RED ROOM, WHITE GLOVES

The body from Willow’s Café was transferred to the hospital under unusual silence. No questions. Just a file marked “Natural Cardiac Arrest.”

But I’d seen too many clean deaths to believe this one. The man’s skin had tension under the ribs. Subtle bruising. A stitch that didn’t match emergency protocol.

So when they handed the autopsy over to me, I knew something was off.

I locked the door to the lab, dimmed the lights, and began carefully.

The moment I cut into the lower chest cavity, I froze.

The heart wasn’t ruptured. The lungs weren’t collapsed.

But the internal organs showed signs of pressure. There was trauma—controlled, deliberate. Blood vessels looked drained, but there was no pooling. Someone had taken the blood, not spilled it.

This wasn’t a heart attack. This was a staged scene.

I pulled my phone out and, hand steady, took photos—angles, tissue damage, even the faint stitch marks around the ribcage. Evidence… in secret.

Because if the system was already bought, then someone wanted this covered.

---

That evening, I returned to Willow’s Café like nothing was wrong.

Anon was already there, wiping the counter, a small hum on her lips. Her eyes lit up when she saw me—but just a little. The way she hides her softness makes me want to see it more.

“You’re late,” she said without looking at me.

“You’re always keeping time on me?” I teased.

She rolled her eyes, but this time, I caught her smiling before she turned away.

We sat at our usual spot. It was quiet—almost peaceful.

Then, for the first time, she opened up.

“I used to dream of being a detective,” she said, staring at her cup. “Solving things no one dared to touch… chasing killers no one could see.”

I leaned closer. “What stopped you?”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Life.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and I felt something twist in my chest.

“I still think you'd be good at it,” I said quietly. “You see things others miss.”

She glanced at me. “You really think so?”

I nodded. “I do. And if you want to study… I’ll help. You can learn under me. Stay close. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Something in her eyes shifted. Not just surprise. Hope.

It was the first time I saw that expression on her.

---

Somewhere else, far from their quiet warmth…

A red light flickers in a locked basement room.

A masked figure walks in slowly. Their white gloves are stained with faded red. The walls are covered with photos—crime scenes, candid shots, some old, some new.

In the center lies a table—cold, steel, surgical. Tools are arranged like ritual objects.

Pinned to the board, among torn sketches and bloodied rags, is a photo of the man from the café…

Next to it?

A new photo.

Anon and Ace, sitting across from each other, smiling.

A gloved hand reaches toward the image. A finger traces Anon’s face gently…

And then presses down—leaving a smear of red.

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