Then, the birds took flight.

  A sudden, rhythmic thrumming of wings erupted from the nearby eaves, a frantic departure that signaled a shift in the atmosphere. Kazou’s smile didn’t drop; it froze. He felt the hair on his arms rise before he heard a single footstep. He glanced over his shoulder, and the warmth of the afternoon vanished, replaced by an icy, hollow weight in his gut.

  Shadows stretched across the cobbles—tactical gear, the dull matte of assault rifles, the collective, rhythmic thud of heavy boots. Kazou’s breath hitched, sticking in a throat gone bone-dry.

  They weren't just police. They were a wall of black tactical nylon and cold glass visors. Five, ten, a dozen—fanning out in a practiced pincer movement that turned the picturesque canal street into a kill box. The sunlight caught the matte barrels of submachine guns, leveled with terrifying, impersonal precision.

  "What—?" Kazou’s voice cracked, the sound lost in the sudden, heavy silence.

  Bram’s small fingers curled instinctively into Kazou’s sleeve, bunching the fabric. The child looked up, his eyes wide and glassy with a new kind of terror

  "Mister...?"

  "Don't move, Bram," Kazou breathed, his mind racing through a thousand exits that weren't there.

  "Dr. Kazou Kuroda!" a voice boomed, amplified by a megaphone that turned the human voice into a distorted, metallic growl. "Hands in the air! Do not move!"

  The circle tightened. The officers moved with a predatory grace, their boots clicking against the stones like a countdown. Before Kazou could even process the command, the line broke. A lead officer lunged forward with a violence that felt personal. He didn't just grab Bram; he tore him away, dragging the shrieking child behind a ballistic shield as if Kazou were a ticking bomb.

  "W-wait! No!" Bram’s scream tore through the air.

  "No! Stop! He’s just a child!" Kazou shouted, his body moving before his brain could veto the impulse. He reached out, his fingers inches from Bram’s jacket, but the world suddenly tilted.

  A heavy boot slammed into Kazou’s chest, the air exiting his lungs in a sickening whump. He hit the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing off the bricks. Stars danced in his vision. Before he could draw breath, a knee was driven into the small of his back, pinning him to the earth.

  "Stay down!"

  "What are you doing?!" Kazou wheezed, his cheek pressed into the grit of the street. "I was helping him! He fell! Check his bike—I’m not Kuroda! My name is Li Wei!"

  The half-lie felt like lead in his mouth.

  A pair of polished black shoes entered his field of vision. They stood out against the tactical boots of the arrest team—expensive, leather, untouched by the chaos. A shadow fell over Kazou, blocking out the sun.

  "The bike was a nice touch, Doctor," a voice purred. It was a voice Kazou knew better than his own heartbeat. Smooth as silk, cold as a scalpel. "But the performance is over."

  Casimir.

  Kazou’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  "You..."

  "Dr. Kazou Kuroda," the officer standing over him read from a laminated card, his voice mechanical. "You are under arrest for the cross-continent serial murders of fourteen individuals, and the attempted murder of three civilians in connection with the Wroclaw fire incident."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "I didn't do it!" Kazou roared, struggling against the weight on his spine. "He’s standing right there! Casimir! He’s the one! Look at him!"

  But when Kazou looked up, he didn't see Casimir. He saw what the police saw: a woman and her daughter, looking down at Kazou with a mixture of pity and professional disdain.

  I must look crazy...

  The handcuffs snapped shut, a double-click that sounded like the closing of a tomb. The metal was biting and cold.

  "You have the right to remain silent," the officer continued, hauling Kazou to his feet by the chain of the cuffs. Kazou winced, his shoulders groaning in their sockets.

  "Listen to me!" Kazou pleaded, his eyes searching the crowd of onlookers, searching for a single person who saw the truth. "He’s framing me! He’s been killing for years! All those people—he’s the one who fixed the evidence!"

  "Stop resisting," the officer barked, shoving him toward a black transport van parked at the edge of the canal.

  "NO!" Bram’s voice rose above the din again. The boy had broken away from the officer holding him, pointing a trembling finger at the scene. "You’re wrong! He’s a good man! He fixed my leg! He told me his name was Li Wei! He’s not a killer!"

  "Kid, go home," an officer growled, blocking the boy’s path. "Or we will call your mother."

  Kazou stopped. He forced his head up, meeting Bram’s tear-streaked face one last time. He saw the pure, unadulterated confusion in the child’s eyes, the moment a child realizes the world doesn't always make sense.

  Kazou didn't shout. He didn't beg. He simply gave a small, sad shake of his head and a ghostly smile.

  Run, Bram. Don't look back.

  The van doors opened like a hungry maw. Kazou was shoved inside, hitting the padded bench with a dull thud. The interior was a coffin of steel and mesh.

  Thump. The door shut. The light died.

  ***

  The drive was silent. The van lacked the frantic energy of a chase; there were no sirens. They didn't need them. They had their prize. Kazou sat between two officers who smelled of cheap tobacco and ironed wool. Through the wire mesh of the window, he watched Amsterdam slide by, a city of freedom and art, now just a collection of bars and shadows.

  The officer to his left, an older man with deep set-eyes, finally spoke.

  "Extreme precision," he muttered, shaking his head. "They said you were a scientist. I guess you just traded the microscope for something darker."

  "I didn't kill anyone," Kazou said. His voice was flat now, drained of panic, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

  "That's what the clever ones say," the officer replied. "You move from city to city, changing your name, leaving a trail of bodies that look like a chemistry textbook's entries. You think you're a god? Or just a scientist who ran out of lab rats?"

  Kazou turned his head to look at him.

  "If you were being hunted by police while the real killer could only be caught by you, would you stay in one place? I didn't run to escape justice. I ran to find the man who's actually holding the gun. But you've made it so easy for him."

  The driver’s eyes caught Kazou’s in the rearview mirror.

  "Ah... Detective Lisa told me about this... You’re talking about your 'shadow' again. The one the detectives mentioned in the brief. Casimir?"

  "He’s not a shadow," Kazou said. "He’s a mirror. He looks at you and sees exactly what you want to see. He’s the 'charming young man' the neighbors liked. He’s the 'brilliant student' who never missed a class. He doesn't leave fingerprints; he leaves a void, and he’s filled that void with me."

  The passenger officer scoffed, looking out at the rain that had started to smear the windshield.

  "Serial killers don't invent smarter killers to blame, Kuroda. It’s a bit cliché, don't you think? The 'Evil Twin' defense?"

  "He's not my twin," Kazou whispered. "He was created by me in the lab. He’s my masterpiece. Or I am his. I haven't figured out which one yet..."

  The van turned into the police precinct, the heavy iron gates groaning as they slid open. The station loomed like a fortress.

  "You saw the boy," Kazou said as the van slowed. "Bram. You saw how he looked at me. Does a monster stop to bandage a child’s knee in the middle of a manhunt? Wouldn't that be stupid of him to do?"

  The officer beside him finally looked Kazou in the eye. For a second, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.

  "Demons do all sorts of things to blend in, sir."

  The van came to a halt. The engine cut out, leaving only the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.

  "He’s still out there," Kazou said, his voice a low, haunting warning. "And now that you have me in here, he has no reason to stop. He’s going to keep killing, and every drop of blood will be on your hands because you chose the easy answer over the truth."

  The officer didn't respond. He just grabbed Kazou’s arm and pulled him toward the door.

  Kazou was pushed forward, the heavy doors of the precinct clicking shut behind him.

  The trap had finally snapped shut.