We emerged from the suffocating confines of the building in complete silence, each of us wrapped in our own whirlwind of thoughts. The space we left behind felt like it was shrinking further, trying to pull us back into its stifling grip, but none of us dared to look over our shoulders. Our focus was pinned forward, each step heavy and deliberate.

Frank kept my arm slung over his shoulder, his grip steady despite the tremor in my legs. Russell's arm was wrapped firmly around my waist, grounding me as I stumbled forward, my strength nearly drained. The cool night air hit my face like icy needles, biting through the heat of adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

My legs wobbled beneath me, feeling like water ready to give way, and my mind reeled with a disjointed mix of emotions. Numbness warred with confusion, fear, and something I couldn't quite name. I didn't know how to process what had just happened. None of us did.

The memory of it played on repeat in my mind—Russell, standing there, his face a mask of something unrecognizable, as he struck her with a knife. Wraith fell in an instant, lifeless, right before us. It wasn't just the act of killing him; it was the way it unfolded. The raw, finality of it.

The silence between us wasn't calm; it was oppressive, thick enough to feel like it was pressing down on my chest. It wasn't just the act of Russell's hands stabbing her; it was the unspoken chaos that followed, the way it fractured something unspoken between us.

Every breath felt laboured, as if the atmosphere itself was tightening around us with each passing second. I could feel the weight of everyone's thoughts, their turmoil, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. No one said a word, yet the tension screamed louder than anything I'd ever heard before.

I didn't know if I should feel relief or terror. One thing was certain, though—none of us would ever be the same.

Mason came sprinting back, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His boots kicked up small clouds of dust on the empty road as we made our way through the town, its dim streetlights flickering like dying embers in the night. He called out, his voice slicing through the oppressive silence that had settled over the group.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone sharp with worry.

No one answered. Heads dropped lower, and some glanced sideways at him, their expressions unreadable under the faint glow of the lights. The weight of the moment was too much for anyone to respond outright.

"Come on, Mason. I'll explain."

With a deep breath, I slipped out from under Frank's steadying arm and stepped forward, moving ahead of the others to meet Mason. He studied me, his dark eyes filled with questions he didn't dare ask out loud just yet.

"Keith..." I began, my voice wavering, "Keith had been in touch with Freya and Stitch. They'd been working together to track me, developing photos of me—ones from about two weeks ago. While you were gone... I guess the stress got to me." I paused, swallowing hard as the memories surged back. "I had flashbacks. Freya said something—something that must've hit a nerve with Russell—and then..."

I hesitated, the words choking in my throat.

"And then what?" Mason pressed, his brow furrowing.

"Russell stabbed her. Just... stabbed her. In the chest."

Mason stiffened, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he was searching for something to say—anything that might make sense of what he'd just heard.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered finally, his voice low and heavy. He stepped closer, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his side. The warmth of his embrace steadied me, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled deep in my bones. As the rest of the group closed the gap, Mason kept me close, offering a quiet reassurance that I hadn't realized I needed so badly.

For a fleeting moment, I felt safe. Safe with Mason. But my gaze drifted past him, landing on Russell, who trudged along with his head bowed, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.

The guilt radiated off him in waves, palpable even in the silence. The rest of the team could feel it too; it clung to the air like a storm cloud. Russell didn't say a word, but his body language spoke volumes.

The problem with Russell was his temper—his inability to control it when it came to me. It didn't take much to set him off, and that unpredictability scared me more than I wanted to admit. My mind raced with questions, doubts, and fears as I watched him shuffle forward, his face hidden from view.

Whatever had driven him to act so violently tonight wasn't just about Freya's words. It ran deeper than that, and it was only a matter of time before it surfaced again.

Park hoisted the duffle bag over her shoulder, its weight pulling her slightly off balance. Inside were countless reports, folders, and photos of me—clues we desperately hoped would lead us to Stitch. The bag felt heavier than its physical contents, burdened with the pressure of answers we weren't sure we wanted to find.

"Make sure you keep a good hold of that," Hudson said, nodding toward the bag. His tone was stern, a quiet warning laced beneath the words.

Park gave an awkward smile, adjusting the strap. "Yeah, don't worry," she muttered, though the tension in her voice betrayed his nerves.

Mason stepped forward, his voice steady as he began to organize the group. "Me and Bell will take the first truck with Lazar and Frank," he declared.

I nodded in agreement, watching the others shuffle toward their vehicles. My eyes landed on Adler as he climbed into the second truck, his head still hanging low. He moved like a man carrying a weight too heavy to bear, each step deliberate, almost hesitant.

Sliding into the passenger seat of the first truck, I rested my head against the cool glass of the window. My thoughts buzzed faintly, muted by the exhaustion that was settling into my bones. Outside, the scenery rolled by, serene yet unsettling in its normalcy. The town itself was beautiful, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun as golden rays split through the trees.

But it was a beauty I couldn't appreciate. This place was no longer just a town. It had become a graveyard of bad memories. No matter how things had played out back there, I couldn't imagine a version of events that wouldn't have ended in pain.

My thoughts drifted as the truck rumbled along, the hum of the engine blending with the rhythm of my pulse. Just as I began to lose myself in the blur of the trees outside, a voice jolted me back to the present.

"Adler is concerning me," Lazar said suddenly, his strong accent cutting through the silence like a knife.

I glanced over at him, the seriousness in his tone immediately catching my attention.

"Us too," I replied softly, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve.

Lazar glanced at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. "I think this is driving him crazy," he continued, his voice steady but filled with an underlying unease. "I don't think he can take much more of this. What's happening with Stitch... especially with his own past."

The truck took a slow left turn, and Lazar's words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. Instead, I turned back to the window, letting the view outside pull me away from the weight of his concerns.

The landscape, peaceful and unchanging, offered a fleeting sense of calm. The sunlight filtering through the branches painted patterns on the ground, a contrast to the chaos in my chest.

Yet, even as I tried to steady my breathing and focus on the beauty outside, my chest felt hollow. It wasn't just Adler that was unravelling. We all were, in our own ways. The cracks were starting to show, and I wasn't sure how much longer we could hold ourselves together.

I wasn't particularly sad about Wraith's death. It wasn't that her loss meant nothing—it was just overshadowed by the way Adler was spiralling. My thoughts kept looping, tangled with worry over what Adler might do next. Every scenario my mind conjured only added to the weight pressing down on me.

My eyes darted restlessly, scanning the landscape on either side of the car, then flicking to the rear-view mirror to make sure the second truck was still behind us. It was, the headlights trailing us steadily in the fading daylight. That brought a small, fleeting sense of relief, but it wasn't enough to settle my nerves.

"How about we cook something nice tonight?" Mason's voice broke through the silence. He forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Cheer up the spirits a bit. Or we can order."

Frank immediately chimed in, grinning. "We're ordering!" he declared, his voice loud enough to startle a bird off the road ahead. "A fly wouldn't touch your food, Mason!"

The car erupted into laughter, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. Even I found myself chuckling softly, though Mason's expression was priceless—half-confused, half-offended.

"It couldn't be that bad, could it?" Mason turned to me for reassurance, his brows raised in mock desperation.

I tried to keep a straight face but failed. "Sorry, Mason. I can't help you there," I teased, my lips twitching into a smile.

"Shit, I thought my food was good," Mason sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

Frank caught his eye in the rear-view mirror, grinning. "Only messing with ya, bud," he said, his voice warm and playful.

The laughter simmered down, replaced by a comfortable quiet.

"Your food's good, Mason," I said, leaning back into my seat. "We'll figure it out once we get back. Maybe we can take a vote."

Mason perked up slightly, his smile returning, even if just a little.

I glanced around the car, appreciating how everyone was trying so hard to keep things light, even when the weight of what we'd been through was heavy on all of us. Their effort didn't go unnoticed. It might not have erased the knots in my chest or the worries in my head, but it reminded me that I wasn't alone in feeling them.

It was a small comfort, but it was enough to keep me grounded for now.

A part of me could still picture the future I wanted—the one I kept locked away in the back of my mind, like a distant dream. I wanted to be somewhere else, far from this chaos, living a life where I could finally figure things out. No Russell, no short tempers, no constant edge-of-your-seat tension. Just peace.

But for now, peace felt like a fantasy.

The house came into view, its familiar shape doing little to comfort me. The air around us grew heavier as the cars rolled to a stop. Before the engine had even fully died, Russell was already out, slamming the car door behind him. He made a beeline for the front steps, but Hudson intercepted him, his face stormy.

"What the fuck was that, Russell?!" Hudson's voice cut through the air like a whip.

Russell didn't even flinch. He brushed past Hudson, but Hudson wasn't about to let it slide. He grabbed Russell's arm, yanking him back with a force that made my chest tighten.

"Come in," Frank said quietly, his voice steady but firm as he placed a hand on my shoulder. He guided me toward the door, away from the confrontation brewing on the porch.

Mason followed close behind as we stepped into the house. The silence inside was almost worse than the shouting outside. It pressed down on me, suffocating, as Hudson's raised voice filtered through the walls.

"What were you thinking?!" Hudson roared, and we all froze, exchanging glances. None of us said it out loud, but we'd been expecting this. Adler's involvement in the case had been shaky at best, and after today, we weren't sure he'd be staying on it at all.

I tried to ignore it, but every word from Hudson drilled into me like nails. My head throbbed as the tension climbed, and I couldn't take it anymore.

Before I realized what I was doing, I stormed out of the house, the duffle bag of documents in hand. Hudson and Russell barely noticed me until I was right in front of them.

"Here." My voice cut through the argument as I dropped the bag at Hudson's feet with a heavy thud.

Hudson's eyes widened in shock. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"That's everything we need—for now," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "This bitching isn't getting us anywhere. Not this time, not ever. So figure it out, Hudson. I'm done listening to it."

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, Hudson just stared at me, completely gobsmacked. Then, without another word, he bent down, grabbed the duffle bag, and turned on his heel.

"Get inside. Both of you," he said coldly, his voice low but commanding as he looked between me and Russell.

He didn't wait for a response. Hudson headed straight for one of the trucks, tossing the bag into the passenger seat before climbing in himself. The engine roared to life, and the tires spun, kicking up dust that swirled in the fading light as he drove off.

I stood there for a moment, watching the truck disappear into the distance. My chest heaved, my emotions swirling—anger, frustration, exhaustion. None of it felt satisfying, but at least the shouting had stopped.

Russell didn't say a word. He just stood beside me, his shoulders tense, his face unreadable. And for once, I didn't care what he was thinking.

I turned around to face Adler, anger boiling over before I could stop it. I shoved him hard, the force surprising even me.

"You're a fucking idiot sometimes, swear to God," I spat, my voice trembling with frustration.

Adler didn't respond, his face blank as if he were too tired to argue. That only made my anger burn hotter, but I didn't have the energy to keep pushing. Shaking my head, I stormed into the house, letting the door slam behind me.

I headed straight for the bathroom, shutting the door with a sharp click. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the cap of the small orange bottle, the pills inside rattling softly. After swallowing my meds, I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked dull, shadowed by exhaustion.

With a sigh, I left the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen, flopping down onto one of the chairs with a huff.

"I need food," I muttered, pressing my palms into my temples. My stomach growled in agreement, but even that felt like more effort than I could handle.

Frank looked up from the sink, wiping his hands on a towel. "We all do," he said. "Where's Ad?"

I shrugged, glancing toward the hallway. "I don't know. He wasn't in the bedroom when I went by."

Before anyone could respond, Adler suddenly appeared from the sitting area, his movements slow and deliberate as he stepped into the light.

"I need food too," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

The rest of us exchanged glances before nodding in unison. Frank turned toward the counter and pulled out the bundle of takeaway menus we kept from past nights out, a familiar stack of options we always seemed to fall back on when cooking felt like too much.

"Alright," Frank said, flipping through the papers with exaggerated deliberation. "I say we choose here."

He held up a menu, the bright red and yellow lettering a stark contrast to the dim kitchen lighting.

"Fine by me," I mumbled, leaning back in the chair. The prospect of food, any food, felt like the only thing keeping me upright.

Adler nodded faintly, and Mason grinned. "Let's just hope we can pick it up quickly."

As Frank began dialling the number, the familiar banter started to flow again, light and easy, like a balm over the tension that had been choking us all night. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like enough to hold us together.

---------

I walked along the cobbled streets, my head hanging low as my footsteps echoed softly against the uneven stones. The weight in my chest felt unbearable, coarse and unrelenting, as if it were grinding against my ribs with every breath.

Out of nowhere, I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders. I glanced up and saw Frank's familiar face, his expression warm but laced with concern.

"What's got you down, kid?" he asked, his voice low and steady, like he already had some idea of the answer.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Russell," I muttered, my eyes falling back to the street ahead. Mason walked a few paces ahead of us, a bag of food in his hand, the smell wafting faintly through the cool evening air. "It sickens me, Frank. But there's something burning inside him. Something I can't figure out."

Frank's arm tightened around me briefly before he let out a sigh. "We all see it, Bell," he said. His words carried a weight of their own, like he'd been holding them back for too long.

Mason slowed his pace until he was beside us, his own head dropping slightly. "Yeah, we know," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll talk to him tonight. It's only right I do."

Frank nodded, his gaze drifting toward Mason. "I thought Hudson was going to kill him when we got back," he admitted.

"Me too," Mason replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Honestly, I'm surprised Hudson's still letting him work on this."

I shrugged. "He's still a vital part of the case," I said, my voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. "Like it or not, he knows more about Stitch than any of us. Hudson might hate him right now, but we need him."

Mason let out a heavy sigh, shifting the bag of food in his hand. "We'll figure it out eventually," he said, his tone carrying a forced optimism. "For now, let's just go home and eat. One thing at a time."

Frank gave a small nod of agreement, and we made our way to the truck in silence.

The ride home felt longer than it was, the quiet inside the vehicle broken only by the occasional hum of the engine. None of us had much to say; the weight of the day hung too heavily over us.

When we finally got back, the house was dim and quiet. We unpacked the food in the kitchen, the smell filling the air and bringing a small measure of comfort. 

We just ate, the warm food and faint sound of cutlery scraping against plates serving as a temporary escape from everything else. It wasn't a solution, but it was something. And right now, something was enough.

"Bell, can I speak to you?" Adler's voice broke through the quiet, soft but laced with something I couldn't quite place. He reached out and gently took my hand.

"Of course," I said, nodding toward the hallway. "The bedroom?"

Adler nodded silently, his expression heavy, and we left the others behind as we made our way to the room. The air between us grew thick, almost suffocating, and I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

Once inside, I sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs as I watched him. He hesitated for a moment before sitting beside me, his posture slouched, his hands clasped tightly together.

"I just want to apologize for what happened back there with Wraith," he began, his voice low and unsteady. "Truth be told, I'm scared, Bell. I'm more afraid than you know. The thought of losing you... it scares me to death. And I know what these guys are capable of."

His words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable.

I moved closer to him, my heart aching at the sight of someone who always seemed so unshakable now crumbling before me. Gently, I guided him to lie down, resting my head on his chest as I felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"I'm afraid too, Russell," I said softly, using his first name to remind him that I saw more than just the soldier or the strategist. "But we need to figure this out—all of it. I know what Wraith said scared you. Hell, it scared all of us. But you can't take actions like that on your own. Not anymore."

I tilted my head up slightly to meet his eyes, my voice steady but firm. "I worked with them, remember? I know them. And together, we can figure this out. But what you did—it was reckless. It's making everyone concerned, Russell. And not just about you. About all of us."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in the texture of the paint. Then his arms came around me, holding me tightly, almost desperately.

"I can't be on my own again, Bell," he said, his voice breaking into a whisper. "I don't know if I can handle that. I'll work on this—I promise you. I'll do better."

I felt the tremor in his chest beneath me and tightened my grip around him, silently willing him to believe his own words.

"We'll figure it out," I whispered back. "But we do it together, okay? No more of this solo act. Promise me."

He nodded, the motion subtle but resolute, and for the first time that night, I felt a flicker of hope—fragile, but there.