Crimson Ties

Hannah emerged hesitantly from the hallway, still wearing Vince's oversized button-up shirt. The hem brushed against her thighs, and despite her earlier embarrassment, the comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her toward the kitchen. The aroma mingled with the sizzle of something on the stove.

Vince stood at the counter, one hand flipping eggs in a pan while the other held a cup of coffee. He was dressed now, though his casual t-shirt and sweatpants made him look less like a stoic detective and more like a regular guy.

"Morning," he greeted without turning around, his voice steady but lighter than before.

"Morning," she said softly, sliding into the nearest chair.

He glanced back at her, his eyes briefly scanning her to ensure she was okay. "You look better. Hungry?"

She nodded, her stomach growling in betrayal. "I... yeah. Thanks."

He set a plate of eggs and toast in front of her before making his own. The table was simple, almost bare, but the act of sharing a meal felt strangely normal.

As they ate, Vince broke the silence. "So, what brought you to Maple Leaf Park that night?"

Hannah froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. The question sliced through her thoughts, pulling her back to the dark night and the letter that had promised relief from her problems.

She hesitated, looking down at her plate. "It was… a letter. Someone said they could help me."

Vince's brows furrowed. "Help you with what?"

She sighed, twirling her fork. "It's… my parents. They're always on my case about grades, about the academy, about everything. I just felt so… trapped. I thought…" Her voice wavered, and she took a breath. "I thought maybe someone really wanted to help."

Vince leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His gaze softened slightly. "Hannah, next time you get something like that, don't go alone. Bring someone. Call someone."

"I know," she muttered, a mix of guilt and frustration creeping into her voice. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's not about blaming you," he said firmly. "It's about keeping you safe."

The weight of his words lingered, and she nodded. "Thanks. For saving me. I mean it."

He smirked faintly, his usual sternness breaking for a moment. "Just doing my job."

Hannah smiled back, the air lightening a little. But then her mind drifted, and she spoke before thinking. "You don't seem like the type to just 'do the job.'"

Vince raised a brow, amused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You carried me through half the city, cooked me breakfast, and even made sure I didn't wake up in something embarrassing. Feels a little above and beyond."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Let's just say I have a habit of seeing things through."

As the conversation lulled, Vince excused himself for a moment. Hannah, left alone, glanced around the kitchen. Her gaze landed on the counter, where a small notebook lay open, filled with notes and a map. She leaned forward, reading snippets: "Patterns of abductions"… "Possible connection to..."

Her heart skipped a beat. This wasn't just about her.

Vince returned, noticing her focus. He gave her a look but didn't say anything, instead grabbing their plates to rinse them. "Your clothes should be dry by now," he said casually.

Hannah nodded, standing up. "Thanks."

After they finished breakfast, the atmosphere had settled into a calm rhythm. Hannah leaned back in her chair, absently toying with the small taser she'd found nearby. The device hummed faintly when she flicked it on and off, her curiosity overriding any lingering hesitation.

"Careful with that," Vince said without looking up, his tone more amused than reprimanding.

She smirked, holding it up like a trophy. "This is kind of cool. Does it really work?"

He raised a brow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the sink. "You want to test it and find out?"

Her grin faltered. "Maybe not."

She tilted her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I didn't see you use it before, though. Why not?"

Vince smirked faintly, shaking his head. "I never thought an investigation would turn into a fight against a 'gorilla'."

Hannah laughed, the sound light and genuine, breaking through the tension of the past day. "Fair point," she admitted, holding the taser up again as if it were some newfound treasure.

He walked over, taking it from her hand briefly to inspect it. "Here," he said, placing it back in her palm. "Keep it. You never know when you might need it."

Surprised, she stared at him. "You're just giving me this?"

"You were playing with it like a kid with a toy. Might as well put it to good use," he replied with a small shrug, his lips twitching in what might've been a faint smile.

She nodded, gripping the taser tighter, a strange mix of gratitude and unease settling in her chest.

Not long after, they stepped out into the crisp morning air. The city was waking up, the streets gradually filling with the hum of activity. Vince had insisted on driving her back to the Kensington Manor, her home, and despite her earlier reluctance, she was too tired to argue.

The car ride was quiet at first, the radio filling the silence with soft static. Hannah kept glancing at the taser in her lap, the reality of the past two days catching up to her.

"Thanks for everything," she said finally, her voice soft but genuine.

Vince gave her a slight nod, his usual stoic expression softening just a little. He followed her into the grand foyer of Kensington Manor, its marble floors gleaming under the light from an ornate chandelier. The air was thick with tension, and it didn't take long to understand why.

As Vince and Hannah stepped inside, the voices of an argument immediately reached them.

Margaret Kensington, a tall and graceful woman with sharp features softened by her age, had a controlled elegance that was now overshadowed by distress. Her usually immaculate auburn hair was slightly disheveled, and her violet eyes shone with frustration.

"This is on you, Charles!" she snapped, her tone icy but trembling beneath the surface. "You've been lying in bed with criminals, and look what it's brought us!"

Charles Kensington, in stark contrast to his wife, had a rounder build that lacked definition. He wasn't muscular but carried himself with a kind of affable energy that belied his years. His graying hair was thinning at the top, and a pair of square-rimmed glasses sat perched on his bulbous nose, giving him an air of a kindly scholar. Though slightly hunched, his movements carried a determined energy. His clothing—a simple vest and shirt, slightly wrinkled—hinted at practicality rather than flair.

"Margaret, you're being ridiculous," Charles retorted, his voice gruff. "You don't even know what you're talking about! If anyone's to blame, it's you for smothering her to the point she had to run!"

Margaret's eyes narrowed, her lips tightening. "Don't you dare shift the blame, Charles. If you weren't so caught up in your shady dealings—whatever little scraps I've heard of them—none of this would've happened!"

Charles flinched slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he quickly masked it with indignation. "That's enough!"

Their heated exchange came to an abrupt halt as Hannah's presence finally registered.

"Hannah!" Margaret's voice softened immediately, breaking the tension as she hurried forward. She grasped her daughter's face gently, her eyes searching for any sign of harm. "My baby, are you hurt? Let me see you!"

Charles followed more hesitantly, his gaze darting to Vince briefly before focusing on Hannah. "Pumpkin," he murmured, his voice deep and sincere. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mom, Dad," Hannah assured them, her voice soft. "I promise."

Margaret pulled her into an embrace, her hands trembling. "I was so scared, darling. So scared."

Charles rested a hand awkwardly on his daughter's shoulder, his own worry evident despite his gruff exterior. "We'll make sure this never happens again," he muttered.

Vince stood at the edge of the room, silently observing the scene. His sharp eyes flicked between Margaret's protective intensity and Charles's defensive posture, noting the underlying tension between them.

Charles turned toward Vince, his expression a mixture of gratitude and wariness. "Detective… thank you for bringing her back to us."

Margaret, still holding Hannah close, added coolly, "Yes. Thank you for ensuring she returned safely." Her tone was polite but carried an edge, as if her words were chosen carefully.

Vince nodded once. "Just doing my job," he said simply, his expression unreadable.

Hannah glanced back at Vince as her parents enveloped her in their concern. For the first time since the ordeal began, she felt a faint flicker of relief.

Vince drove back toward the Bog Bay Police Department, his mind whirring as he passed the empty streets. The conversation at Kensington Manor played in his head, Margaret's accusation echoing like a warning bell. "You've been lying in bed with criminals."

Margaret's words weren't direct enough to provide clarity, but they planted a seed of doubt. His gut told him there was more to Charles Kensington than the man was willing to share.

The clues added up as Vince had studied the man earlier. He was certain Charles had just returned from overseas.

Luggage by the door—luxury brand, well-worn edges but pristine zipper. Airline sticker still attached—Bog Bay. Flight within the last 48 hours. Fresh arrival. No time to unpack. Check.

Wrist—watch shifted. Tan line visible, stark contrast against the skin. Sun exposure, prolonged. Bog Bay? Impossible. Overcast for months. Tropical destination likely. Vacation? No. Business. Check.

Profession—pocket pen, VitaCell logo. Exclusive. Custom issue for senior staff. Documents spilling from the suitcase—diagrams, contracts, heavy pharmaceutical jargon. CEO involvement. Personal handling. Not ordinary. High stakes. Check.

Charles Kensington. Overseas, sun-drenched locale. Pharmaceuticals. VitaCell. It fits.

Pharmaceuticals, Vince mused. It wasn't uncommon for someone in that field to travel, especially someone high-ranking. But it left a lingering question: What kind of pharmaceutical work gets you tangled with criminals?

As he drove, his thoughts cycled through the name. Kensington, Kensington… why does that sound familiar?

The newspaper.

The article.

The miracle drug.

Then it hit him. He had read the name in a news article yesterday. He could almost picture it—a headline on the front page of The Coastal News:

"VitaCell Pharmaceuticals Unveils Groundbreaking Drug."

The article had been a glowing review of Charles Kensington's work as CEO of VitaCell Pharmaceuticals. The company had reportedly developed a revolutionary drug—Genetisyl—that could potentially regenerate damaged tissues and organs at a cellular level. The press had hailed it as a "miracle drug" that could change human history, offering hope to millions suffering from chronic illnesses and injuries.

The article went on to describe the significance of the breakthrough:

Genetisyl promised applications ranging from curing degenerative diseases to healing wounds that would otherwise require surgery. Clinical trials had shown unprecedented results, with patients recovering faster and more completely than ever documented. The company's stock had skyrocketed, making Charles one of the most talked-about figures in the medical world.

But Vince also remembered the article mentioning some controversies:

Ethical concerns surrounding the drug's long-term effects. The steep cost of production, which meant it might only be available to the wealthy. Rumors of intense corporate competition and potential industrial espionage.

Now, it made sense why Charles was at the center of attention—and possibly in danger. A drug like that wasn't just profitable; it was power.

As Vince pulled into the BBPD parking lot, he muttered to himself, "This just got a whole lot bigger." He cut the engine and stepped out, his mind already turning over the next steps. If Charles Kensington's work is tied to all this, then whoever's behind the kidnapping might not be done yet.