Except for the turtleneck, this pic really brings the vibes of this chapter!

'I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth

But if I do, it's you

Oh, it's you, they add up to'

*DOROTHY'S POV*

Saturday, November 10. My eyes traveled from the calendar Blade had carved on a piece of wood during a late August night to the closed door, my heart plummeting a little lower in the clutter of my guts.

Why did both the calendar and front door have to be on the way between the bathroom and the living room? And why did pregnancy have to make me pee every five minutes?

Who was I kidding? I shook my head, putting a hand over my small belly, as we both knew I didn't need to walk by the calendar to know it had been five days, five hours, and eleven minutes since Blade had left. It had been too long.

Of course, Spencer kept repeating me that it was normal and that it could take time to get this kind of information. Yet we were talking about my evil genie and Pete here; they weren't 'normal', and they should have had the answers by now. Blade should have been back – unless something had happened, and a lot could happen in five days, five hours, and eleven minutes. The what-ifs were ticking faster than the clock's hands in my head.

What if he'd got caught while trying to reach Pete? What if someone had recognized him wherever he could be staying? What if the cops had followed Pete? What if they hadn't found any name in Carrion's gang? What if all of this had already happened? I couldn't even know... And that were only the dreadful suppositions flashing in less than a minute.

It had still been five days, five hours, and eleven minutes, and neither the calendar, nor the door had moved. So knowing it was a staring contest I wouldn't win with my drooping eyelids, I forced my gaze away and went back to the living room. Though the reminders were as glaring there.

I didn't even try to glance in the direction of the clock, as its tick-tock echoing with the quiet lapping of the rain outside was already too loud, and I focused on the opposite corner.

Okay, the crime board filled with pieces of evidence about the Carrion's traffic wasn't the best distraction either, the pins and crossing strings resembling a lot to the sensations in my insides. But my attention was on something else... on the figure seated at the desk in front, who was slowly unraveling all those hidden links, and although it wasn't enough to loosen the tight knots in my stomach, the movements of his hand were filling my chest like the notepad under his pen, smoothly and powerfully, at least, until he stopped abruptly, turning to me.

"What is it?"

"Nothing..." I shook my head, realizing I was still standing by the door frame and joining Spencer by the desk. "You remind me of someone."

My fingers went to brush that crease between his eyebrows, the same that had been etched on Grandpa's features, even though Spencer's smoothed easily as he looked up at me, leaving only that well-known sparkle in his brown gaze.

"How is it going?" I pointed at his notepad, as if it wasn't obvious what I was talking about.

"I'm slowly getting there, I think."

That, in Spencer's language, meant he was there for some time already.

He'd been working almost non-stop – except for the time he'd spent cooking and reassuring me – since five days, five hours, and sixteen minutes, more actually, as he'd started the second we'd decided on the plan.

I'd seen him scribbling, staring ahead at the crime board, scanning every piece of evidence, reading through Grandpa's old articles, scribbling more, crossing out words, erasing, throwing papers away, sighing, shaking his head, running his fingers through his curls. But mostly, through it all, I'd recognized that sparkle in his chocolate eyes, and not even his frown could dim it.

When I pulled him to look at me with a finger under his chin, I was met with that shine of passion for writing and solving mysteries.

"Can I read it?"

Funny how I was the one trying for my best puppy expression, but as his teddy brown eyes widened, he was the one resembling a scared puppy, and he could have almost made me yield.

"I don't know... It's getting late, and you should go to sleep."

"I'm not tired." I winced, the prickling behind my eyes and the heaviness in my limbs making me rephrase it into a 'I don't wanna go to sleep', which pulled him a resigned sigh.

"Okay... only because it's you. But let's get comfortable on the couch, so you can at least rest a little." He softly kissed my belly, bringing me a tickle of laughter even through the fabric of my beige sweater, before he quickly stood up to install the blankets and cushions on the couch. Then, he would add a log or two to the fireplace.

It was starting to become a ritual, as we'd done the same for the past four nights: me, arguing that I didn't want to go to bed, and him, finding something to occupy my spinning thoughts while resting on the couch. Whether it was reading books, playing cards, or trying to learn how to play chess, it always ended with us falling asleep hours later, and then, I would wake up in cold sweat in my bed, a little more rested, but also haunted by nightmares.

I'd thought that the glimmer of hope that we'd lit up with the plan would have erased those, yet it was the contrary. The nightmares were becoming darker and more real, Douglas's decaying body chasing Blade through the streets of Subrose, and Kenneth's soulless gaze mocking me as he tore the baby from my hands, leaving me frozen to suffocate under heaps of white powder.

"You're cold, DD?" Spencer's warm eyes replaced the dreadful images as he tucked the blanket over my bare legs, and I focused on his touch through the woolen fabric and the baby bump under my palm to dispel the remaining goosebumps on my skin.

This was real; this was concrete, just like the notepad Spencer was holding tightly.

"No, I'm fine." Douglas was dead and buried, and we would never ever let Kenneth touch one hair of our baby; those were just nightmares. "Don't try to avoid it. You promised you would let me read."

"Okay, but I have to warn you, it isn't finished." He put the notebook in my hand, closing his eyes in a mix of fear and resignation, even if I could feel them observing me attentively as soon as I started reading.

'Why?'

"Billy always says titles have to be concise and striking," he explained from right above my shoulder.

'A wise man once told me every mystery starts with a 'why?', to understand the motives, reasonings, and thus, the consequences.'

A wise man had also told me those exact same words, and a quick glance at my left to Spencer's knowing smile confirmed that Grandpa's voice was living on in his memories too.

Spencer always had the words to my heart, and it was no different as they were already wrapping around my ribcage, constricting and expanding with every beat. I had to take a breath before the pressure could climb behind my eyes because there were more words to read.

'That's why I've decided to apply it to the current and biggest mystery around: Douglas Thornton's death.

While everyone is searching around for the supposed murderer, Dorothy Duncan, speculating about the reasons, I'm here, trying to understand everything from the beginning with this simple question: Why was he in the back courtyard of this bar in the first place?

The East side of Subrose is pretty far from the city hall and the fancy golf club of his neighborhood, and not only in distance. Most of the customers of this bar are gang members, who are there for illegal activities. It isn't a place for an honor citizen and future politician.

Maybe he'd got lost, you will tell me. That's the first thought that has come to my mind too. But several witnesses attested it wasn't the first time he'd stepped into that bar. So why would he come back again and again in this kind of place? To see a friend? A lover maybe?

I've dug deep to find the why, and the answer has led me to a mystery greater than I could have ever imagined...'

"I have to change the 'supposed'. It sounds a little biased, and I don't want people to guess I'm on your side and discredit us."

I jumped as the sound of Spencer's voice brought me out of the article, and I needed a few seconds to catch the breath I'd been holding and blink my eyes at the man beside me, as if I was seeing him for the first time.

With his messed curls, the shadow of his stubble, and the ink stains from the tip of his fingers to the rolled sleeves of his khaki cardigan, he looked more like a hermit writer living in the woods than the 'great Spencer' everyone knew. Yet it fitted him, and for me, that shine in his eyes made him even greater. Besides, I still recognized the humbleness in the chocolate shades and that expression as the corners of his nose lifted slightly.

"I know it's not that good..."

Yes, it was still my Spen.

"You're right. It isn't 'that good'." I nodded, not even trying to hold back my smile, but his gaze was already set too low to notice. "It's better than that. It's fantastic! Amazing! Captivating!"

"DD..." He shook his head, peering up at me from under his eyebrows as I continued,

"It's one of the best articles I've ever read." And I'd read a lot in my young life. I had high standards, and I wasn't easy to please. "Actually, I only know one better writer."

"DD, I think you're a little biased too." He laughed lightly as he'd caught exactly at whom I was hinting, and a crimson hue followed my compliment up his neck. "You've read only a few sentences. It's presuming a lot– 'presumed', that's it! It's more formal and neutral than 'supposed'."

It was my turn to let out a laugh as he raised a finger in the air, pulling a pen out of his pocket the next second like a real weapon. He'd found his calling, and for me, the warmth was trailing to my chest as I watched him correcting and scribbling on his notepad.

"See, you're talented, and I know what I'm saying. Grandpa would have loved how you're building the suspense to catch the readers since the first sentences." So much that I'd forgotten for an instant that this story was about us too and that I already knew the ending as I'd been holding my breath for the next words, which I still hadn't read.

"And now, I wanna read the rest!" I added, trying to reach for the notebook, but he was quick to put it away behind his back.

"No, I'd rather you're left with this good impression then, because the rest isn't finished."

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes, and instead, I opted for smarter arguments, batting my lashes and leaning closer. "Come on, Spen, please."

"If you ask so nicely..." His lips parted to let out a sigh as I inched closer, but just when I was about to grab the notepad, he lifted his arm above his head, offering me a grin. "Tomorrow. It's getting late, and we should sleep."

Sometimes, I hated being around tall men, and being so small. It would have been easier if I'd been taller. Spencer wouldn't be teasing me with his cheeky smile as I hopelessly tugged at his arm; I would have been able to reach the highest cupboards without any help, and I wouldn't have been the only suspect in Douglas's death.

But luckily, my evil genius brain was making up for it, and I was quick to react. Spencer could see I wasn't tired when I tackled him down, jumping on his lap to prevent him from moving, and with my belly on the frontline, I knew he wouldn't retaliate.

"Surrender now!"

"Be careful, DD," he huffed something that sounded a lot like a laugh, as even if I was straddling his laying figure, I couldn't reach the notepad in his extended hand, and with his other hand, he was already trying to hold me back gently.

Yet I wasn't one to give up. "Come on, please... Spencyyy!"

"Oh no, not that name!" He shivered at the nickname my dear cousin had given him, and if I hadn't been too busy wriggling to grab the notebook, I surely would have burst out laughing in front of his look of horror. "That's a low blow."

It was, but it worked as my arm stretched to his, and nothing could prevent me from grasping the notepad, nothing except... a bang, a bang that echoed straight to my chest, a bang of a door shutting close, a door that had finally moved after five days, five hours, and 28 minutes.

"Blade?!" I breathed out when I caught sight of the tall and dark silhouette, the sigh of relief echoed by Spencer when I jumped off of him, and my determination was directed somewhere else than his precious notes, veering off towards Blade.

It was quite literal when my socks slid on the wooden floor, and Blade didn't get to comprehend what was coming to him: a shooting star at full speed. I was crashing into his hard chest before he could react, his muscles stiffening with the impact, though as soon as I hugged him, the tensions melted against me, his arms wrapping tight around my lower back.

"You're back home finally."

"I am..." He inhaled deeply like anyone walking back home after a long and tiring trip, except that it was in my messy curls as he buried his head there, and my feet were quickly swept off the floor when he tightened his embrace.

Again, a petite girl's problem, even if I wouldn't complain when I was clinging onto him and every detail that proved I wasn't dreaming: the leather of his jacket, the strong and uneven beats of his heart, and his scent: cigarette, rain, a hint of sweet, and what I guessed was gum, probably all the things he'd had on his journey.

"Did it go well?" If he was there, I supposed it had, yet I still felt acutely the faint twitch of his muscles before he put me down.

"Yeah, it did, and here too, apparently," he replied, and I was sure I caught an edge of sharp sarcasm in his tone, but my head was spinning too much to pinpoint it exactly as I found back the floor under me.

"Yes, Spen has almost finished the article, and from what I read, it'll cause a buzz." I let my gaze trail knowingly to Spencer, who was sitting on the couch again, the notepad still in his hands, and it was clear he wouldn't let it go anytime soon when Blade announced,

"Oh, by the way, Pete got us the new stock locations."

That meant more material for Spencer to finish his article, and also more evidence to back it up.

"I was right for the beltway, and there's a few more strategic spots in the area." Blade took a piece of paper, which I guessed was a map, out of the bag at his shoulder, throwing them on the coffee table and shrugging it off as if it was nothing. Yet it wasn't.

It was precious information, and I couldn't even imagine all the strings Pete had pulled to find it. He'd probably had to go back to his old gangster ways, the ones he'd left behind because of his painful story, and yet, he'd done all of this for Blade, for us. This made my chest shrivel, but at the same time, it also heightened the belief in my heart, and in between, I could feel more sparks of power arising.

We weren't alone in this, and it made our plan stronger and more concrete.

"It's amazing news! How's he doing by the way? And Meteorite?"

"They're good. The raccoon is missing us apparently," Blade chuckled, the light pop of his dimple making me realize it was his first smile since he'd arrived, though it didn't last long, as Spencer leaned forward to grab the papers and ask,

"That will really help, but did you get the names too?"

The question not only brought down the corners of Blade's smile; it also dropped a heavy seriousness in the air around, as it was the most important question, and on the answer, depended the whole plan. So when Blade's gaze flickered between Spencer, me, and my belly for a too-long second, I felt all my hope waver with it.

"I got one, a guy with holdup records."

I could have jumped at Blade's neck again, my heart already leaping forward when he added,

"But he's more than one inch taller than you."

"5'2?" Spencer asked, his voice sounding as unsure as I was, as I was left teetering between hope and despair, my heart falling back in the hole of my stomach and my hand just reaching for the paper Blade was holding out.

"5'3 on his ID, but the man's old, so I counted that he could've shrunk." Blade pointed at the paper, which I finally risked a glance at.

Jack Rogers, 58 years old, dark eyes, grizzled hair, bulky, was at the brothel like every Sunday, fucking Connie Myers, who got a payoff to not tell anyone.

It was all the basic information about the man I would accuse, the life I would sacrifice. I vaguely heard Spencer and Blade agree that the height difference should go unnoticed if Kenneth was out of the investigation, yet all my attention was on the paper and the blurry pic I caught on the verso. I couldn't make out more than what had been written on the other side, except for the fact that he looked scary, his wrinkles accentuating his glare on the photo.

But we couldn't judge a book by its cover. Anyone could have portrayed the same frightening picture of Blade, Pete, and even myself – Kenneth surely had already. However, it didn't tell if that man had children? A family counting on him? What had led him to those crimes? What was the life I would throw away with just a few words?

These were so many questions I would have never have the answers to.

"Shooting star, you okay?" The familiar voice pulled me out of my stare at the picture and back to the two pairs of eyes, which were easier to read with the worry dripping from icy blue to chocolate brown.

"You look pale. Maybe you should go to sleep. You haven't rested much these past–"

"No!" I cut Spencer off a little too sharply at the thought of going to bed with one more face to haunt my nightmares, and I shook my head to erase those images and bring colors back to my cheeks. "It's fine. The plan is going great, and we're all back here, so I'm more than fine."

It was the truth, and I put the paper away, as we would have time tomorrow and the days after to learn it by heart and deal with the reality of it all. But tonight, Blade was back, and I wanted to savor the simple sensations of being able to breathe without the air getting lost in the emptiness of my chest, and hearing the quietness without counting each maddening tick. It would surely be drowned out by their quarrels soon anyway, and yes, I'd been longing for that even... all of us reunited, with hope for the future, and...

"Oh, and we have pecan pie!"

That, too, I'd been yearning for, and my cravings were reawakening and sharpening now that most knots in my stomach had vanished.

"We've agreed you'll have the biggest slice, and I'll make us hot chocolate," I added, making Blade drop his bag and pulling him to the kitchen, though not without glancing at Spencer's lifted eyebrow. "Don't worry, I can at least warm up milk. You, finish your article because I'm coming to read the rest after."

"Only if you don't make another disaster!" he called after me, while I muttered a 'you burn the kitchen once, and pay for it all your life'.

Those words would have applied to other disasters I'd made actually, but at the moment, I was too focused on making the best hot chocolate, and also on the man beside me, his piercing gaze calling the attention of all my nerve-endings as he was observing me, and it was becoming hard to do something as simple as pouring the milk in the pan.

"You can take a part of the pie if you want. We've made it just for you– well, Spencer did, but I collected and cracked the pecans." I pointed to the covered plate on the table, with the pie fresh of the day, as I'd insisted for Spencer to make one in the hope that it would make Blade come back faster, and I'd been right apparently, even if he didn't look interested by the pie at this instant.

He barely threw it a glance, his only movement being the clench of his jaw, which appeared sharper with his five-day stubble.

"You must be hungry and tired after this long trip?"

"It's nothing. I've known worse before." He shrugged, the familiar words stopping my heart with the memories they called back.

The last time he'd said that, he'd been bleeding from a deep knife cut, and added to the fact that he hadn't added one of his famous innuendos, hinting – or blatantly stating – that he was craving 'cherry', it announced nothing good.

So I abandoned the milk, turning to face him fully and searching for a clue all over his tall silhouette because it was clear he wouldn't tell me. He'd been unusually quiet for the past minutes, maybe even since he'd arrived.

Yet he wasn't completely closed off either, as his gaze hadn't left me a second, staring at me with this enigmatic intensity as if he was trying to pierce a mystery, pierce me, except that tonight, he wasn't looking through my freckles, nor my stomach. It was in-between: my neck, or more exactly, my turtleneck, as the plushy woolen fabric was covering the whole skin there, and as the heat was rushing there under his gaze, it all clicked... the way he'd tensed at the mention of Spencer, the sarcasm in his tone when he'd asked how things had been going here, his penetrating stare at my neck, and... the moment he'd walked in.

The same way my heart had jumped at the instant I'd seen him, it dropped down at what he might have seen.

"There's no mark," I told him softly, taking a step closer to let his gaze focus on my earnest one rather than my neck, and what I glimpsed in the crystalline left me no doubt, even as his eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"What you caught when you arrived..." Spencer and I wriggling on the couch, with me straddling him. "It was nothing more than Spencer and I fighting for his paper."

"You don't have to explain. You can do whatev–"

"No, we said we were honest with each other, and it's the truth," I cut him off, my voice and my eyes as unwavering as his facade. "He didn't let me read the rest of his article, so I tackled him down."

"Tackled?" He cocked a dubious eyebrow, and I wasn't sure if it was a good sign, but at least, it was a movement in his sharp armor, and it spurred me to continue with the hint of a smile.

"Yes, tackled. You should see me when I play football. I never lose, and I was about to grab that paper when you arrived. Then I probably would have run to read it." Like I'd done so many times with our 'treasures' when we'd played fight, sometimes, even on that same couch.

That was surely why it had been so natural for me, and at that moment, I'd had no other thought than getting the article. Yet the same scene from Blade's point of view could have called back different memories... he, walking in on us, laying together. Added to the turtleneck I was coincidently wearing today, I couldn't even imagine what he'd felt, but the glossy crystalline I'd glimpsed in his eyes that heart-wrecking day, I would never bear seeing it again.

Just the waver of fragility in the clear expanse was threatening to swallow my whole heart.

"Nothing more... I would never do that to you... again, I promise." My voice cracked down to a whisper, the sound of it making me wince.

I wasn't good with words, and since he preferred actions, I used my fingers to show him, tugging down at my turtleneck.

"I can show you under my sweater, there's no hickey."

Yes, that definitely worked better than any promise, as his eyes lit up with attention, and he leaned down to peer closely, so closely that he could make sure there was no other mark than the few popping freckles, and he probably could even see the blood rushing up there, under his penetrating gaze.

"Um, okay, and for the rest?"

"The rest?" I repeated, unsure of what he was talking about, but when I met his eyes again, I found back my evil genie and... the bad intention shining in the blue shades.

"Yes, you said you can show me 'under your sweater'." His gaze trailed down my body, following the outlines of my oversized pullover slowly enough to make me aware of the fact that I wasn't wearing anything but this sweater, my white socks, and my underwear.

"What? No! I mean you can look– I can show you under the turtleneck. For the rest, you'll have to trust me, and the feeling in your guts– I mean..." As the words came out, I could already envision them getting twisted in that smirk of his, and I clamped my lips shut before his mischievous smile could widen more.

"Dorothea, I missed this cherry mouth of yours that should really be more careful about the words it let out."

"I missed you too." I smiled, poking that dimple that I'd missed so much too. My evil genie was fully back, and as I trailed around the mischievous indent, I even relished the prickling under my fingertips like the proof he was back after... "Five days, five hours, and 28 minutes... it was too long..."

Once more, I wasn't careful about the words slipping out. But he seemed too focused on the movements of his own fingers to notice, as he softly reached for my baby bump, exactly like I was doing it with his stubble, and even if I doubted it had changed much – except for a little excess of pecan pie – he caressed every inch of my stomach like a proof of the five days, five hours, 28 minutes...

"And 30 seconds." The words came out in a murmur, raspy and mindless, yet this time, it wasn't from my lips, and as they seeped under my skin, there was no way I would let them go.

"Did you count the seconds? Blade Sayer... you should really be more careful about the words you choose..."

The roles were reversed for once, and as I imitated his devilish grin, it was satisfying to watch his eyes widen and his mouth part for a second, although I was still more breathless than him as I waited for his answer.

"Did you?" His Cheshire cat's smile reappeared quicker than I could blink, flashing me the glint of bad intention I could never copy, and I didn't even try to hold back the words pushed out of my chest.

"Since we've said we were honest, then, yes, I counted the time, and I really missed you, my evil genie."

"I did too, Shooting star," he whispered like a secret.

However, before I could boast, tease him, or just savor the small confession, his smile twitched down, and the heat that had rushed through my blood with his bad intention disappeared as sharply as the grin did, leaving me frozen when the seriousness fell on his features.

"But if we're being honest, there's one thing I have to tell you– two actually."

CLIFFHANGER!! 🙈🙈 (If you saw my tiktok/insta reel with the new Taylor Swift song, you could have expected it 😉 It's me, hi, I'm the evil writer leaving you hanging on cliffhangers 😅)

More seriously, what do you think Blade has to say? 👀 Leave your suppositions in the comments!

Also, tell me if this chapter melted your heart! Whether you're team Dlade or Spenthy, you got lots of cuteness 😍

I hope you liked Spencer's article, and my writing too 😉 If so, don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment!

I love you my little Shooting stars, and I'll count the seconds until next week's chapter! 😅😘🌠💕