Chapter Text
Marm ran back to the alley with the shattered window, the one she had shot. Pulling out the mask and cloak from the loose board, she clipped the cape over her own shoulders, and placed the mask over her face. With a heavy breath, she climbed up the side of the building, catching her bearing on offset bricks, windowsills, and piping.
The middle was not alight like the slums were at this hour. From a distance, Marm could see those colorful lights that gave the slums so much personality.
That wasn’t where her eye was drawn, however. Time was something that was rapidly running out the longer Marm stood still. So she moved her feet, one foot going in front of the other, then again, and again. The walk turned into a sprint and suddenly she understood why Avid had called being the Skull Killer “freeing.” She made it to the rooftop nearest to the police station. Marm stole a few more minutes for a quick pace, before she jumped off of the side of the building, and landed harshly on the station’s roof.
“I’ll never understand how they do that.” She muttered, finding the open window she’d spotted earlier.
It was a slide down to the windowsill, either that, or a drop to catch herself. Marm opted for the latter, if she slid she would run the risk of getting spotted more easily. The movement was harsh on her shoulders, but her hands caught on the bearing.
“Seriously, Avid, what the hell.” She grunted, pulling herself onto the sill. Opening the window further, she slipped inside.
Luckily, it was only a door down from the chief’s office. The chief had no windows in his room, too dangerous, Marm supposed that what she was doing was, in fact, proving that mentality correct.
The door creaked loudly, made of some type of metal Marm didn’t recognize. The room was a mess, files stacked on top of each other, a stamp on its side atop the ink pad, and a bloodied knife in a plastic bag. Bingo.
Her heart was racing in her ears. Marm could hear the footsteps of cops, they sounded like screams and a gunshot. The gun on Marm’s person felt heavier than before. She rushed to grab the knife, briefly noting the files… And then pausing. Because she recognized the cause of death on the first file. Blood loss, dismemberment. The hit from a few days ago. Curiosity won out, even as she heard footsteps going by the room, they didn’t look inside.
Her heart pounded louder from where she stood, pressed between a filing cabinet and the wall.
She grabbed the top file, it was the hit. But it— it had the details on the trafficking, what a volunteer had reported from clear evidence. The file was unedited.
The file was unedited.
Avid had said it on the first day she’d met them, justice means nothing when you can buy your way out of it.
Another cop walked by the room, Marm pushed the bloodied knife in the bag beside the gun that was still on her person. Her hands trembled, footsteps that sounded like gunshots. She flipped through the next file, a noble found with a knife buried in his throat, the volunteer—Water, that was Water’s signature—had listed evidence that the noble had a history of killing servants in the same manner. The file was unedited. The next one beneath it, the one that had occurred before Marm had met Avid, every single one, on this side of the desk, hadn’t been edited.
Her heart pounded even louder, Marm’s eye went to the stamp. The chief’s stamp, the one he used to sign files off and send them to… The reporters, the newspapers, everyone who would send out the horrific details that the Skull Killer had killed another person.
She grabbed it, each press of ink against a file made her heart race further. She moved the files to the side with the checked ones. There was still a substantial stack, Marm had only stamped five.
The door creaked, Marm bolted, hiding between a shelf and another filing cabinet.
A cop walked in, no, a volunteer. They grabbed the files, pausing when they saw a flicker of movement, Marm’s breath caught in her throat. Then they left.
She waited until she couldn’t hear the scream gun shot steps, then she bolted back to the open window. The knife was still beside the gun. She heard the yells, just before she jumped out.
The chief screaming at a volunteer for “wasting his time on fabricated evidence.” They hadn’t run the tests, Marm hadn’t been too late, they didn’t have the DNA sample.
Avid was safe. For now.
She sprinted back into the alley, letting herself catch a singular breath. Marm then stashed the cloak and mask back into the loose wall. Adjusted her jacket so no one could see the knife or gun, and walked to the market.
Even still her heart pounded, every single person who walked by, whether they were silent, chatting, arguing, or not—all of them were screaming in Marm’s head. Shakily, silently, and painfully, Marm gathered the supplies she’d needed to buy, and checked out with a familiar vendor. She did not speak, her throat wouldn’t let a word escape.
Marm’s own footsteps turned to gun shots.
She made it back to the house, hands trembling around the bag in her hand. Avid was asleep, Water was sitting at the table.
“Marm.” Water stood,
“I’m fine,” Marm waved him off before he could ask, “The lines were long.” She lied, no one shopped at this hour.
“That’s not…” They took in a slow breath, “Do you have any idea what you’re—”
“Water,” Marm muttered, “I’m tired, it’s been a long day, can this please wait until morning.”
Water stood still for a moment, before nodding, “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Marm nodded, setting the bag down, and sitting next to Avid on the couch. She rested against the opposite end of the sofa. She’d clean the knife tomorrow, it was in a plastic bag in any case. And she couldn’t clean it with Water right there.
She fell asleep easily, it had been a long day.