The Crimson Silence

Threads in the Shadow

Jake’s motorcycle roared through the quiet streets, the cool night air sharp against his face as his thoughts spun. Angela’s tears lingered in his mind like an ache, her broken expression haunting him as guilt settled heavily in his chest. He hadn’t meant to push her, hadn’t realized that Jonathan was still so raw a wound. But it was too late now. That moment was gone, and only the image of her shattered composure remained.

As he neared his apartment, he couldn’t bring himself to head straight home. Instead, he took a sudden turn, heading toward The C Spot. Parking his bike, he stood across the street, gazing at the shell of his café, the charred walls and shattered glass staring back at him like the eyes of an old friend, now gone. Memories flooded him—every late-night cleanup, every conversation shared over the counter, every sense of comfort it had offered him and others. It felt surreal, watching it in ruins.

He reached for his phone and dialed Lisa. Her voice picked up on the second ring, warm and familiar.

"Hey, Jake… everything alright?" Her tone was full of concern, yet she still sounded buoyant, hopeful, perhaps.

"I’m at the café," he said, the sadness slipping through in his voice. He was trying to keep it together, but it was hard.

"Jake… why are you there?" Her tone softened, laced with empathy.

He hesitated. "Just… a lot of things on my mind." He took a deep breath, glancing again at the ruins, the spark of an idea forming. "I was thinking about Cynthia’s offer… and I guess I’ll take it."

He could almost hear her smile. "That’s great, Jake! I know it’s hard, but maybe it’s time to start again. We’ll talk it over with Cynthia in the morning.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. "Yeah… tomorrow."

They said their goodnights, but even after he hung up, he remained rooted to the spot, staring at what remained of The C Spot. Finally, he turned, took a deep breath, and walked back to his bike. It was time to let go.

Jake arrived back at his apartment building, still caught up in his own thoughts. As he made his way to the lobby, he heard hurried footsteps echo behind him.

“Jacob… wait!”

Jake turned, surprised to see Toby, hurrying toward him, looking more anxious than usual.

"Hey, Toby. What’s going on?" Jake asked, trying to sound casual, but a hint of unease slipped into his tone.

"Few men came looking for you and your French friend." Toby’s voice was low and urgent, his eyes darting around. "When I started asking questions, they just took off."

Jake felt a ripple of tension. "Did they say anything?"

"No," Toby replied, shaking his head. "But they were speaking in French. I couldn’t understand most of it."

Jake’s mind raced, his stomach churning as he forced himself to shrug casually. "Thanks for letting me know, Toby."

He gave a tight nod and turned away, feeling the unease settle like a weight in his chest. He took the stairs to his apartment, his mind buzzing with questions. French men asking for him and Alexandra? It was only one more question in a growing list of mysteries.

Inside his apartment, the silence felt suffocating. He sank onto the couch, dialing Angela’s number without thinking. The line rang, then went to voicemail. He called again, only to be met with the same message. He took a shaky breath and left a message, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Hey… I’m really sorry, Angela. Um… please, just call me back.”

He hung up, pressing his hand to his eyes. The emptiness of his apartment felt unbearable tonight, like the shadows were waiting to close in around him. After a few minutes, he forced himself to get up, walking to his bedroom to wash up and change. Pouring himself a glass of scotch, he stepped out onto the balcony, the city lights stretching out before him like a sea of stars.

He took a long sip, the warmth of the drink calming him, but only just. Tonight, the city’s pulse felt different—more distant, as if he were watching it from a dream.

Back inside, he reached for the box Anna had left behind, the one that held so many questions. Turning it over in his hands, he searched for any clue, any detail he might have missed. Then, faintly etched along the edge, he spotted it: “You broke this.”

The words hit him hard, sparking a wave of confusion. It felt like an accusation, one that he couldn’t understand. What had he broken? What was Anna trying to tell him? Setting the box aside, he picked up the ring that had been inside. It was larger than Anna’s size, clearly meant for someone else. Another mystery, one that only seemed to add to the labyrinth forming around him.

Frustrated, he opened his laptop, pouring his thoughts into a poem for his blog. The words flowed easily, each line carrying a piece of his turmoil:

"Ghosts linger close, they shadow my tread,
Whispers of choices, of words left unsaid.
I reach for love, but it slips through my hand,
Fading like footprints in unsettled sand.

Eyes look back from mirrors of old,
Echoes of warmth now aching and cold.
What truth hides in the fog of regret?
How to forgive what I cannot forget?

Yet paths unknown still lie ahead,
Worn by doubt, but by hope fed.
I seek my way through questions and scars,
Guided by mysteries, lost among stars."

The weight of his own words felt oddly comforting, like he was releasing a part of himself he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. After posting it, he continued to scroll through his photo gallery, selecting images for the gala. Each photo held a memory, a part of his journey as a photographer, as an observer of life.

Eventually, he opened a folder labeled Anna, his eyes lingering on each image. There were shots of her laughing in a Parisian café, her silhouette against a New York sunset. Each one was filled with bittersweet nostalgia, a reminder of everything they’d shared.

One video caught his attention, taken at Anna and Alexandra’s home in France. It showed Anna moving through her home, the laughter of their voices filling the air. But something in the background caught his eye—two crossed knives etched on the wall, the unmistakable insignia of Artemis.

He stared, heart pounding as more questions took shape. What was Anna’s connection to this group? What secrets had she kept from him? The insignia felt like a warning, a glimpse into a world he was only beginning to understand.

Feeling overwhelmed, he closed the laptop, setting it aside as he lay back, exhaustion washing over him. His mind drifted to Alexandra—the only one left who might have the answers he needed. She was the only one who could help him unravel the mystery that had taken over his life.

As he closed his eyes, a single thought echoed in his mind, lingering like a whisper in the dark: he was closer to the truth than ever, but he was also closer to a danger he couldn’t yet see.