Chapter Text
This was the location, Will thought with unease. This was the location of the bar in Greychapel where Lady Darcy went to procure information about Belladona. A hunt for someone she had mysteriously gotten herself intertwined with.
In their mutual arrangement and friendship, it was very clear that Lady Darcy had no intentions of getting in the way of Will's life or let him get in the way of hers; it was just so unnerving for him to think about how closely she had been treading with danger.
Had, Will thought, now this business has claimed her life like it claimed so many more.
Kym—bless her heart— had procured more suitable outfits for both of them to wander through the streets of Greychapel without Will standing out as a sore thumb in his expensive clothing. Her father's larger coat felt heavier on him with a debt of gratitude. What he would do without her, he did not know.
They both entered silently into the bar, finding it relatively empty save for the few passed out morning drinkers. The bartender eyed them suspiciously but went about his business wiping the table.
“How may I help you?” His voice sounded a practiced bore but his guard seemed up.
Kym took the lead to sit herself on one of the middle barstools, making an exaggerated thinking gesture. “Don't you have anything in watermelon?” She asked.
The bartender grunted, “I've served more exotic things, little lady. And for your partner?”
Will uncomfortably shifted himself onto a barstool beside her. “Anything will do, get me any beer or something.”
The bartender turned and picked up a heavy beer mug. As he was polishing it with his back turned to them, he grunted again, “If you have business with me, just state it. I hate you folk dallying around my bar.”
A tense knot in Will's chest loosened a little. “We're looking to inquire about a woman who was murdered. She came to your bar sometime ago, she had violet eyes and dark skin. Do you recall what she was looking for?”
“Or,” Kym continued, “Why was she looking for Belladona Davenport? Do you know in what way they were related?”
The bartender set a beer down with a dull thud and slid it across the counter toward Will. Without sparing them more than a passing glance, he reached beneath the bar and retrieved a martini glass, placing it carefully in front of him. He polished it with a cloth in slow, practiced motions before setting a neatly curled strip of watermelon rind on the small plate beside it.
Impressive, Will thought, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. He didn’t even blink at Kym’s request.
The man worked in silence, movements efficient and unhurried as he mixed the drink. The shaker rattled softly in his hands before he poured a chilled, pale pink liquid into the glass. When he was done, he slid it across the counter toward Kym.
“Neither of the ladies you’re asking about are our patrons,” the bartender said at last, his tone casual as he reached for another glass to wipe down. “But… the one with the violet eyes was here about a year ago. Asking about Belladona.” He paused briefly. “Seemed like she had a death wish, if you ask me. Not surprised the Scythe got to her.”
A cold weight settled deeper into Will’s chest. His fingers tightened instinctively against the edge of the bar until his knuckles turned white.
“Did she say why she was looking for Belladona?” Kym asked, idly twirling the strip of watermelon rind between her fingers, her tone light.
The bartender shook his head. “I don’t ask about Bella’s business. We don’t ask about anyone’s.” He wiped the rim of the glass with deliberate care before continuing, “But I might know where she is now. And it’s in all our best interests that you stop her.”
Will’s frown deepened and his voice sharpened. “Why is that in our best interest?” he asked. “And you do realize you’re sending us straight to our deaths if we cross the Golden Viper?”
The bartender let out a quiet sigh and leaned forward, bracing his hands against the counter between them. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a near whisper.
“The doctor treats people like us for free,” he said. “He’s a stubborn old bastard, but he’s ours.” His expression hardened slightly. “Belladona’s trying to force information out of him. He’s the only one who knows anything about the Purple Hyacinth’s whereabouts.”
Will’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he saw the same tension ripple through Kym beside him. The Purple Hyacinth, Lady Darcy’s killer. If Belladona was after him, then of course she would go this far—her farewell letter to Lady Darcy alone had made that clear.
Will’s hand curled into a fist against the counter. Just what had Lady Darcy been involved in to attract this kind of attention from the Phantom Scythe? Was it that easy to get to the Purple Hyacinth to enact justice?
The bartender reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded chit, sliding it across to Will.
“That’s all I can give you,” he said. “It’s where she’s holding the doctor. We can’t afford to lose him.”
Kym thanked the man on their behalf, her voice polite but brisk. Will fumbled coins out of his pocket to pay. Neither of them touched their drinks as they rose from their seats and headed for the door.
The walk outside was silent. Will unfolded the chit as they stepped into the street, scanning the address. A house only a few blocks away, far outside their precinct’s jurisdiction.
It didn’t matter. They had no choice.
Belladona was dangerous enough after escaping the Tower, but if she truly was on a rampage, more innocent lives would be at risk. Will didn't want her to kill anyone, not while they shared a common goal.
“We’re stepping into dangerous territory,” Kym said, matching his pace though he had increased his stride. “The Golden Viper won’t go down without a fight. And she’s not going to betray her colleague so easily.”
Will shook his head, his gaze fixed ahead. “She’s not trying to protect him—she’s trying to kill him. I don’t know what Lady Darcy was involved in, but she and the Golden Viper were close.” His voice hardened. “If anything, Belladona might lead us straight to the Purple Hyacinth.”
Kym stopped abruptly.
“Will…” Her voice remained unwavered but the concern was evident. “You’re not thinking of working with her, are you?”
He turned back to face her, unease settling heavily in his chest. The answer was already there, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He didn’t have a real plan—only a direction. Find Belladona. Convince her. Use whatever chance they had to bring the Purple Hyacinth to justice. What he hadn’t fully confronted until now was what that meant: working with an assassin. Possibly one of the most dangerous ones in the Phantom Scythe.
“Kym…” he began, struggling to find the right words. “March is a double agent. We don’t know who else in the precinct—or even the force—we can trust.” He exhaled slowly. “Belladona is focused on one thing right now. If we can’t fix everything… then we at least make sure we get justice for this.”
He searched her expression, trying to read what she was thinking. She had followed him this far despite the reckless decisions, due to a case tangled up in things far beyond their control.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, just as quickly, she snapped back to herself. Grabbing his arm, she tugged him forward, her energy suddenly returning.
“Well then,” she said, a determined spark in her voice, “we’d better hurry, Lieutenant.”
“Kym—wait! Ladell—!”
But she was already dragging him down the street, her pace unrelenting as they rushed toward whatever awaited them.
The Doctor's house had been broken into; the locks were shattered and the splintered wood door hanging loosely from its frame, creaking ominously as it swung back and forth in the wind. The air inside felt disturbed, wrong. Both officers instinctively placed their hands on their holsters, movements slow and deliberate, as they slipped through the doorway stealthily.
From somewhere deeper inside the house came the strangled, trembling voice of a man—likely the Doctor himself. “I’ll tell you where he lives now… just don’t tell Messenger IV about my—”
A sharp, resounding slap cut him off. The crack echoed through the hall, followed by a pained groan. Will and Kym exchanged a quick glance, their eyes locking in silent understanding, and nodded. Without a word, they moved down the hallway in perfect synchronization, measuring each step to drown the panic.
“Write it down,” a woman’s voice snapped coldly, every word laced with venom. “Write down his address. And don’t you even dare think you can warn him. Your precious little secret medical facility will be gone in minutes.”
A broken whimper followed, and then the soft rustle of cloth being loosened. The officers paused just outside the doorway, backs pressed lightly against the wall as they listened. A chair scraped harshly against the floor, legs dragging before hitting the wall with a dull thud.
“Here it is,” the man said weakly, voice shaking. “Now, please—”
“Shut up,” the woman hissed. Then, sharply, “You two behind the door.”
Will’s body went rigid, every muscle locking in place. Beside him, Kym’s head snapped up in shock, eyes widening.
“Show yourselves,” the voice continued, dangerously calm now. “Do you really think I’m some inexperienced nobody?”
Will moved first. He stepped into view, taking the lead. His gun was held firmly in one hand, while the other was raised in a cautious gesture of peace. “Belladona,” he said evenly, “we just want to talk.”
Belladona’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and piercing, then flicked to Kym just behind him. A slow, gleeful smile spread across her face. “You’re that boy,” she said, almost delighted. “The little cover-up she orchestrated to satisfy her family.” She let out an amused cackle.
“What are you here for?” she continued mockingly. “Wounded pride? Revenge?”
Will’s jaw tightened. He forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out edged. “Lady Darcy was a good friend of mine. I am here for revenge. You and I both want the Purple Hyacinth behind bars, do we not?”
Belladona laughed again, louder this time, the sound bordering on unhinged. “I don’t want him behind bars,” she said, her eyes gleaming with something wild. “I want him dead.”
An unsettling intensity overtook her features as she stepped closer, drawing her knife with a fluid motion. The blade caught the light as she advanced. “I’ll draw out his very last breaths,” she murmured, voice dark with promise. “Carve out his heart, force him to choke on his own remains. And his dear girl…” Her smile widened cruelly. “She’ll suffer the same fate as Neyra did—no, worse.”
“Hold on,” Kym cut in quickly, stepping forward. “That’s not what—”
“No,” Will interrupted firmly, not taking his eyes off Belladona. “Let’s make an agreement. We capture the Purple Hyacinth together. If we get to him first, we turn him in—he goes to the Tower. If you get to him first…” He hesitated only briefly. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t involve us in your… revenge. We only want the Hyacinth.”
Belladona stepped closer still, lifting her knife to trace its edge lightly along Will’s jaw. The cold metal lingered against his skin. “I suppose the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she said thoughtfully. “Fine. I’ll allow it.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “But if you get in my way… you’re dead.”
Will resisted the urge to glance back at Kym. He didn’t need to see her face to know exactly what expression she wore, maybe disapproval, concern, maybe even disbelief. He could feel it in the air between them. He could almost hear what his father would say, working with an assassin while wearing a badge. He wondered, briefly, if his father would react the same way he had when Rafael ran away.
Kym broke the tension first. With deliberate calm, she lowered her gun and slid it back into its holster. After a moment’s hesitation, Will followed suit.
“Put your knife down,” she told Belladona, her voice firm and unyielding.
Belladona’s gaze flicked toward her, uninterested but not entirely dismissive. After a brief pause, she complied, lowering the blade.
“Follow me, officers,” she said, pulling the hood of her cape over her head, shadowing her face. “We have somewhere to be. The Hyacinth’s abode won’t visit itself.”
They fell into step behind her, keeping several paces’ distance as she led them through the streets of Ardhalis. She moved with an ease that was almost unsettling—too natural, too confident for someone who had recently escaped prison. There was no hesitation in her stride, no fear in her posture.
Following Belladona felt wrong. Will couldn’t take his eyes off her, not even for a second. It felt as though she might vanish the moment he looked away, slipping into the shadows as if she had never been there at all. Worse still, he couldn’t read her, couldn’t begin to guess at her true intentions. Why had she agreed so easily? What game was she playing?
Making sure Belladona was far enough ahead, Will leaned slightly toward Kym, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “My plan is insane,” he murmured. “Don’t stay. Please. If something happens to you… I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
Kym reached over without hesitation, finding his hand and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. Something in Will’s chest eased at the contact.
“No,” she said simply.
Will turned to her sharply. “What do you mean, no? Kym, this is—”
She cut him off with a whine. “Oh, come on, Willame. You really think I’d let you do something this reckless without me? What kind of Sergeant would that make me?”
A quiet, relieved chuckle slipped from Will before he could stop it. Warmth crept into his chest, a familiar fondness that he couldn’t quite put into words. There was no adequate way to express how much he valued her—her loyalty, her steadiness, her refusal to walk away.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
But Kym had already turned her attention somewhere on the street.
Up ahead, Belladona’s head tilted ever so slightly, just enough to glance at them from the corner of her eye.
At least the unease wasn’t one-sided.