The door falls and Renata has her flashlight out. She scans it across the floor and the smell is God-awful.

There’s a bunch of plastic bags on the floor.

I don’t want to think about what fresh Hell we’ve stumbled across.

“OK. What are we looking for?” Gio manages to say before gagging.

“Serial killer.” Renata says.

“Holy shit-“

“Yup.”

“Do we have an ID on anyone?”

“Nope. I assume we’re looking for anyone in this place. Alive anyone.”

One of the bags moves.

“Fuck, hold on.” I say, crouching down.

It’s shaking.

There’s a person in there, gasping for air. I try to rip through it but it’s stretching and not tearing. So I’m clawing and grasping until a pink acrylic pierces through.

She’s crying.

Fair enough.

“Hello? Ma‘am? Can you hear me?” I say, tearing through the rest of the bag.

“Hi. Oh my God, hi.” She says in English. She’s from Manchester.

“She’s English.” I say, turning to the rest of the team. “I’ll stay here; Renata as well. You guys go.”

Gio and Sofia run off and Renata kneels next to me. I thank God that we are all friends, else no one would have known that I speak English. Or that Renata used to work in a trauma bay in Iraq.

It’s not professional, but it’ll work. For now.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Rachel. Plumber. You speak English? What’s yours?”

“Hi Rachel, my name is Lucia Mancini and I work with the NOCS, the tactical team. We are here to help you.” It sounds like I’m spouting off corporate bullshit but it seems to calm her down. And God my English is worse than I remember. “Do you know anything about what happened?”

“There was a guy.” She pauses a second. “There was a guy at the airport. He said he had a taxi. And then...I ended up here. And I was on a table...and he came up to me, so I screamed and scratched his eye. Then he stabbed me in the neck with something. And I ended up here.”

We better end up with critical shot on this man. Which means one of us has to get shot, but I’d take a bullet to kill this man.

“Do you know what he looked like?” I ask.

“He was tall. And he was brunette. His eyes were green.” My mind is making a picture and it looks a lot like Zac.

I can’t stop thinking.

Because I can’t breathe. And the room is getting smaller. And I can’t hear. And I can’t see.

“Lucia?” Renata asks me, before a sharp pain in my leg brings me back to reality.

“What?” I ask, suddenly back here, jolted by the bittersweet smell of blood and rot.

“You were having a panic attack.” Renata says, sliding her hairpin back into her bun, which is already falling apart from the five seconds it was insecure.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Can I get out of here?” Rachel asks.

“Yeah, God, sorry.” I say, grabbing her hand.

Renata clears her throat.

“Can you lie down? My colleague wants to check you’re ok. She used to be an army medic. Just till the backup arrives. OK?”

“OK. Thanks.” Rachel says as I help her down onto the floor and Renata turns her flashlight back on.

“Do you have any idea what he could’ve injected you with?” I ask.

“No. I assume tranquilliser.” Rachel says.

Renata looks at me, and I translate.

“IV tranquilliser. I assume benzodiazepines then.” Renata says, looking at the bump on Rachel’s neck, which looks a lot like a mosquito bite. “You’re OK, but you have blood everywhere. Following trauma procedure, I’m going to have to cut your trousers so I can see. OK?”

“OK.” Rachel says after I translate. “OK.” She sighs this time, and I’m suddenly reminded of every time I’ve ended up in hospital.

Then a gunshot goes off somewhere. Both our radios crackle.

“Shit. Lucia, can you do this? They need me.”

“OK. What the fuck do I do?” I say, now completely stressed.

But I’m not going to have another panic attack today.

“OK. The paramedics should be here anyways. If she’s bleeding bad, apply pressure, take the disinfectant and the dressing and explain to the paramedics. I don’t think it’s hit a blood vessel.” She says, pressing a med kit into my hands before sprinting off.

“What happened?” Rachel asks me.

“She had to go. I’m going to do this. But the paramedics will be here. Can you tell me anything about this man?”

“His name, he said was Pietro but he could be lying.” Rachel says as I slice into her leggings.

There are five deep slashes on her legs.

“Oh God.” She says.

“You’ll be OK. It hasn’t hit a blood vessel.” I say, not really knowing if it’s true or not.

But it’s not like she’s gushing blood, and that’s what Bella told me when I got stabbed, so I’m going to assume I’m right.

“He’s probably lost his eye. I gouged that thing out. Wait, that’s not assault is it?” She says, staring at her acrylics. One of them has blood crusted all around it.

“Self defence, no.”

“Good. There was a lady as well. She said her name was Katie. She was English, I think.”

“Did she do anything?”

“I heard high heels when I was in here, that’s what woke me up. And Pietro was talking to a lady called Katie.”

“She dumps the bags here?”

“I think.”

That’s when the paramedics burst in.

“Hi. This is Rachel. She’s English. She has some deep cuts. And we think she’s been drugged. Thanks.”

Rachel looks at me, before letting the paramedics wheel her away.

“Thanks, Lucia.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you at the station.”

“Bye”.

And it’s almost on cue that my radio buzzes.

“We have a lady. She says her name is Katya. But her licenses says Carolina Drummer, Victoria Heath and Ava Sunderland. We have her gun.”

“Thanks, Gio. I’m coming now.”

“We’re at the East Door. Backup’s here.”

“Great.” I say. “And I saw the other bags. Mostly all female. Mostly all British-looking.” I say, about to say chavvy, before realising Gio would have no clue what I was on about. “I think we have a serial killer here, textbook MO.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell the team.”

***

“So it was benzodiazepines then?”

“In Rachel’s system?”

“Yup. Rophlynol.”

“It’s always Rophnyol.”

“What?”

“It’s almost always Rophynol. Didn’t know it could be injected.”

“It’s commonly ingested, but it can be injected.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

The corridor smells like disinfectant and damp concrete. Lucia notices it before anything else. Not the officers moving in controlled bursts, not the low static of radios, not even Gio’s voice calling something down the hall. The smell. Clean layered over rot. It sticks to the back of her throat.

“Lucia,” Gio says, jerking his head toward a doorway. “We’ve got someone.”

Not a victim.

Someone.

That’s already wrong.

The room is small. Bare. A single metal chair bolted to the floor. A flickering fluorescent strip overhead that hums like it’s thinking about dying.

And in the chair—

A woman. Red dress, slightly creased, like she’s been sitting too long. Heels still on. Ankles crossed. Hands cuffed neatly in front of her.

Composed.

Too composed.

Lucia stops just inside the doorway.

The woman looks up.

And smiles. “Well,” she says, voice smooth, accent threading somewhere Eastern European but polished, deliberate. “You took your time.”

Lucia doesn’t move.

Gio frowns. “She’s been like this since we found her.”

“Like what?” Lucia asks quietly.

“Waiting,” he says.

The woman tilts her head, studying Lucia like she’s something on a shelf she’s been meaning to examine up close.

“You’re the one,” she says.

Lucia’s jaw tightens. “What one?”

“The one with the flashlight,” the woman replies lightly. “The one who went for the bags first.”

Lucia feels something cold slip down her spine.

“How do you know that?” she asks.

The woman’s smile widens just a fraction. “I hear things.”

Gio shifts beside her. “She’s calling herself Katya. But we’ve got three other IDs—Carolina Drummer, Victoria Heath, Ava Sunderland.”

“Four names,” Lucia says, eyes still on the woman. “That’s a lot.”

Katya shrugs elegantly, the cuffs clinking softly. “I get bored.”

Lucia steps further into the room now, slow, deliberate. She pulls out the chair opposite and sits, leaning forward just enough to close the space.

Up close, Katya is even more unsettling.

Her makeup is precise. Not a smear out of place. Her eyes are sharp, alert, tracking everything.

“Which one is real?” Lucia asks.

Katya smiles again. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

Katya considers that, tapping one manicured nail lightly against the metal of her cuff.

“I suppose,” she says, “that depends on who’s asking.”

Lucia doesn’t blink. “Lucia Mancini. NOCS.”

There’s a flicker.

Small.

But it’s there.

Katya leans back slightly, as far as the chair allows. “Lucia,” she repeats, tasting the name. “Pretty.”

Lucia’s stomach tightens. “You didn’t answer my question,” she says.

Katya’s gaze doesn’t leave her face. “No,” she says softly. “I didn’t. He said you’d be the one.”

The room seems to narrow. Gio shifts. “Who said?”

Katya doesn’t even glance at him. Her eyes stay locked on Lucia. “You know who,” she says.

Lucia’s pulse spikes. She forces it down. “Say it,” she says.

Katya’s lips curve. “Pietro.”

The name lands like a dropped glass.

Lucia keeps her face still. “What about him?” she asks.

Katya watches her closely now. Too closely. “He talks about you,” she says.

Lucia feels the ground tilt—just slightly. “That’s not possible,” she replies evenly.

Katya hums, like she’s enjoying a private joke. “Isn’t it?”

Gio steps forward. “Alright, enough games. Where is he?”

Katya finally looks at him.

And for the first time, there’s something like boredom in her expression.

“You’re not the one I need to talk to,” she says.

Gio’s jaw tightens. “You don’t get to choose—”

“He doesn’t like interruptions,” Katya says quietly. “It makes him impatient.”

Lucia’s fingers curl slightly against her knee. “You’re going to tell me everything you know,” she says.

Katya tilts her head. “Eventually,” she says. “Yes.”

“Now.”

Katya smiles again. “No.”

Lucia leans forward, voice dropping. “You were in that building,” she says. “You heard what was happening. You saw those women.”

Katya’s expression doesn’t change.

“Did you help him?” Lucia asks.

Katya shrugs. “I survived,” she says.

It’s not an answer.

And it’s exactly an answer.

Lucia studies her.

“You don’t look like someone who just survived,” she says.

“No?” she murmurs. “Careful,” she says softly. “That sounds like admiration.”

“It’s not,” Lucia replies.

“Pity, then?” Katya suggests.

Lucia doesn’t take the bait.

Katya lets out a quiet laugh.

“I like you,” she says.

Lucia doesn’t respond.

Katya leans forward as much as the cuffs allow, lowering her voice.

“He does too,” she whispers.

Lucia’s breath catches despite herself.

“You don’t know him,” she says.

Katya’s eyes gleam.

“Don’t I?”

A beat.

Then, softer:

“He remembers everything.”

Lucia’s heart stutters.

“That’s enough,” Gio snaps. “We’re done here.”

He steps forward, but Katya speaks again before he can move her.

“Ask her,” she says.

Lucia doesn’t move.

“Ask her about the ring,” Katya continues.

The air leaves Lucia’s lungs.

Gio frowns. “What ring?”

Katya sits back, smile returning, calm as ever.

“There it is,” she murmurs.

Lucia stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Interview’s over,” she says.

Gio looks between them. “Lucia—”

“Now.”

Gio hesitates, then nods to the officers at the door. They move in. Katya doesn’t resist as they uncuff her from the chair. As they pull her to her feet, she glances back at Lucia.

“You ran once,” she says softly.

Lucia freezes.

Katya’s gaze holds hers.

“You won’t this time.”