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"Appearances can be deceiving," Finn replied, his eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced vigilance before stepping out of the car.
As they approached, Rob emerged from the front door. His face was grim, etched with concern. "This isn't good, Finn," he said without any pleasantries. "You shouldn’t be staying here anymore. It's not safe. If you had been here..."
Finn met Rob's gaze squarely. "If Vilne wants to find me, I'd rather it be here than anywhere else," he asserted, his voice carrying the undertone of a man who had seen too much yet refused to back down. "I need to end this. If he comes to me, all the better. I'll prepare for it."
"Stubborn as ever," Rob muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. They all understood what was at stake.
They stepped inside, the warmth of the interior doing little to dispel the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Finn took in the familiar space, now tainted with the violation of his privacy. There was a tense energy in the air, like the electric buzz before lightning struck.
"Max Vilne is playing with you," Amelia observed, her hand hovering over the back of a chair as if touching something fragile. "He's taunting you, pulling you into his game."
"Then let's not disappoint him." Finn's jaw clenched, his mind racing through scenarios, each one more treacherous than the last.
"Look, mate," Rob began, clapping a hand on Finn's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. "We're in this together. But you shouldn't bring any unnecessary heat. You've got to think about the others—about Amelia."
"Do you think I'd ever want to put Amelia in danger?” Finn shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a brief hesitation that betrayed his deeper fears.
"Boys, I can take care of myself," Amelia interjected, her tone laced with both annoyance and assurance. "But Finn, if Vilne is targeting the places you frequent..."
"Then I’ll make sure this ends with me before he gets to anyone else," Finn interrupted, his resolve hardening. Inside, though, a tumultuous sea of concern threatened to drown him. This wasn't just about him anymore; the people he cared about were in Vilne's line of sight. And that was something he couldn't bear.
"Max Vilne doesn't play by the rules," Rob said, his voice low. "You know that better than anyone."
"Which is why we have to be two steps ahead," Finn replied, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room, every sense attuned to the unseen dangers that might still linger within these walls.
The three of them stood there, a trio bound by duty and the unspoken acknowledgment that whatever came next would test them in ways they couldn't yet foresee.
The cottage door creaked on its hinges, an ominous welcome that seemed to mock their intrusion. Stale air greeted them as they entered, the kind of silence that suffocated. Finn's gaze swept across the sitting room, his mind cataloging the placement of every cushion, the angle of each chair.
"Everything's just as I left it," Rob muttered, brows knotted in confusion. "Why break in and not take anything? It doesn’t make sense."
"Vilne never does anything without reason," Finn replied. His voice was steady, but inside, his thoughts churned like a stormy sea. He moved through the house methodically, eyes darting to corners, seeking the anomaly he knew must be there.
"Could just be intimidation, right?" Amelia's asked.
"Maybe. But that's an appetizer for Vilne." Finn approached the staircase, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. As he ascended, his ears strained for the sound of something amiss—the whisper of displaced air, the faintest scent of intruder. Nothing.
"Check the kitchen, Rob," Finn called over his shoulder before striding into the main bedroom. The bed, neatly made, looked undisturbed. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow that belied the cold knot in Finn's gut.
He reached the bedside and hesitated, a moment suspended in time. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lifted the pillow. There, nestled beneath, were three small figures—dolls, eerily precise in their detail.
"Amelia, Rob—up here," Finn's call was calm, but his pulse thrummed against his skin, adrenaline infusing his veins.
They gathered around him, and he held the dolls out for inspection, his fingers careful not to disturb them more than necessary. Each one was meticulously crafted, with features that bore a striking resemblance to those present—and one conspicuously absent.
"Damn it," Amelia breathed out, her eyes flicking from the dolls to Finn. “You were right. He's sending a message.”
"Seems like it," Finn conceded, his jaw set. These weren't mere toys; they were messages, threats woven in thread and porcelain.
"Let’s bag these up," Amelia said, her professionalism masking the unease that flickered in her gaze. "Forensics might find something we can use."
"Right." Finn nodded, though part of him wanted to fling the dolls into the fireplace, watch them melt away into nothingness. But he couldn't; they were evidence now, a tangible link to the twisted mind they were up against.
"Be thorough," he instructed, his eyes lingering on the dolls a moment longer before he turned away, already plotting their next move in this deadly game of cat and mouse.
The tableau before them was one of mock captivity: three small figures, each bound and gagged with meticulous care. One wore the unmistakable garb of British police, while another boasted fiery red locks, and the third, a mane as black as a raven's wing. The precision unnerved Finn; it was an invasion not just of his space but of their lives.
"Rob, Amelia, Demi," Finn stated, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to press upon the room's already thick atmosphere. He pointed to each doll in turn, the connection undeniable.
