𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ― k. hargreeves

⤿ two

"Dan, why did you call me?" She glanced up from her lap, feeling embarrassed for bringing him here in the middle of the night. She huffed in attempt to resist that regret, he was her friend, after all, and she wanted someone to talk about this. Besides, he was the perfect person, even if he hadn't earned the officer title, that did not prevent him from fighting for what he believed was right. And he was damn good accomplishing it.

"Please, you sounded so desperate on the phone. I need to know so I can help you."

Unsure whether it was a boost of assurance or just not caring anymore, she looked straight into his warm eyes. "Remember I told you I never met my parents. That I went from orphanage to orphanage until I found a family," she watched closely as he nodded along, genuinely recalling what she talked about. "Well, I might have found a lead on what happened to them," she took a piece of paper from her red jacket and opened it, revealing the crucial segment of this newspaper, a brief article to be exact.

"This could say I fucking hate you, and I wouldn't know 'cause it's in goddamn french, Dan."

She rolled her eyes and snatched the old sheet from his fingers, sighing at her ignorant move. "A woman around her thirties was found dead," she explained, astonishing her friend who did not know she spoke the language. He hastily scanned the paper for any written translation but there was not a single note, so he just attended to her voice. "The woman was found lifeless at the Jardins du Tocadéro, by a marriage and their kid. So far, the sole information forensics revealed was the factor of death and time; she would have passed while giving birth, from pain and blood loss. The baby is still to be found. Her identity is yet to be discovered. So far, it hasn't matched with any European citizen."

"Wait," she stopped, tucking the article back in her coat pocket, waiting for him to finish. "How do you know that this has to do with your parents? It's just an article and many kids are born on the same day. . ." he trailed off, finding himself lost in his thoughts, as he always did whenever some enigma was introduced to him. "Lemme see the date―"

Dan didn't take the article out because she remembered every element about it. "It was published on October second of nineteen eighty-nine. The day after I was born." She analyzed his expression, he seemed irritated about something, making her thoughts blame herself. Perhaps he saw this gathering as pointless, a stupid hunch, but then she discovered he was gaping over her shoulder. Completely oblivious to their conversation.

Turning around, she saw three men take cautious strides towards the backyard of a house, guns in their hands. He wanted to move and detain them, and honestly, by now she had given up on his assistance. "It's okay, go after them, Diego."

"I'll be right back," he announced, squeezing her shoulders before sprinting to his car, stance shifting as he approached the vehicle, getting closer to those criminals. Dan watched as he took a small bag from the passenger seat and swung it over his shoulder, pursuing the men's tracks, enveloped by the murky shades created by the pale moonlight.