Duke didn't even grunt in response, nothing felt good about the afternoon not the day.

The afternoon sun cast a harsh glare on him, as if it wanted to burn away the part of him that chose Mitch over what was right. To strip him of every excuse he had left to justify Mitch's actions.

He clenched and unclenched his hands as he walked up to his cruiser.

The steering wheel of the cruiser felt like lead in Duke’s hands. He didn't start the engine. Instead, he sat in the dim, flickering light of the precinct parking lot, watching the heat rise up from the asphalt, the sunlight bouncing off cars into his eyes. 

He didn't know how long time had passed but all of a sudden it was drizzling. A poor miserable attempt to drive away the heat. 

It looked like tears on the face of a man who had forgotten how to cry.

In the passenger seat sat a manila folder. It was thin, containing only a few grainy stills from a neighbour's Ring camera and a redacted dispatch report from the break in at Noah Ware’s apartment.

Duke didn’t need to open it again. 

The car.

The silhouette in the photos; the aggressive stance, the way the man held his shoulders, even the specific, frantic way he handled a lock, was as familiar to Duke as his own reflection.

It was Mitch.

It was twenty years of brotherhood, of shared cigarettes behind the station, of covering each other’s backs in alleys where the law didn't go.

The stressful yet painfully nostalgic days at the police academy and the long, boring afternoons on traffic control. 

Memories that once grounded him. Now, it felt like a liability that tasted like copper in Duke's mouth.

Sharp and bitter.

He reached for the ignition but paused, his thumb tracing the worn leather of his holster. 

The badge on his chest felt unnaturally heavy and hot to touch, an anchor dragging him into a sea of "what-ifs." 

If he reported the vehicle sighting, Mitch was done. Internal Affairs would tear him apart before the sun came up.

But if he didn't... if he let his partner spiral into whatever "ancestral" madness he was currently screaming about, he'll be letting him spiral into his doom. Knowing Mitch, won't stop till he's proven right... Or dead.

He closed his eyes, and for a second, he could hear Mitch’s voice from that afternoon, jagged, high-pitched, and terrified. 

"They are in me! They are inside my skin!!"

Duke finally turned the key. The engine coughed to life, a low, mechanical growl that offered no comfort.

He wasn't going to the precinct captain. He was going to Mitch’s house.

He was going to find out if his partner had truly lost his marbles, or if they were both just waiting for the floor to drop out from under them.

The city moved rapidly as it's citizens rushed to get to their destination or take cover out of fear of the rain that was increasing its pressure by the minute.

The little road side stores hurriedly shut its open windows as the city rapidly cleared up. 

The gloomy air didn't help Duke's state, he quite honestly preferred the scorching hot sun.

The strong stench of coffee and donuts in the car didn't help either. He hadn't noticed it before but now he needed something to focus on rather than the million possible outcomes of the conversation he's going to have with Mitch, it's all his nose could pick up.

The scanner hummed, cracked and spoke in the background. On a normal day, it's the soundtrack of his life, filled him with a sense of duty. 

But today, the sounds annoyed him. Compared to his current state of mind what ever was going on right now felt small compared to the rot he's heading to.

Duke turned onto Mitch’s street, and the gloom of the drizzle seemed to deepen. The street lights buzzed and flickered as if welcoming him. 

Mitch’s house was a silent silhouette against the grey sky, looking more like a bunker than a home. The grass was long enough to hide a dog in, and the porch light, usually a welcoming yellow, was dead.

Gone was the meticulously maintained mini garden. Trampled upon, the footprints glaring.

Duke stepped out of the cruiser, the wet pavement hissing under his boots.

The entire block was eerily quiet and Mitch's house felt like the hotspot. Depressed and abandoned.

Duke felt exposed, like a target. He walked up the path, his eyes scanning the windows for movement, for a glint of a barrel or a pair of bloodshot eyes. He found neither.

He didn't knock. He couldn't bear the thought of Mitch not answering.

He slid his old spare key into the lock. It resisted for a second, as if the house itself was trying to keep the truth inside. Then, with a dull click, the door swung open.

The smell hit him first. It was the smell of a man who had forgotten how to exist. Stale air, cold coffee, and the sharp, chemical tang of a bottle of bleach that had been tipped over and left to soak into the hardwood.

"Mitch?" Duke’s voice was a low rasp, barely a whisper. "Are you in here man?"

The sound of things falling over on top of each other rang from deep inside the house followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

Mitch ran out from a room in the back, a book and a pistol in hand. 

When he saw Duke, his tense shoulders relaxed and he smiled widely and walked up to Duke "Duke, thank Christ it's you. I need to show you something ASAP"

Duke took a big step back and Mitch noticed and stopped "What the hell happened to you Mitch?!?"

His eyes were hollow, ringed with shadows that no amount of light could touch. His skin looked dry, almost brittle, marred by raw, uneven scratches he never seemed aware of making.

Every so often, his fingers twitched toward his arms again, as if something beneath his skin demanded to be let out. This wasn’t the same man who once stood firm and steady, this was what remained after something inside him had started to corrode him from the inside.

Once, he’d been the kind of man people trusted without question. Strict, steady, quietly warm. 

Now he looked no different than a druggie.

Noticing the look in Duke's eyes, Mitch became defensive, anger clouding his reasoning "What the fck is that supposed to mean? Huh? Are you looking down on me now?!"

Spit flying everywhere, he walked forward and slammed the book he was holding onto Duke's chest "I've found it!. I've found what that fcking nǝgro used to hex me!!"

Duke's hand shook as he grabbed the book. It looked nothing more than an old antique book. 

When he opened it the could barely read it's contents as the writing had faded away due to time.

Looked up from the book to Mitch who was smiling at him with expectation and shook his head lightly . He dropped he book on the table by the door and softened his voice,

"Hey, how about you drop the gün and we get out of this shit hole and go to a hospital, huh?"

Mitch shoved and punched Duke hard "You think I'm crazy too huh?!? Can't you see the fcking symbols?!??!"

At this moment Duke's patience ran out, "What fcking symbols?! It's just an old dusty book! The fck are you doing with it?!? Did you steal it from them?!? Huh?! Answer me for fcks sake!!"

"Get out"

"Huh?"

"GET THE FCK OUT OF MY HOUSE"

The door slammed shut violently after Duke was pushed out onto the porch. 

The rain had grown heavier, now hammering hard onto everything.

Duke felt lost.

Meanwhile inside Duke's car, the radio lit up and a voice called out 

“Dispatch, we’ve got a confirmed DOA at a bar. Requesting backup.”