With a weary sigh, I stood and stretched, my gaze sweeping over the deserted office space beyond the window. Empty desks and hastily abandoned chairs left a haunting stillness clinging to the room's corners. I was alone.

Shaking off the unease that had settled over me since talking to the detectives, I gathered my scattered papers, a half-empty coffee mug, and my trusty laptop into my worn leather satchel. My phone was cool against my palm as I dialed up a taxi. The thought of walking home alone after the bizarre encounter the previous night sent a shiver down my spine.

My footsteps were muted on the carpet as I walked toward the exit, but the moment I stepped onto the tiled floor of the corridor leading to the elevators, something strange caught my eye. The overhead lights flickered, casting strobe-like flashes down the hallway.

Panic flared within me as my pulse quickened. My fingers fumbled to unlock my phone, but the screen glitched and spasmed, mirroring the failing lights above. A cold shiver traced my spine as memories of the previous night clawed their way to the forefront. The same electrical disturbances had been a precursor to the appearance of that winged man—a creature out of myth or madness—who had left me questioning reality and my sanity.

"Damn it."

With heels clicking urgently against the tile, I bolted for the stairwell, the dying lights chasing me down. Each landing passed in a blur, my breaths coming in sharp gasps as the weight of my satchel slapped rhythmically against my side.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I imagined what might be lurking just beyond the veil of encroaching darkness following me down the stairs. I gripped the railing with white-knuckled intensity, praying I could reach the lobby before all the lights flickered out.

Emerging from the stairwell's suffocating grasp, I burst into the lobby, my chest heaving with relief. The steady glow of overhead lights greeted me, untouched by the sinister flicker that had pursued my descent. I glanced around the deserted space; the reception area was empty, the usual buzz of after-hours activity conspicuously absent. Even the night guard, typically a reassuring presence, was nowhere in sight.

"Probably just on his rounds," I whispered to myself, a futile attempt to quell the unease gnawing at my nerves.

I looked down at my phone, my thumb jabbing at the screen, only to find it stubbornly unresponsive. The taxi app, once a beacon of convenience, now seemed to mock me in its frozen state. A string of curses escaped my lips, each one echoing through the empty lobby. I regretted not slipping a pair of sneakers into my bag that morning, but planning for the sinister whims of fate had never been my strong suit.

Steeling myself, I squared my shoulders with determination and strode toward the exit. Once outside, the click of my heels was a staccato rhythm. The crisp autumn air bit at my skin as First Avenue stretched before me, a dimly lit gauntlet of closed shops.

I quickened my pace, and my eyes darted between the pools of light and shadows cast by towering skyscrapers as I hurried along with a silent prayer on my lips that I might pass unseen by whatever lurked within them.

With every step, I sensed Second Avenue's proximity growing. I heard the murmur of distant voices and laughter carried on the wind. As I drew closer to the promise of safety, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It was the primal instinct of being watched.

Then, without warning, a hand reached out from the shadows and trapped my arm, stopping me in my tracks.

My heart thundered in my chest as panic surged through my veins, the iron grip tightening on my arm. With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, I twisted and turned, trying to wrench myself free.

"Let go of me!" I shouted, my voice slicing through the chill night air, edged with fear and fury.

"Calm down, Gabi." 

The familiar timbre of Drew's voice washed over me, bringing an unexpected wave of relief, though it clashed bitterly with the disappointment I felt at seeing him. Drew was better than some unknown predator from the dark, but only by a little.

I glared at him, finally managing to pull my arm away, my breaths shallow and rapid. 

"Why were you following me?" 

Drew met my gaze warily, yet there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes. 

"Who were you running from?" he countered, skirting my question with one of his own.

I bristled, the evasion stoking the flames of my irritation. Without another word, I spun on my heel, intent on leaving him and his questions behind. But Drew was persistent, his hand reaching out again, imploring me to stop.

"Wait, I need to ask you something serious," he said, halting my escape. I peered at him suspiciously, my heartbeat still racing from the earlier fright.

"Why didn't you ask earlier when you were in my office?" I shot back.

"I couldn’t ask in front of Mendoza."

A knot of curiosity tightened in my stomach. 

What could be so important that it couldn't be asked in front of his own partner?

"Where did you get your necklace?" 

A humorless laugh escaped my lips as I stared at him incredulously. 

"You followed me to ask about my jewelry?" 

I shook my head, mock disbelief painting my features as I started to walk away. 

"It's not exactly Veronica's style if that's what you're thinking."

But Drew wasn’t done; he reached for me once more, this time with a firmness that bordered on pain. 

"Gabriella, listen to me," he urged, the intensity in his grip igniting my temper.

"I swear to god, if you keep touching me, I am going to scream!" I snapped, anger flaring as I tried to shake off his hold. Drew's persistence was unnerving, a relentless force pushing against my defenses.

"That dragon pendant," he began, his voice low and laced with unwavering certainty, "I've seen it before."

My scoff was a shield, brittle and hastily constructed. 

"Dragons are in right now, Drew. You should know this—Veronica’s a fashion editor, right?" Yet my sarcasm felt hollow, failing to pierce the gravity of his gaze.

He stepped closer, his anger giving way to something more dangerous—resolve. 

"Not like this one," he insisted, his eyes locked on the necklace resting against my collarbone. "A gang of human traffickers uses it. Powerful and dangerous ones."

I felt the world tilt, my heart pounding in an erratic rhythm. I pushed him away, creating distance between us. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice shaking.

But Drew's stare remained unyielding. 

"After all our time together, Gabi, I know when you're hiding something." His voice softened, but the edge remained sharp. "Iris is missing. It took you ten days to report it, and now here you are, wearing their emblem around your neck. It makes me wonder..."

"Wonder what, Drew?" My voice was sharp, laced with panic as I spat out the first lie that came to mind. 

"I bought it at the Fremont Market, okay? From some vendor selling old silver stuff. It looked cool. That's all."

Drew’s skeptical expression told me he wasn’t convinced. He opened his mouth to probe further when a sudden call pierced the tension.

"Gabi!"

We both turned sharply toward the source and saw a tall figure emerging from the shadows like a specter. The man approached, his dark hair like a raven's wing under the streetlights, his silver eyes reflecting the city's glow.

My pulse quickened, the previous night's encounter flashing vividly in my mind. He moved with an assurance that dwarfed even Drew's imposing presence.

"Been waiting for you," he said, his tone rich with amusement as he positioned himself between me and Drew, the latter's grip still lingering on my arm.

"Problem here?" he asked, his smile never reaching his eyes as he stared down Drew.

Drew’s grip slackened, an involuntary response to his commanding presence. 

"We’re having a private conversation," Drew growled, his attempt at authority sounding frail in the charged air between us.

"Private? Out here?" his laugh was a rich, dark sound that seemed to dance mockingly around us. "Seems quite public to me."

"Who the hell are you?" Drew’s question cut through the moment, sharp and pointed.

I stepped from behind his imposing figure, my mind whirring as I tried to remember a name I’d never been given. Then it came, not a memory but a voice inside my head, clear as day yet foreign in its intimacy. 

It’s Argento.

"Argento," I said aloud, surprised by the confidence in my voice, "this is Detective Drew. He's investigating Iris's disappearance."

"Ah, Iris," Argento mused, turning to Drew with feigned concern, "A distressing situation indeed."

His eyes, those intense silver orbs, found mine, and within them danced a spark of mischief. Leaning slightly forward, he posed his question like a casual afterthought. 

"Is that the necklace you got from the market last week? It looks good on you."

"Y-Yes," I replied, nodding, though my voice was barely above a whisper.

"Well, we should go," Argento announced, spinning back toward Drew with finality. "Gabriella and I have a date."

Before Drew could anchor us with more questions, Argento’s hand closed around mine. He led me away, guiding me into the velvet embrace of the night, leaving Drew behind to grapple with the shadows and secrets clinging to the edges of the truth.