shadow play

the first slip

The thrill of the evening's game was still with Karon when she left her apartment the next night. Jade was close—closer than anyone had ever been—and she savored the danger. But as she mentally replayed the last scene in the warehouse, a faint unease pricked at her thoughts. She'd gotten… careless. Too swept up in the act, too wrapped up in the excitement of his nearness. The small mark she left, almost imperceptible but still there, was a slip she couldn't afford.

Deciding it needed "correction," Karon set her sights on someone connected to the case. Barry Kent, a low-level criminal known to loiter near the warehouses and pawnshops on the city's outskirts, had been a potential loose end. Barry wasn't her typical victim—he wasn't close to innocent, but neither was he high-profile enough to justify much suspicion. But in her mind, Barry's role had shifted from mere witness to something more disposable. It was time to tie up this loose end.

---

The night was unusually silent as Karon stalked through the dimly lit backstreets near Barry's haunt. Shadows hung heavy over the abandoned alley, the occasional hum of passing cars distant and muted. She spotted Barry leaning against a wall, flicking a lighter as he muttered to himself. He looked up, startled, as she approached, his eyes narrowing in wary recognition.

"Officer Harry…" Barry's voice shook, the confidence he'd feigned dissipating instantly under her cold gaze. "Look, if this is about last time, I ain't seen nothin'—I swear!"

Karon tilted her head, an icy smile playing on her lips. "You're a liar, Barry. But you'll serve a purpose tonight." Without another word, she stepped forward, drawing a slender blade from her jacket.

Before Barry could react, she closed the distance, twisting his arm behind his back in one swift, brutal motion. He choked, a gasp of terror escaping his throat as the blade glinted in the dim light. She didn't rush; she wanted him to feel every twist of fear, each agonizing second.

The first slash was precise—a deep cut across his wrist, mirroring the mark she'd left on each of her victims. Barry's scream echoed in the narrow alleyway, cut short by her hand clamping down over his mouth. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers, and with a perverse satisfaction, she felt herself slipping into the rhythm of the kill.

But then, a sound—faint, but unmistakable. Footsteps. Karon froze, her grip on Barry loosening slightly as she turned. At the end of the alley, a woman's silhouette appeared, her face pale with shock as she took in the brutal scene unfolding before her. Karon's usual cold detachment wavered, and in that split second, a flash of something raw and furious ignited within her.

The woman opened her mouth to scream, but Karon's reaction was faster, more instinctive. She lunged, her hand reaching out to clamp over the woman's mouth, muffling the scream that struggled to escape. There was no calculating this time, no plan—just an explosion of brutal, uncontrollable rage. She slammed the woman against the wall, her hand tightening as her blade plunged deep, mercilessly carving into the innocent bystander who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Blood splattered across the wall, warm and thick, painting the bricks in chaotic patterns. Karon felt the woman's struggles weaken, her eyes widening with horror as the life faded from them. And yet, Karon didn't stop—she was caught in a savage rhythm, her breath coming in sharp, exhilarated gasps as her blade found its mark again and again. Only when the body slumped, lifeless, to the ground did she step back, breathing heavily, her pulse thrumming with a dark satisfaction.

Her own hands trembled slightly as she looked down at the two bodies, both marked in her unique way. The killing of the bystander had been unplanned, a breach of her carefully crafted control. But in a twisted way, she found herself relishing it. The woman had interrupted her art, and Karon had responded as any artist would—by eliminating the distraction.

---

Hours later, back in her apartment, Karon sat in silence, replaying the events in her mind. The woman's death lingered there, like a stain she couldn't erase. This kill was different, messier. Uncontrolled. But even as a faint unease gnawed at her, she felt exhilarated by the spontaneity, the blood-streaked brutality of it all.

But Jade would notice. He would see the shift, the ferocity. The next morning, as she watched him pacing by the evidence board, she noted the way his eyes narrowed at the crime scene photos. He ran his fingers over the marks she'd left, his expression unreadable. He wasn't piecing it together yet—but the clues were building, the gaps narrowing.

For now, Karon played the part of a concerned detective, offering her usual calm, measured insights. But in the back of her mind, she savored the knowledge that her game was no longer bound by her rules alone. She'd made her first slip, and Jade was following close behind.

The thrill returned, sharper, more intoxicating than before. This time, the stakes had grown, and she could feel herself slipping deeper into the darkness she'd so carefully concealed. The game was evolving, and so was she—and Karon knew that Jade was running out of time to catch her.