🌒 Chapter 5 – The Angel in the Dark
The rain fell in thin, relentless curtains, washing the noise out of the city.
The streets gleamed beneath the dim streetlights, puddles reflecting the ghostly glow of passing cars.
Ken and Yuri walked in silence, escorted by two men whose eyes were as cold as the steel hidden under their coats.
Each step echoed sharply against the wet pavement, as if warning them both that they were walking toward something they wouldn't be able to turn back from.
Ken's heartbeat thundered in his chest — not Ayato's calm rhythm, but his own, frantic and uneven.
He wasn't Ken anymore.
He wasn't Ayato either.
He was something between the two — and every breath, every movement, had to be calculated if he wanted to stay alive.
"Where are we going?" Ken asked at last, his voice calm but edged with a tremor of anger.
"You'll know soon enough," one of the escorts replied without turning around. "All you need to remember is this — only you are allowed to enter. No one else."
Yuri frowned, his hand tightening into a fist.
"And what about me?"
The man's reply was flat, final.
"You wait outside. Just him."
They walked until the city around them grew silent and empty.
At the end of a narrow alley stood an abandoned warehouse, rust-eaten and forgotten. The metal doors groaned as they opened, exhaling a breath of cold, damp air that smelled of rust and old secrets.
Ken hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward. His pulse hammered in his ears.
"Go ahead, White Wolf," murmured a voice from within the shadows.
Ken entered slowly, eyes scanning the gloom.
A faint cone of light fell from above, illuminating the figure at the center of the room.
A man — or perhaps something more than that — stood motionless amid stacks of crates, his face hidden behind a black mask, his posture still as death.
The Black Angel.
He looked as though the darkness itself had shaped him — calm, patient, terrifyingly certain.
Ken's throat tightened.
"So… what do you want from me?"
The masked man's lips curved into something between a smile and a threat.
"Simple," he said, his voice smooth as smoke. "I came to bring justice — and to help you punish those who took your friend's life."
Ken narrowed his eyes.
"Justice?" he repeated, his voice a whisper of disbelief. "You expect me to believe that?"
The shadows around the Black Angel seemed to deepen, like the darkness was alive. He took a single step forward, his presence enough to make the air heavy.
"Believe whatever you like," he said softly. "But if you need proof…"
He reached into his coat and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper.
"Here's a name. One of the men who orchestrated the first attack."
He held it out between two fingers. The paper fluttered slightly in the air between them — fragile, yet weighted with meaning.
Ken took it slowly, his hands trembling just enough to betray him.
The name scrawled on the paper hit him like a bullet.
The rage that followed was instant, raw, electric.
"And why," he asked, voice low, "should I trust you?"
The Black Angel tilted his head.
"Because, White Wolf, we want the same thing. You burn for vengeance… I wait for judgment. Together, we balance the scale."
A long silence fell between them — the kind that carried more truth than words ever could.
Ken's body trembled, but not from fear. From control.
Each heartbeat was a drum, counting down to something inevitable.
He finally looked up.
"Then tell me," he said, "how do we start?"
The Black Angel's eyes glinted through the shadows.
"We already have."
---
Elsewhere in the city, Eloïse walked beneath the same rain, her heels splashing through puddles as she followed her instincts more than her reason.
She had spent two nights without sleep, piecing together fragments of a story that made less and less sense the deeper she dug.
The official reports didn't match the evidence. The names, the timestamps, the statements — all inconsistent.
She reached the alley where the attack had happened. The faint smell of gunpowder still lingered.
That's when she heard footsteps.
"Looking for ghosts?"
Eloïse turned sharply. A man in a leather jacket stood nearby, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp and weary.
"Detective Eddie," he said, flashing his badge half-heartedly. "You're not supposed to be here."
Eloïse gave a thin smile.
"And yet, neither are you."
He chuckled.
"Touché. You're investigating the same case, I assume?"
"Yes," she replied, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. "And what's strange is the name that keeps coming up — Even Boas. He wasn't supposed to be in the city that night."
Eddie frowned.
"Boas? He's supposed to be abroad."
"Exactly."
They shared a glance — the kind that needed no words.
"Looks like we're in this together then," Eddie said, his tone pragmatic. "Two brains, one mess."
Eloïse nodded. "Let's find the truth before the truth finds us."
---
Hours later, the two of them sat in Eddie's dimly lit office, surrounded by files, photos, and maps covered in notes.
Patterns emerged — names tied to the OIMEN organization, coded transfers of money, and one recurring symbol: a black feather stamped beside each classified document.
"The Black Angel," Eddie murmured.
Eloïse's fingers froze on the page.
"Who is he?"
Eddie leaned back in his chair, sighing.
"No one knows. Some say he's a ghost in the system — a man who executes justice when the law fails."
Eloïse's pulse quickened. "Or someone who creates chaos and calls it justice."
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, they both knew — this case was no longer just about Ken or Ayato.
It was about something far bigger.
---
The next morning, Ken and Yuri sat in silence in the apartment, tension thick in the air.
Ken's phone vibrated.
A message.
No sender. No words. Just an address and a time.
Yuri leaned over his shoulder.
"You think it's from him?"
Ken's expression hardened.
"Only one way to find out."
---
They arrived at dusk.
The same autumn wind howled through the city's skeleton — buildings half-forgotten, streets half-lit.
The address led them to another warehouse, this one cleaner, newer, but somehow colder.
Ken stared at the heavy doors, his pulse steady now — the kind of calm that came only before the storm.
"Stay close," he murmured.
He pushed the door open.
The smell of oil and iron filled his lungs.
Inside, three silhouettes waited under the dim light of hanging bulbs.
At the center stood Eloïse — pale, determined, her eyes wide but unflinching.
To her left, the Black Angel, this time without his mask.
His face was sharp, his expression unreadable, dressed now in the dark uniform of a police officer.
And tied to a chair in front of them, bruised and terrified, was Even Boas — the man whose name had haunted every lead.
Ken froze. The air vanished from his lungs.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Eloïse's gaze met his, filled with too many questions to ask.
The Black Angel smiled faintly.
"Well, White Wolf," he said softly. "You finally found them — the ones you thought were lost."
Ken's fists clenched, the paper with the name still crumpled in his hand.
In that single moment, everything changed.
This wasn't about revenge anymore.
It was about truth — and truth was always the most dangerous enemy of all.
The Black Angel stepped closer, his shadow falling across them all.
"The game begins now," he whispered.
And somewhere deep inside, Ken felt it — the storm that would decide who would live, and who would be remembered.