Abella Sterling (Female P.O.V)

October 20, 2074

I exited the elevator, trailing a few steps behind Saint as we headed toward my apartment. It had been a long day. Excruciatingly long if you asked me.

And unfortunately, there were still more hours to go before it concluded. Eight, to be exact. Yay.

After dealing with my dad, and the drama at the bridal shop, I just wanted to unwind with a nice hot bubble bath. For a few minutes at least before Logan came home. Espe-

Saint suddenly stopping brought me out of my thoughts. He extended his right arm, keeping me from moving past.

"What's wrong?" I asked, keeping my tone casual to mask my confusion. We were in the middle of the hallway, and only a couple of feet separated us from my apartment.

"Your door is open."

"What?! No, no..." The rest of my words died on my lips when I looked around him. It was just as he said. And the 10 B in black letters only confirmed it was mine.

Goddamn it!

Why couldn't I catch a break?!

Just why?!

Before I could fully freak out, my eyes fell to the floor. A bouquet of roses lay in front of my door. Beige and wilted.

Saint went and picked them up before returning to my side. The shriveled-up flowers crinkled as he slipped out the small white card nestled in the brittle stems. My stomach dropped as we read the short message.

Good luck with the game.

"Oh, god." I softly groaned and rubbed my throbbing temples.

It had to be Luther that sent the flowers. It just had to. Or maybe I just desperately wanted it to be because the alternative was even less pleasant.

Either way, I received their message loud and clear. Win, or else I would be in the same condition as the flowers.

Dead.

Saint drew his gun before whispering, "Stay here. I'm going to check it out."

I nodded even though every part of me was screaming to run. Beads of sweat gathered at my hairline as I fought my instincts while Saint entered my apartment.

Moving closer to the wall, I listened for sounds of a struggle. Surely Saint wouldn't need me. After all, he's trained to handle these types of situations. But still, with the way things were going today, I wouldn't be surprised if he did.

Worst-case scenarios ran rampant through my brain, tormenting me. I lightly shook my head, ridding myself of the thoughts, and grabbed my phone from my purse. While shakily dialing 9-1-1, Saint reappeared.

"It's clear." He tucked his gun in his waistband and took the flowers from me.

Rubbing my arm across my sweaty face, I let out a relieved breath.

"Did you call the cops?" He asked as we made our way inside.

My legs trembled the entire way threatening to give out any minute, but Saint graciously followed my lead.

"N..." My breath hitched when he took my hand in his offering, his strength that I desperately needed at this moment. "No, you came out before I could."

He nodded as we came to a stop just inside my living room.

It was a wreck. It looked like the aftermath of a tornado disaster. All of my desk drawers were open with their contents strewn across the floor. Every pillow was askew and lying halfway off the sofa and chairs. And a trail of clothes led down the hallway to my backrooms.

But despite all that, my electronics were still here. All in their original position and seemingly untouched. It was odd.

All of it.

None of this felt real. More like a nightmare, and I was floating above, watching everything transpire.

"Check to see if anything is missing," Saint instructed, breaking me out of my thoughts. "And grab you and Logan some clothes. We'll stay somewhere else."

"Okay."

Saint appeared slightly taken aback by my quick acceptance. As if he expected an argument. But he wouldn't get one from me.

This was my home. I should have felt safe inside these walls, but I didn't. I felt violated. So I was ecstatic to go anywhere else.

"Alright then. I'll be in the kitchen when you're finished."

I nodded before heading down the hallway.

My feet moved on autopilot as I went from room to room. All of them were in the same condition as the living room.

Once I finished checking, I packed the few clothes that had managed to escape the same fate as the others for Logan and me before going to the kitchen.

Compared to the rest of my apartment, it sustained minimal damage. Only a few of its cabinets and drawers were open, with the contents piled on the island.

Saint carved out enough space amongst the clutter to place his laptop. His fingers swiftly moved across the keys before he looked at me. "Are you missing anything?"

I set the two bags by the doorway before sitting at the counter. "Nope."

He hummed, but before he could respond, his phone rang. After accepting the call, he put it on speakerphone. "Hello?"

"Yo Saint, it's about damn time you finally answered!" Quinton's voice filled the kitchen. "Are you and Abella alright?"

Saint and I looked at each other. Both with similar confused expressions on our faces.

"We ran into a little trouble at the bridal shop, but we're fine." Saint placed his palms flat on the counter and leaned closer to the phone. "But what do you mean about time? We don't have any missed calls from you."

"My phone was dead, so I had to use someone else's."

"Was it a private number?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Probably." The familiar wail of a siren came through the speakers forcing Quinton to speak louder. "What happened at the bridal shop?"

Saint quickly recounted the details of the incident to him.

And as soon as he finished, Quinton said, "That's so messed up."

"Yeah, but the kid's going to provide a description, and hopefully, it helps. Plus, he gave me the phone number to where he's supposed to send the photos."

"You can text me the number, but I won't be able to do anything until I get back to the station."

"Alright."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Yeah, Abella needs to file a police report for a break-in."

"Break-in? What break-in?"

"Someone broke into her place and ransacked it."

"What do you mean, someone?! I thought you installed cameras and stuff. Can't you pull up the footage to see who did it?"

"Yeah, we're about to watch it now." Saint turned the computer around to face me before sitting next to me. "But I believe they're a professional, considering they bypassed the system without it alerting me."

Quinton groaned as Saint pressed play on the video.

A Caucasian man of average build and height appeared on the screen, carrying a box. He wore a brown uniform similar to that of a UPS driver. But it lacked the signature emblem.

He tugged down his tattered hat and raised the box to his chin as he approached my door. Once there, he tucked the box underneath his arm and pulled a black bandana and gloves from his back pockets.

After putting them on, he set the box down and started to open it. But at the last second, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw the hallway was clear, he continued.

Inside was a small arrangement of tools lying beside the wilted flowers. He pulled out the tools and went to work on the camera. And a short time later, the screen turned black.

Neither of us spoke, and when the silence dragged on, Quinton said, "Saint? Abella? You still there?"

Saint cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Soo... Did you see who it was?"

"No, he kept his face covered. But I have a feeling. A strong one that it's someone that works for Luther."

"You're going to need evidence, buddy. I can't arrest someone because of your gut."

"It's not just my gut. He left behind a twisted message, and he didn't take anything. I think he wanted to scare her."

"That may be true. But let's have Abella report it first, then go from there."

Saint combed his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Alright, fine."

"Di-" Quinton started to speak, but through the line, a feminine voice called out for him.

Saint picked up his phone. "Quinton, it sounds like you're busy, so we'll let you go."

"Wait a minute. I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"A while ago, we received word that the uh...Serial killers found the safe house and murdered DecadentKay, Lady_E, and the officers guarding them."

"Shit!" Saint banged his fist on the counter.

"How did they find them?!" I asked.

"We don't know yet. And with one of the guys dead and his partner still in the wind, it's going to be a while before they figure it out."

In the wind, those three little words sent a chill down my spine and raised goosebumps on my arms.

Numerous questions raced through my head, but I was afraid to voice them for fear of the answers I would receive.

All I knew was this situation was far from over.

Saint leaned forward, clasped his hands together, and rested them underneath his nose. "Has the dead guy been i.d?"

"Yeah, his name is Elmer Finch. And we're looking into known acquaintances to find his partner."

Saint looked at me. "Do you know anyone with that name?"

I shook my head. "No."

There was no way I had ever met anyone with that name. I certainly would have remembered it.

"Saint, I'll send a photo just to be certain."

"Okay."

"Alright, I need to go, but I'll keep you guys posted if anything changes."

"Wait, Quinton."

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you once Abella finishes talking with the cops, she and Logan will stay at my place."

"At your place?"

"Yeah, is something wrong with that?"

"Yes. The next round of the competition is coming up, and your place doesn't have the equipment she needs."

"We can get them."

"There's no way you can get everything on such short notice and set it up."

"He's right." I laid my hand on Saint's forearm, leaned closer, and looked him dead in his eyes. "And I won't settle for subpar equipment and janky internet when my brother's and my life is on the line."

Before Saint could respond, Quinton continued, "I have an idea that will appease all of us. Well, kind of."

"What is it?" Saint asked.

"Cromwell offered to let the players stay at one of his places."

Saint shot up from his seat. "Cromwell?! No, no, no way! I don't trust this guy. Do you?"

"Hell no! He made it clear he only cares about one thing. And that's keeping the game going. He doesn't give a shit about the players. But he's offering a temporary solution, so I think we should take it."

Saint paced the length of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. "I don't like this, Quinton." He said.

"Me either. But we don't have many options right now. Unless you have one."

Saint stopped. "I don't."

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Thank you for reading!❤

9-30-22