|XIII|

"Let's rush things up, shall we~?" Absinthe smirks at him, finger lightly touching the trigger, and Conan could see the very minute motion as the man moved to squeeze it—

"Karasu naze naku no…?"

A sharp crank, followed by the song's ever-familiar tune even with the orgel version, echoed in the room. Breaking the tension…

…and Absinthe makes a noise that's part groan and part moan of disappointment—and he's pulling away to fish his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumb against the screen and putting it against his ear to respond almost grumpily.

"Yes…?" he drawls, like a spoiled child that's been called away from his game—and with his antics earlier, he might as well be.

Conan heaves a sigh he hadn't noticed he's been holding—eyeing the man's odd posture. The man was standing straight, shoulders squared, but something looked odd with it—as if he was more used to slouch.

"Yes, I'm with him right now… yes, I just got rid of—what? Yes, of course… who do you think I a—of course…" Conan then shifts his torso—careful not to jostle his leg, lest he catches his attention, while still keeping the man in his peripherals.

Once more testing the leather binds around his wrists, then the ones around his left leg—but of course, there was no way he couldn't accidentally move his injured leg that felt awfully numb and stung at times—that wasn't all, it also felt like the soreness and numbness was crawling all over it.

Risking a glance at his leg, he blinks in confusion.

Was it adrenaline…? He wonders, shifting his injured leg—and his suspicion is confirmed, some of the numbness and the pain had gone away.

Almost like…

…

Bourbon watches with a small sense of fascination and interest—it was the first time he saw Vermouth so… unhinged. Her long hair had long since been pulled into a ragged high pony-tail, face seemingly twisted in a permanent scowl. As she pushed folders and papers after papers into a large office box, covering it the moment they're almost full—to not obstruct the handle's function. And like the other boxes (the first one filled with some random objects, while the second one also held a bunch of papers like the third) Vermouth plops it on the couch next to him. Where she dragged and pushed him onto—claiming he was in the way.

Then she's speeding off, grabbing a large duffel bag this time. And he hears more clatter from the next room.

He was debating whether or not to check the contents of the papers in the boxes, as it was right next to him, surely Vermouth knew just how much of a curiosity-ridden man he is?

He had just about made a quick decision; just a tiny peak really wouldn't be noticeable—not with how frazzled Vermouth is—

When his phone buzzes in his pocket, checking to see if she was still occupied he draws his phone out of his pocket to tap on the code and to open the notification.

It was Kazami.

His eyes widened.

…

Vermouth knew that she was likely getting ahead of herself here, there was no guarantee that her hopeful prediction would come true—however it can't hurt to make sure, right?

She knew the chances were low, it always has been, and as much as she didn't want to subject him to it—if it had to be done. She had to do it.

It was for his safety.

For him, she'd do anything, He, on the other hand, can rot in hell for all she cared.

Shaking the thoughts off, she grabs the other packs of fresh clothing and pushes those inside the bag, a glance at the other things in the room, she makes a split-second decision to include those. Her phone vibrates, taking a glance she hums.

"Let's hope you know what you're doing…" she whispers before she selects some files in her phone to send it to her contact.

With Absinthe on the move, she knew she couldn't do much—He would be way too invested in this. And despite her mortality rate—or the lack thereof—she could operate better under His radar.

And if she's under His radar.

So would He.

(And that was a chance and opportunity she couldn't risk.

It was still too risky as of now.)

…

Kir tenses as she feels her phone vibrate for a second, looking around she lurks behind a closet and checking her phone for the notification, only to feel every single one of her veins freeze at the message content.

Forcing herself to relax, a new goal in mind she navigates her phone tapping hastily on the keyboard. Just as she was about to send a message—she freezes, hearing a step accompanied by a heavy presence behind her.

"And just what are you doing here, Kir?"

…

Araide Tomoaki had just gotten off his work shift, when two FBI agents that had escorted him for the better part of the week when that criminal apparently disguised herself as him, appeared in front of him.

"Is something the matter?" he asks in a low voice as the two agents got close enough—and he sees the pinched expressions on their face. Something must have happened.

"A code has been activated… and Jodie called for you." Tomoaki can't help but blink at that. He knew from their small interactions that Jodie had a form of trust in him, but to actually call for him when a code has been activated? (Likely, a serious situation too.)

Whether it's for his doctor's expertise or protection, he can't help but wonder again, what happened. Looking around warily—after that woman disguised and stole his identity, he has been twitchy for a while—finding nothing odd, he nods to disguise an anxious swallow.

"Okay." and he allows himself to be dragged off, and if these men weren't who they say they are…

As he follows, he tucks his hands in his jacket's pockets. Hand wrapping around the disguised stun gun Jodie had given to him, while the other wrapped around his phone—inputting the code Jodie said would alert her.

Just in case.

…

"Oi, look at this…" hearing his trusted partner's gruff voice, he turns and looks at the phone the other man held over his shoulder.

"Hmm… let's see, let's see? What do you guys have here?" he pauses, reading the message. "Oh~? The Green Fairy…? In Japan?"

"This sounds bad." the man says offhandedly, and he agrees.

"Yes, it does… indeed. Looks like we have our next destination." he watches with a tinge of amusement, as even if the man had huffed, he knows the other was just as worried as he is.

After all, it has been a while since they last talked.

…

Rumi smiles as timidly and as meekly as possible, while the children bustled around her. However, one could easily sense the unease around the class. Especially with two iconic and popular second graders missing.

(After a while of teaching as an assistant teacher, the principal had given her the class 2-B. Same faces as 1-B.)

She watches as the famed Detective Boys glanced at the empty seats—and she has seen them contacting each other and attempting to contact the two absentees. Sending them worried texts, and she had the pleasure of overhearing their theories during lunch. And though they showed some thinly veiled annoyance at the theory of the other two members being involved in another case they were left out of.

However, of course, they already know their friends enough, especially one Edogawa Conan's penchant for attracting trouble like a moth to a flame.

When the bell rang for dismissal, she dismisses the class—and as expected, she didn't even have to approach them. They approached her, voicing their concern.

"I haven't heard anything from their guardians… maybe ask them…?" she offers timidly, and they're discussing by themselves again.

While they're not looking her phone lights up in the desk divider—a message, she angles her head enough to read the content and allows a quirk of a smirk to form on her face, before wiping that back into her standard smile.

After all, the children were asking for her advice.

.-.

(Elsewhere, Wakita thumbs through his phone, just then a message comes in, tapping on it.

His eyes skim across the page, and slowly but certainly he smirks.)

…

"Mom!" Masumi slams the door shut of their hotel, as she rushes in.

"Great timing Masumi…" her mother says before she could say anything. "Pack up."

No, something happened! She just knows it! She needed to contact—

"No, mom, hold on a sec—" a stern glare stops her right in her tracks.

"No, Masumi… pack up." then her mother shows her the screen of her phone, and her eyes immediately latches on to that dreadful color—even without reading, she immediately knew the contents.

"Code Lost Boys has been activated. Pack up, Masumi… we need to move, now."

She could only nod, even though she felt like she was suffocating. Moving almost on autopilot as she does pack her thing, changing her clothes.

(And it was just like that time when she had a bad feeling and they received the updated from the FBI that the Organization had killed her brother.

But this time, she's reminded of the lurking shadows, the strange people closing in the Mouri family—the two empty seats in class, and the constantly empty seat on the class before.

Only two words echoed in her head.)

Not again…

…

"Tsk, everyone just wants to ruin my fun!" his thoughts cut off when Absinthe suddenly yells loudly next to him, as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. The man looks at him with a slightly deranged smile—

—He'd rather not see that on a face too much like his own, like his father, like—

"You got lucky." Absinthe suddenly says, with a whine and once more the man moves too fast—and suddenly he's holding a syringe gun, barrel pressed against his skin. And he only has the time to twitch but felt the ever-familiar sting of a needle pricking his skin.

As quick as he moved, he's pulling away, throwing the device in the nearby bin, and leaves the room.

He didn't take the dread with him though, it stayed persistently, growing. Also…

Lucky…?

Not even a minute later, a sharp sting courses through his veins, making his arm twitch. Spots filling his vision as his arm is enveloped in pain.

What in the hell did he—the world spins, and he nearly lurches but manages to stop, breathing deeply, and calming himself. When the next wave of pain courses through, he tugs at the restraints he blinks when his right hand actually comes free.

The world may be blurry around the edges, but he has a chance.

(In the back of his mind, he can't help but worry.

Absinthe had moved quickly than what was considered normal, and some heavy feeling made itself known—

—was it really possible that he…?

If so, why?)

…

"… as of now, we know nothing about Rum aside from—" James is cut off when a knock echoes in the room. Kuroda nods, and Kazami moves to open it. They all watched as the forensic officers drag in the evidence gathered from the scene earlier, including the NOC's murder.

The officers retreating as soon as they leave the zipped up bags they held on the table in front of the Superintendent, as the last officer puts down an all too familiar device—

Sonoko then suddenly perks up with a gasp and a wavering voice. She points at one of the items he held—making the officer stop.

"Isn't that…" they all looked and a new wave of dread washed over them.

In the confused officer's hand was a clear bag, held an all too familiar phone—battery removed, and a Detective Boys badge.

They had expected the phone to be broken (especially with how Haibara had thrown a fit on how she was unable to track it down), instead—

It was dreadfully intact.

|End|

(I have actually read some theories of Rumi not being a member of the Organization…? And that actually makes sense? (And I prefer it because her proximity to the children and two not-children unsettles and unnerves me—as much as I love the horror, and gore, there's just a line, okay? Okay, in fact, that line's actually more of a blur.)

But well, this fic was generated before I read that… and well, her current role is perfect for her… for how much she unsettles me… it. OwO

Goddamint, so many characters… but it must be done.

(I am not happy with the word count… I know, it's short… (I might have gotten too used to the DCMK Revision's sporadic word count.) but this chapter is stubborn, telling me that no, this is it… apparently. But I guess, there's a lot happening already.)

Also, who remembers when I updated weekly? Well, today is Monday, technically the "next week" of last week. So…

Until the next chapter

Adieu.

—DescriptivePessimism-DAA)