For a few seconds he doesn’t understand where he is. His head hangs forward, chin touching his chest. Then he moves. The ropes tighten around his wrists as instinct kicks in.
He jerks against the chair, his breathing growing louder through his nose. His eyes slowly open. White. That’s the first thing he sees. The room around him is almost blindingly pale. Sterile. Smooth walls. The cold shine of metal tools resting neatly on a stainless steel table beside him.
He freezes. I stay in the shadowed corner, watching. Waiting. It doesn’t take long. His gaze drifts around the room until it finally lands on me. His eyes narrow, trying to focus. Trying to understand. Fear arrives slowly. His entire body tenses.
“Good evening, officer.”
My voice is calm. Almost polite.
Recognition flickers in his eyes. I’m not wearing a mask anymore. I want him to remember this face. It's the last that will ever truly matter to him.
His breathing speeds up, the sound of his panic filling the sterile silence of the room. I walk around him slowly, studying the way he strains against the restraints. I treat him like an exhibit in a museum of failures.
“You’re probably wondering where you are.”
He shakes his head violently, trying to speak through the silk tie stuffed in his mouth. Only muffled, desperate sounds escape.
I stop in front of him and crouch slightly so our eyes meet. Up close I can see the ugly purple swelling where my fist connected earlier.
“Let me clarify something first,” I say quietly, my tone conversational.
“This isn’t about me.”
I tilt my head, watching the terror glaze over his eyes.
“It’s about her.”
The moment I mention Madeline, something fundamental changes in his expression. Guilt? Or maybe just the raw, paralyzing fear that someone finally noticed what he was doing to her. I reach forward and rip the tie from his mouth. He gasps,sucking the cold, antiseptic air as if he's been underwater for a lifetime.
“What the hell is this?”
He rasps, his voice cracking.
“Do you know who I am? I’m a police officer—“
The laugh that leaves me is soft, almost melodic. It's the sound of a man who hasn't been afraid of a badge in a very long time.
“Yes. I know.”
I lean closer, resting my elbows casually on my knees as if we are just two friends having a normal conversation.
“You’ve heard about a certain case, haven’t you?”
I ask, my voice dropping an octave. His brows knit together, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots while his survival instincts scream at him to run.
“Bodies appearing where criminals used to breathe. Rich politicians, mafia bosses, and gang members simply… going missing. Evidence disappearing. Files going nowhere.”
I watch the realization crawl across his face like a physical stain. His skin turns a sickly shade of grey. Every officer in the city has heard the name, usually whispered in the locker rooms like a ghost story to keep them awake at night.
I whisper it for him anyway.
“The Arbiter.”
His pupils dilate until the color of his eyes is almost gone. He stops fighting the ropes. The bravado is dead, replaced by a hollow, soul-crushing silence.
“No…” he mutters, his voice trembling so hard it's barely audible.
I smile. Slowly.
