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"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.
"Christ," Rob muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the miniature effigies with a mix of anger and disbelief.
"This seems like a follow-up to the note he left at the hotel," Amelia noted sharply, her eyes narrowing as she reached for a pair of evidence gloves from her coat pocket. "He wants us to know who he's targeting, so he can make you feel powerless, Finn, if you fail."
Finn felt the pressure of responsibility bear down on him. "I'm sorry—this..." He gestured vaguely at the scene, words momentarily escaping him. "It's because of me that he's dragged you all into this."
"Stop that," Amelia cut in briskly, slipping on the gloves with practiced ease. "We knew what we were signing up for being part of this. Besides, I'm not some damsel in distress," she added with a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Still, maybe I should step away from the team." Finn's suggestion hung heavy between them, a specter of retreat. "Keep the danger to myself."
