of her chest. When he looks back at her, he lowly responds, "I think you know."

Boldly, she says nothing and only stares, her legs moving off the stool as she stands to her feet. Her fingers push the drinks she accumulated towards him, the glass rolling across the polished wood of the bar. She feels his knees brush the lowest parts of her thighs, her body so close to him she can hear his breath. Leaning her side into the counter, she pushes one glass closer to him, beckoning him to take it. He watches her movements before looking at her face again. The glass by his hand, he remains silent, refusing to display his surprise. And he couldn't lie, her darkening stare and her boldness was pulling him in, there was no way he could pick any other option besides her.

Silently, she tips her head back, gulping her drink down in a few short seconds. He observes her as she soundlessly winces, tasting the strength of the alcohol as it burns through her, warming her insides. He feels the same fiery feeling falling from his chest to his core as he follows soon after. A grin on her full, glossy lips that were now significantly closer, her sweet, siren voice asking, "Know what?"

"Hm," he roughly huffs, his eyes boring into hers despite the way she mockingly leaned a little further into him, her breasts at a more attention-drawing angle. Every little movement she made, she knew exactly what it was doing. He was fully aware of her tactics, and still he succumbed. In almost disbelief, he breaks into a low chuckle, grinning, teeth displayed. She stares down at him, raising her brows with expectancy. "You are...dangerous," he sensed quietly. Women like her were always problematic, too good to be true.

"What makes you say that?" She wonders, feigning innocence.

"I'm not sure yet...," he partly lies, eyebrows lowering.

She sighs and averts her eyes to his hand by hers on the bar. "You've got big hands," she comments casually, her tone soft and if someone had no context, she'd sound like she was making a genuine observation. He did have big hands, fingers adorned by a few silver rings. He raises the hand that was near hers, holding it up for her to see.

"Yeah," he murmurs, distracted by the breath that passes her parted lips. He watches her chest move and begins to envision what the night could look like if he'd give in. Her scent, the raspberry chapstick, the floral perfume that was subtle with an underlying subtle hint of something sweet. He inhales it, her pink aura that fogs his surroundings engulfing him in her tricks. He smelled her and sensed her presence in his space. He was sure there was no turning back. She had invaded his space, and he was incredibly agreeable on the matter.

She searches his face, seeing the faint hairs across his chin and his jaw, just above his upper lip. She was a fan of facial hair, and his was recently shaved, neat, and almost unnoticeable unless you were at an intimate distance. Her teeth bite into her bottom lip as she struggles to war off a cheeky smile, to no avail. He watches her carefully, afraid to move. Giggling softly, she tenderly whispers, "I can handle it."

Harry's gaze switches from her lips to her cat-eyes. "Handle what?" He asks in a whisper.

"Your sorrow," she teases him, knowing her suggestive words were evidently perplexing him a bit, throwing him off. He blinks at her and he just knows, he's in trouble.

"You're too kind," he smirks deliberately, nostrils flaring as he exhales, eyeing her. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn't, but he was at her mercy by then. "I have no sorrows. Just a lot of work."

"So, you're stressed out then?" She interrogates. "That's an easy fix."

"Really now?" He murmurs amusingly, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah," she whispers gently, biting her lip as she cheekily smiles. Fucking hell, he curses to himself, feeling himself get a bit aroused. He takes a deeper breath and says nothing. Kiani laughs quietly, commenting, "You have such a...smoldering stare. The way you're looking at me..."

"What? It's too smoldering? You think I should tone it down?" He mocks right back, causing her to laugh louder, tainted with this girlish excitement to it.

Forcing her grin down, she shakes her head. "No...I like it."

"Yeah?" His voice so low, only she could hear it.

"Mhm," she hums sweetly, parting her lips as she sighs. "Do you like looking at me?" She presses innocently, though there was absolutely nothing innocent about her except for the facade she plays flawlessly.

His stomach tightens and he breathes out a chuckle, not believing his luck right now. "I've sort of formed the habit, haven't I?" He refers to their brief encounter at the front desk earlier.

Kiani smiles and turns to the bartender that approaches them, ordering, "Two shots of tequila, please." Turning back to him, she feels her muscles want to disobey her orders to remain at a proper social distance. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist right there, but she knew she couldn't be too forward. Although she cared very little about that.

Harry watches as the bartender prepares their drinks, setting the glasses of the clear liquor in front of them. Kiani holds hers, and he grabs his own glass, staring up at her as he brings the glass to his lips.

. . .

He is so slow and careful with his touch, torturously in a way that makes her burn. He's got her pinned up against the dark wooden door of his room, failing to start searching for his key card in his pockets. His hands run down her ribcage, the span of them wide, his touch warm. As he glides them down her nipped waist over the dark purple fabric of her shirt, his tongue tenderly rubs against hers, their lips locked into a hard, slow kiss. The pace was leisure as they tasted each other, and she moans into his mouth as he grunts. A few drinks in and she couldn't take it, feeling herself tipsy and aroused. They both took a few too many shots, but that was of little importance now that they were practically dry-humping in the hallway.

"Mmm," she moans in delight as he pulls his lips from hers with a small pop, his body pressed tightly against hers. He curls his fingers into one of the loops of her pants, tugging her front closer to the growing bulge in his pants. She glides her fingers through his soft, brown curling hair, pulling, discovering that the way he groans and squeezes her tight, dipping his head down to kiss her again. His hot kiss grows harsher, forceful, his hands touching over her breasts. Her abdomen tightens and she feels a tug between her legs, nerves growing sensitive. She could smell him, taste him. He reaches behind her, pressing his hands onto her backside, squeezing her as his mouth kisses down her neck. Lips suckling and his tongue licking her skin slowly, the mere feeling of his mouth on her skin making her wetter than she'd like to admit.

Her eyes fall shut, head tipped back into the door as she indulges in the feeling. His mouth reaches past her collarbones, placing open-mouthed kisses until he arrives at her cleavage, at the round of her breasts exposed by her choice of clothing. Kiani uses one hand to reach behind him as he loses himself in her scent and her warm, soft skin. The key card between her fingers, she blindly pushes the white card into the slit in the lock. The lock releases and she turns the doorknob. She thought she'd fall back, but he adjusts quickly, the door opening and his knees bending. He lifts her unexpectedly, though she's not surprised, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. She thought she'd fumble it and trip over nothing, but he's fast and strong enough for it despite their tipsy state.

He's quick to lead her into the hotel room, kicking the door shut behind him. Kiani drops the key card somewhere, unaware of anything but the way his mouth decorates her skin in soft kisses. Once again, she's pressed up into the wall next to the bathroom door. Her mouth falls open, feeling his mouth place kisses down her neck, his teeth biting gently into her skin, tongue tasting her usual honey-scented body soap. Chin tipped up, head leaned against the wall, her hands tug against his hair once again. His lips return to hers, a hot, sloppy kiss shared as he slowly reaches for the bottom of her shirt, her head dipped down and her lips longingly kissing his. The ache between her legs turning painful, the way his body feels pressed against hers to blame.

He gently tugs at her shirt, pulling it past her navel, fingertips brushing the skin there. She shudders, pulling away to let him slip the shirt further up her waist, eventually pulling it over her head. One hand slung behind her back, the other touching her bare waist, feeling her warm skin. He had only glanced at the black, plain bra that cupped her soft, corpulent breasts. Her chest sprinkled with few beauty marks, a small gold pendant falling right at the middle. Squeezing her tight, her hands now cupping his stubbly jaw, he moves away from the wall, leading them towards the bed.

She sits at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, letting her gaze fall around the dimly lit bedroom as she kicks off her shoes and he does the same. The cold moonlight illuminating the room, the lamp beside the bed casting a weak, yellow glow. She looks towards him again, viewing him as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His eyes meet with hers as she's admiring the ink on his skin, body defined by lean muscle, a look of pure lust crossing her face, her chest rising a little higher.

She welcomes him over her eagerly, letting him wrap his arms around her waist, lifting her slightly, pulling her further up the mattress that hadn't been made, a utopia of white blankets and pillows against the headboard. Her skin touched the cool, crisp sheets of the untouched bed. All the while he kisses her, and oh does he, his tongue moving with sensual movements that made her ache between her legs, made her hot. Her hands slip around his neck, a beautiful grin inviting him to kiss her harder, though she bites into his bottom lip slowly, tenderly, pulling away from his kiss only for a short second.

The soft noise of the metal clasp of his belt is heard as she reaches down to undo his pants, pulling the zipper down but not having enough time to pull them down as he's got other plans. She feels her heart beating roughly, despite the tease she was with him, her excitement is pressing a weight into her chest, forcing her to feel out of breath. Anticipation raises the goosebumps on her skin when his lips kiss between her breasts, curved up into a grin because he can hear her excited breaths, and he can feel the pounding in his own chest. He's slow as he kisses her body, and while she was basically hurting between her legs, every second of this was turning her on so badly.

He reaches behind her, one arm beside her head helping him support his weight above her. The busied hand unclips her bra, pulling the straps past her shoulders until the thin black fabric disappears out of sight. His teeth bite roughly into his lip, dipping his head down to continue to kiss down her chest, pink tongue running flat against her dark nipples, sensitive skin hardening with his wet touch. A soft hum settles in her throat as she feels his tongue flickering against one, over and over again. She shifts her hips upwards in excitement, biting away the soft little moan that leaves her mouth, one that makes him harden in his impossibly tight jeans.

Panting now, she holds his head against her, feeling his curls brush against her fingers. He sucks gently at first, teasing her with his teeth before letting his wet lips brush against her nipple, moving to the other. Warm breath fanning from his nose into her soft skin. Slowly his hand travels down her stomach, past her navel, fiddling with the button of her jeans, not patient enough to wait and pulling them past her hips. Now having the room to slip his fingers into the waistline of her lacy, nearly transparent white underwear now, he gently plays with her clit through the thin fabric. She huffs impatiently, mouth parted as she frowns with pleasure.

He moves away from her momentarily to pull her pants down her legs completely, past her ankles and to the floor. Legs pried open with him kneeling in between them, she flushes bright pink across her cheeks. Eager, he tugs her panties down, prying her legs open. He leans back over her, his mouth wrapped around her nipple as he plays with her swollen clit, her wetness spread down all of her. Deep pink skin glistening as he explores her. He buries his face into her neck. Her legs spread wide. Touch running down her slit, feeling her soaked. Finger pressing up against her throbbing aching clit. His fingers feel slightly rough and pleasing as he repeatedly nudges the nerve. A shaky breath passes her lips, stomach quenching when he hums, kissing into her neck, running his unshaven jaw onto her skin.

Parted lips, eyes fluttering, Kiani squeezes his hair into a fist, feeling him rub harder, in forward and back movements. "Hmm...," she hums sweetly, arching her back, hips raised to have more. Her breath races, escaping her lips in hitched breaths as he keeps rubbing her clit, her thighs squeezing his waist. Spreading the wetness around from her entrance, a finger teasing her a few times, he pumps two fingers. In and out as she hums sweetly, moaning out in a breath, "Yes." Her voice so soft, sweet. She whimpers, hips moving along with his fingers. He hums into her skin over her breasts, joining her sweet moans with his own of encouragement.

"Oh yeah, baby," he encourages through a desperate moan right as she cries out, her breaths matching his movements, curling his fingers inside her, continuing to pump them. She was so close, so close, she could feel her walls tightening, her thighs tingling as her abdomen tightens. He was going to make her finish in record time. He was so sexy, she couldn't help but look at his face. Lips returning to one of her nipples, pink lips suckling, feeling herself coming. Her face contorts into utter bliss, hips moving, cheeks flushed pink.

"Oh my god," she cries severely, thighs trembling slightly. This was the best decision she'd never made, she was convinced. Breathing heavily, she sighs in bliss. Her lips ghosting against his cheek, and to her dismay he pulls away, standing onto his knees. Her eyes follow his movements, as he stands to his feet, he pulls down his pants, not hesitating to pull down his underwear with it, kicking them off impatiently. Her eyes trail downwards, the wispy brown hairs down south, where his v-shaped abdomen muscles narrow.

Kiani can't keep herself from moaning as he lays over her again, having caught a glance of him, stood against his muscled abdomen, tip just as pink as his lips that kiss her forcefully before he reaches out towards his bedside table, digging through his wallet. Kiani presses her lips against his neck while he does so, teasing running one of her small hands down his muscled stomach. He huffs quietly, feeling her touch brush against his hard, tall length, while he struggles to rip open the square foil.

She takes it from his hand impatiently, opening it herself and smiling sweetly as she hands it to him. He gives her a hard look, eyeing her down with dark eyes, lust making him set his jaw tightly. She settles comfortably, and he slides the latex on hurriedly. Her arms wrap around his neck, a lazy, hot, messy kiss shared, his arms beside her head. He shifts his hips forward, slipping into her, green eyes low as he watches himself disappear inside her. Both moaning at the feeling.

He rocks his hips into hers, pushing in and out slowly to start. Her eyes fall onto his face, biting her lips, their bodies rocking into each other. Moans soft, breaths quickening with the pace of his hips. Knees bent far, thighs beside his waist, her hands slipping to his chest, his toned stomach. "Yes baby!?" She cries as his thrusts quicken, the feel of him filling her, length rubbing against that spot inside of her. Cheeks flushed bright red, clammy skin rubbing against each other. He feels how tight, warm, and wet she is as he moves his hips, slipping in and out of her with a steady, fast rhythm. The headboard hits the wall a few times, her mouth ajar as she vocalizes her pleasure. "There, right there," she breathes quickly, his hips rocking precisely to hit that spot inside of her again. She couldn't believe she was so close again.

"Mmmm, yeah, you like it there?" He moans, rocking into her faster, rolling his hips harder. She nods her head quickly, and he groans roughly. His eyes watch her face, gazing at her parted lips. Then her breasts, moving with his thrusts. He melts when she moans again, her pretty eyes gazing up into him. The intimacy of the moment caused him to look away, burying his face into her neck, panting into her skin, occasionally kissing her there, biting down.

He's feeling the weight in his lower abdomen, her faint honey scent, sweet moans and wifty breaths overwhelming him. An arm of his curls under her knee, spreading her further. Kiani gasps, face contorted into a grimace of pleasure, breath caught in her throat when he snaps his hips into her forcefully, her fingernails digging into his muscled back. She looked pretty, there, her black curls fanned out against the pillow, rosy cheeks, glistening skin, moaning in the softest, gentlest way.

He fucks her into his sheets, her thighs tingling and her body tensing, in pure bliss. She needed this, and the way he was making her feel, his body leant over hers with the simple primal urge to make her come. Her body felt numb, sweat covering her skin in a thin, glowy sheen. She licks her drying lips, one of her hands pressed into the headboard as he continues to thrust. She couldn't believe it. He stretched her out to a comfortable degree, and he feels good, being a well-hung, tall, strong man with an almost natural affinity for pleasing her.

A long, soft sigh leaves her lips as he stops suddenly, shifting and laying on his back, Kiani having already gotten the hint. She sits down on his lap, sinking down onto him. So deep, her walls clench around him, breath hitched in her throat for a moment. His eyes watch her, panting heavily and trying to relax, though it's painfully hard when she looks the way she does over him, long curls down her back and strands framing her full, perky breasts. Her hips shift forward and back, slow and sensual. Mouth ajar, her dazed, low hazel eyes gazed down at him. He grabs her waist, shifting his hips and encouraging her to move faster. "Fuck," he mutters beneath his breath. Both of them panting, lost in the pleasure they're feeling from one another. He sits up, arm around her waist, one hand cupping her chin. Her head dipped down, their lips pressing together in a messy, hot kiss.

She pulls away, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing a hand to his shoulder and bouncing on his lap harder, faster, a high-pitched moan spilling from her mouth through her pacy breaths. Her hand ran through his hair, pressed to the back of his head, grip pulling at his brown, thick strands. A burn in her thighs tires her, but she can't stop, and the alcohol has her pain receptors numbed. His mouth kisses her chest, hand reaching to caress her breasts, a groan in his throat. "You feel so good," she whimpers. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come again."

Panting breath, jaw clenched, Harry feels that pressure in his abdomen, tensing muscles. The beautiful girl above him climaxing, shuddering and moaning into his messy, pulled hair. Her eyes roll back, but she doesn't stop her movements, not until he's moaning, too, muttering curses. He doesn't want to finish yet, and to her frustration, he holds her down, stopping her.

Again, she's on her back. Knees up, legs wide open as he kneels between her legs. Gripping her hips, watching himself slip into her again, his jaw clenched, face flushed red. Her hand presses against the wooden headboard of his bed, eyes never falling from him. Glistening chest, flushed red with exertion. Panting breaths, her hand squeezing a fistful of sheets. She feels herself coming, thighs tingling, walls clenching around him again. As it leaves her lips, his hips come to a stop, a low, raspy moan escaping his parted mouth, low curses under his panting breath. He comes into the condom, squeezing her tight once again before falling beside her on his side, breathless.

Kiani, lying there on her back, staring at the ceiling, sweaty, panting. Her thighs are numb and she couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol anymore or the two times she came. She feels her eyes heavy, her breaths slowing. Next to her, he inhales deeply, wiping his hand over his face, blinking up at the ceiling. In a bubbly, cutesie manner, evidently due to the endless shots they both downed, Kiani drunkenly giggles out, "Ten out of ten, even with the five shots of tequila!"

He huffs out a chuckle, a bit numb and exhausted himself as he pulls a sheet over himself. He couldn't even bring himself to respond to her, his eyes shutting for a moment, he swears. However, at some point he loses consciousness, falling asleep with her next to him, wrapped in the same sheet. She sighs before letting her eyes fall closed, her body undermining her commands.

. . .

A running shower audibly peaks from the cracked bathroom door. Her body feels heavy, her head aches as her eyes open, adjusting to the light in the hotel room. She snuggles closer into a pillow, the expensive, quality pillowcase pressed into her cheek, a sheet covering her body as she sighs. Her hangover was minor, but she felt it. She was also incredibly sore, remembering her physical activities from last night. A smirk curves into her lips, eyes shutting momentarily as she debates on getting up now or in a few more minutes. She had places to be, and it was too risky for her to remain in Worcester.

Her curls were messy, frizzy as she sat up slowly. Palm pressed into the mattress, leaning for support, she surveils the room. His clothes and her own were by the edge of the bed, or on the floor by it. Holding the sheets to her chest, she forces herself to sit on her knees, looking down onto the floor to find all of her clothes. Grunting, she shoves the sheets off of her, standing to her feet. As she searches for her panties, pursed lips in wonder as she struggles to put her memories together, her eyes land on the gun by the dresser. Immediately, she freezed.

Her eyebrows lower slowly as she walks towards it, right next to it a badge. An FBI badge.

Horrified, her heart sinks into her stomach, dissolving in the pit of acid as she's left breathless. Her face pales and she shakily, quietly hisses, "Shit, shit, shit!" Instantly, she crouches down to the floor, frantically searching for her clothes, finding her panties just beneath her pants. The water from the shower stops, and she glances at the cracked bathroom door with blown, frantic eyes. She feels chills, her adrenaline increasing to the point where she stops feeling her heart in her chest, breathless.

Meanwhile, Harry dries himself off in the bathroom, the steam from the shower clearing. His phone begins to ring by the sink where he had left it, and he peaks over at it while drying his hair. He's not surprised to see it was Ray, and he picks the device up, bringing it to his ear as he mutters, "Shouldn't you be on the train right now, mate?"

"My maaan!" Ray cheerfully greets, ignoring Harry's dryness. "Some great news. Maybe we'll be out of Worcester quicker than we think."

"What happened?" Harry asks curiously, extending his arm to wipe his hand over the fogged mirror, removing the condensation on there. He sees himself in the mirror. Tired green eyes and damp hair over his temples, the faint hairs across his jaw growing thicker, reminding him to shave soon.

"Their chief sent me a very..interesting email. Apparently, they've been tracking a series of anonymous tips sent to the local police about illegal cyber crime, including but not limited to, deep web criminal transactions in the area."

Eyes staring at the faucet, he scoffs with slight amusement as his eyebrows lower. "A dark web vigilante? Seriously?"

"Yes, a pretty damn good one. You wouldn't believe the intricacy. But...they made a tiny mistake. It took Sadie and Jack longer to figure it out, and it was killing them," he says light-heartedly. Unlike Harry, Ray did have a relationship with the rest of their team, a decently good one. He'd invite everyone for occasional dinners. He was a ray of sunshine, literally.

"We got a hit?" He asks quickly, his posture straightened as he holds the towel by his stomach, beginning to walk out of the bathroom. He sees the empty bed, the missing clothes. Curiously, he pauses and then brushes it off, assuming the girl wasn't good with goodbyes. He walks over to the dresser where his badge and gun sat, his clothes folded neatly into the drawers.

"You're not gonna believe this..."

"What?" He pauses, eager to know the answer.

"It came from inside the hotel you're staying in. The Flora Hotel."

Eyebrows raising, he opens his mouth to respond with surprise, however Ray speaks too soon. "We're coming for you, Harry. We know it's you. There's no use in running," he firmly warns.

Lowering his eyes, his readiness disappearing, and his face forming a scowl, he spat, "Oh, fuck off, Ray."

Breaking out into a loud laugh, Ray finds too much joy in playing a failed practical joke on Harry. Pretending to wipe his eyes from fake tears of laughter, voice swooping to a higher pitch as he continues to banter. Harry waits silently, knowing eventually he'd stop laughing at his own idea of humor. Breathlessly, he more seriously states, "Okay, so yeah. We've got a pin right there at the Flora."

Pulling his pants up after having put his briefs on, he balances the device on his shoulder, cheek pressed into it as he hurries to get dressed. "Unless you've got a name...a room number, or a face, you're asking for the impossible right now,"

"Well, they hacked themselves into a reservation this morning. The name used was Amanda Eckleson. Room 802."

"A'right. I'll let you know what I find."

Harry quickly hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket before putting on a grey jumper sweater, grabbing his gun and strapping it on as well as his badge. He doesn't bother with his hair as he grabs his key card and rushes out the door, the damp strands curling at the ends and falling over his forehead. He was on the fourth floor, and he did not want to rely on the elevators. He'd have to leap up the stairs, legs taking two steps at a time before reaching the eighth floor in a good forty seconds.

Kiani frantically places her flash drive into her bag and unplugs her laptop, wrapping the cord up quickly. She glances around the room rapidly, seeing if she had forgotten anything personal. It had taken her so long to pack up her things because she had woken up next to that fucking fed. Typically, she'd start packing several hours before she had to leave. She would then disinfect all of the surfaces, making sure she doesn't leave even a bit of evidence. Now she fears that her hair has fallen onto the pillows in the fed's room. She just couldn't believe herself. The timing was wrong and there were high possibilities she had already made a mistake. She felt it.

Throwing a hoodie over her shoulders and tying her sneakers, she pulls the hood over her head, bags strapped against her back. Gazing around the bedroom one last time, she exhales loudly and takes several quick strides towards the door. As she opens it, his body reaches the doorway of room 802.

Her eyes find him, and he pauses, caught by surprise, his dark eyebrows lowering as he stares at her. The complete silence allowed her heavy breaths to populate the soundwaves in the air, and she didn't move a muscle, her heart pumping restlessly in her chest.

Super long chapter! Woo! Hope you guys are ready! Please comment what you think and what you're most excited about!