Chapter 24 - 23: Tears That Taste Like Blood
A man sat in a leather chair, his posture relaxed but regal, as if carved into place. Blonde hair, neatly swept back. Blue eyes that shimmered like glass under moonlight. He could be considered handsome—aristocratic, even. The kind of face you’d see on magazine covers or political posters.
But beauty, as always, meant nothing when hollow.
The room was quiet. Dim. A low hum of electricity in the walls, the tick of an old grandfather clock in the corner.
Then the door creaked open.
A bald man in a crisp black suit stepped in, face blank, hands trembling just slightly as he clutched a folded report.
"Sir... I bring news," he said, voice barely steady. "It’s... about Victoria Ardent."
The blonde man stopped. Whatever he was doing—writing, perhaps, or sketching—his pen froze in his hand.
The suited man swallowed. "A body has been recovered. Female. Matching height and build. Her purse was found, and her necklace. Surveillance shows her walking onto the bridge alone."
There was silence.
Then, slowly, the pen fell from the blonde man’s hand and rolled off the table.
His hands trembled.