Chapter Text
There certainly are more enjoyable ways to start a Saturday.
Maggie tugs her beanie further down over her ears. It isn’t uncomfortably cold, but the drizzling rain turns every well-meaning stroke of air into a sting against her skin.
OA doesn’t seem to share her sentiment. The way he’s slightly pulling up his shoulders, is the only indication that the weather has any effect on him at all.
He lifts the barrier tape for the both of them, so they can pass through.
“You guys are with the FBI?”
The man who approached them seemed to be in his fifties, the lines on his face accentuated by the way he scrunches it against the rain.
“We are, I’m Agent Zidan, this is my partner Agent Bell.” The man introduces himself as Officer Warden and briefly shakes their hands. “We’ve been told you found the body of a kidnapping victim?”
The officer nods and gestures for them to follow him to the body, which is currently being photographed and inspected by police and FBI staff.
“His name is Zachary Summit,” Warden explains, as one of his colleagues hands him a bagged driver’s license. “He’s 43 years old, from Danbury, Connecticut. Department says he went missing six years ago.”
Warden holds the evidence bag out to Maggie. “He had this on him?” she asks and raises her eyebrows in surprise as she takes it.
“He did, along with his wallet. We found his ID, a few pennies and a business card, some place called Sutton’s Holiday Home.”
Sharing a look with OA, Maggie glances at the driver’s license and freezes, her face falling slightly in surprise.
“Whoever had him beat him up pretty badly,” Warden goes on, not noticing her reaction, and nods towards the body. “He’s got bruises on his wrists, ankles and his face and neck. Some older scars too. It might not be what killed him though, they say it could be drug-related. God knows what happened to him, the poor devil.”
Maggie looks up from the card and down at the body that once was Zachary Summit. A wave of nausea curls in her stomach, when she sees the real-life version of the man on the picture.
He’s on his front, his head turned towards them. The dark bruises on his wrist stand out starkly on his pallid skin. He’s wearing a light blue sweater and jeans, no shoes.
It’s his face that haunts her though. The bruises and the cuts on his cheek and lip indicate that he’s indeed been beaten and most likely choked, judging by the marks on his neck. His dull blue eyes stare at nothing, like they’re nothing more than marbles, and his dark hair shows a few graying strands. He looks an awful lot like...
“Oh, wow” Maggie hears OA mutter next to her and she can’t help but agree.
~ ○ ~
“Good Morning everyone, the weather calls for a day in bed, but that doesn’t mean we get to be lazy, so fill me in, what have we got?” Jubal says as a way of greeting and sets down his bag on the desk at the very front of the JOC, sipping at his coffee as he turns to look at the screens.
He stops in his tracks when he catches sight of their victim’s profile.
“The victim’s name is Zachary Elijah Summit, 43 years old, born and raised in Danbury, Connecticut, where he lived until he got kidnapped outside of his home on November 8th, 2018,” Elise starts, her voice a bit hesitant. “A jogger found his body in Central Park this morning. Apparently he’s been beaten up pretty badly shortly before his death, but the staff on the sceneassumes he died of an overdose. We’ll have to wait for a first examination and an autopsy to get a clearanswer though.”
Jubal listens to her as he tries to comprehend the picture in front of him. It’s the photograph from Zachary’s driver’s license, which they pulled from the system. The man that looks back at him looks more than just a little familiar.
Jubal turns around to look at Kelly and Elise and points at the screen, coffee forgotten in his hand. “Am I the only one who’s seeing this?”
“You’re not,” Elise answers, concern clear in her eyes and face. “They look very similar.”
“Similar? If I didn’t know better I’d say they’re related,” Jubal says, trying to process what this could imply, as he turns to look back at Zachary’s profile. “Where’s Scola?”
“He went to Fontaine, a village in Orange county,” Kelly informs him, nervously twirling a pen between his fingers. “The police found Zachary’s wallet in his back pocket. There was nothing in it outside of his driver’s license, some change and a business card for a holiday apartment. They send Scola there to talk to the owner.”
“Make sure he’s informed and tell him to be careful. Check every possible connection between Scola and Zachary Summit’s kidnapping, if there is any chance that this is not a coincidence I want to know immediately,” Jubal tells him, deciding that there’s no use in calling Scola back just to send someone else, especially since he’s probably already halfway there. Kelly nods and quickly reaches for the receiver of his phone.
Jubal anxiously taps his finger against the lid of his cup as he thinks, taking in the information they already have. Uneasesharply twists in his gut for a second when he notices that – on top of everything -Zachary Summit and Stuart almost share a birthday.This doesn’t look good. At all. Maybe he should call Scola back in after all…
“You said he had his wallet on him?” Jubal says after a moment, trying to shake his concerns, and turns to look at Elise, who seems to have been observing him. She nods and Jubal frowns, his tapping intensifying. “That’s unusual. Any regular kidnapper would have gotten rid of information like that. Burned or shredded it, take your pick. Why keep it?”
“As a trophy maybe?” Elise suggests, her hands tightly intertwined on her table. “Our culprit could be a serial offender.”
Jubal nods in thought. “Possibly. That’d raise more questions than it answers though.” The to-go cup makes a crinkling noise as Jubal grips it tighter, the liquid inside almost rising to the lid.
“I want more information ASAP, we need answers, especially if there might be more victims. And talk to the people in Danbury, I want everything they got on this case.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Crime scene pictures just came in,” Kelly informs him, holding the receiver of the phone to his shoulder as he throws the pictures up onto the screens.
Jubal turns to look at them and feels a bit of coffee spill down his fingers from how tight he’s holding his cup at the sight of the bruises on Zachary Summit’s face, which is both familiar and foreign at the same time. The lack of life in his eyes makes a heavy feeling settle into his gut.
Against all odds - and the fact that he does not believe in coincidences - he prays that this is one.
~ ○ ~ ○ ~ ○ ~ ○ ~
Notes:
Hello and welcome to what I hope will be the first multi-chapter fic I actually finish. In a fandom I'm rather new in no less. Basically this fic is brought to you by everyone who's been diligently publishing new works in the Scola tag over the past few months, Was very motivating to see.
I've been working on this fic for half a year now (first in my head then on pixel) and we're looking at roughly 30k+ words right now (I'm about halfway done I think) so... yeah we'll see how it goes. For now I'll try to update once a day, with what I got that'll hold us over until Christmas and depending on how much writing I get done in the meantime I'll have to take a hiatus, but we'll see.
I'm kind of nervous and I had to bend logic and characters to my will a little (or i think i did) to make this make sense to me, but I hope it still works.I'll put in warnings at the end notes of the chapters where it's necessary (I debated not to but i'd feel bad if i didn't), apart from that anyone who has a concern about the tags of the story can just say the word and I'll add or change it.
That should be all for now, I hope you'll enjoy it somewhat. The first real chapter (which means its about twice the length of this one) will go up later today, so if you're here before that, stay tuned. Other than that I hope everyone has a great day (or night) and may we all enjoy the Christmas special.
See ya!
Chapter Text
Scola hangs up the phone and runs a hand over his face.
It’s absurd, really, he thinks as he looks down at the picture he’s been send. He lets his eyes wander to his reflection in the side view mirror and then back to Zachary Summit’s face on his phone. He can’t deny that they look alike. Zachary might be a few years younger in the picture, but the resemblance is still evident.
Scola swipes to the left to look at the photographs that were taken at the crime scene. It’s weirdly unsettling, to see a man that looks so much like himself dead and beaten on the ground. He understands why he should be concerned about his well-being now.
After a moment Scola takes a deep breath, puts the phone into sleep mode and gets out of the car. There is nothing that comes to mind, that could tie him to Zachary Summit. Outside of his physical appearance and the fact that they almost share a birthday, they don’t even seem to have much in common. It’s weird and unsettling, but there’s no real evidence of a threat.
Trying to shake the concern from his mind for now, Scola pulls on his leather gloves and approaches the Sutton’s property. It consists of a white two story building, which is probably the Suttons’ own home, and a yellow one story building, which looks like it’s recently been renovated – most likely the advertised holiday apartment.
Scola makes his way up the stairs towards the house’s entrance and rings the doorbell. As he waits for someone to open, he carefully avoids looking at his reflection in the glass of the door, not too keen to see his own face at the moment.
Dull steps sound from inside the house and he takes a look inside after all, peering past his faint form and at the woman, who stops in the short hallway that leads to the door the moment she sees him.
“Good Morning, Mrs. Sutton,” he greets her, assuming she can at least somewhat hear him through the glass, and pulls his badge out from inside his coat to hold it up for her to see. “I’m Agent Scola with the FBI. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Mrs. Sutton hesitates for another moment, before she eventually shakes the taken aback expression off her face and walks up to the door to unlock it. She appears to be in her early sixties or late fifties. In her light blue woolen dress and with her gray hair pinned up, she looks like your typical next door neighbor.
“Excuse my hesitance, Agent Scola, people who come to visit us usually ring ahead,” she says with a smile and a tone that’s so soft that it almost rubs him the wrong way. Her blue eyes are wide and almost loving as she scans his face. It’s a bit weird and Scola just barely avoids frowning. “Why don’t you come inside?”
He tucks his badge back into its designated spot and lets his hands slide into the pockets of his coat as he follows her. The inside of the house is comfortably furnished; a few family pictures line the walls and the double doors in the kitchen allow one to look outside into a small garden.
“May I offer you anything? Coffee maybe?” Mrs. Sutton asks him as she passes him by to position herself behind the kitchen island.
“No, thank you. I’d just like to ask you a few questions,” Scola answers and reaches into his coat to show her Zachary’s picture. “Do you know this man?” he asks her and tries not to feel ridiculous, when he turns his phone around to show her the photograph they got from Zachary’s driver’s license.
Mrs. Sutton studies the photo for a moment, in which her eyes flicker between the screen and Scola’s face at least two times. He lightly grinds his teeth in discomfort.
“He does look familiar,” she says after a moment and moves to sit down on what he assumes is a stool on the other side of the counter, her expression turning slightly concerned. “Did something happen to him?” Mrs. Sutton continues and wraps her thin hands around a white cup in front of her. She must have been having breakfast when he rang the doorbell, if the empty bowl next to the open book in front of her is anything to go by.
“He’s dead,” Scola tells her and watches as her face falls in shock. “He was found in New York City this morning.”
“Oh lord,” she whispers, one of her hands coming up to hold onto a silvery cross pendant that dangles off of a chain he hadn’t notice until now. “That’s terrible, the poor boy,” she adds softly, rubbing the metal of the cross between her thumb and pointer finger.
“His name is Zachary Summit,” Scola goes on and carefully studies her face as he does so. Her eyes never leaves his face for more than two seconds, but she does seem genuinely upset. “He might have been here at some point in the last six years. We found one of your business cards in his wallet.” He shows her a picture of the slightly creased cardboard card the police had found in Zachary’s wallet.
Mrs. Sutton studies the card for a moment, her face still troubled. “That’s one of the older ones,” she says quietly. “You see, we changed the design a few times over the years,” she continues and looks at him again, her eyes tender. “Now that you mention it, I also remember the boy, Zachary. He was here some time ago in 2018, I’d say. I still remember, because my youngest daughter moved out that winter, shortly before he came to stay with us,” she tells him. It feels like her steel blue eyes are looking through his. Scola can’t quite tell if it’s because she’s lost in thought or because she actually might be trying to look into his soul.
“He was a nice boy, Zachary. He told my husband Paul he’d come back to help him paint the house some time in the summer,” she says, a hint of a soft smile plays at her lips for a moment, when she remembers the interaction. It fades as quickly as it appeared. “He never did,” she ends quietly, letting go of her necklace to wrap her hand around her cup once more.
She’s still looking right at him and while she does so with an almost gentle expression, Scola finds himself unsettled by it. He averts his eyes after a moment to turn his phone back off and slide it back into his coat. “He went missing that winter,” he explains to her as he does so. “On November 9th to be exact,” he continues and scans her face, which looks almost heartbroken at this piece of information.
“I know this is upsetting, Mrs. Sutton, but I need you to answer some more questions for me, okay?” Scola asks her gently, carefully letting her wide eyes catch his again. “Did Zachary ever mention anything weird? Did he feel watched? Threatened? Was he involved in anything suspicious?”
Mrs. Sutton instinctively shakes her head. “No, nothing like that,” she answers quietly and clearly distraught.
“Was there anyone else he talked to while he was here?”
She shakes her head. “No, no he… I don’t think he left the property while he was here. He only came to rest, you see. He said his parents didn’t expect him home for another day or two.” She looks down at her cup, looking almost sad. “He seemed like a good boy, Agent Scola. I can’t imagine, why someone would do something like this to him.”
Seeing that he most likely reached the end of the rope here, Scola nods. “Of course, Mrs. Sutton,” he says and produces a contact card from the inner pocket of his coat. “If you or your husband remember anything else, don’t hesitate to give us a call,” Scola tells her, his eyes wandering past her and out the kitchen window towards the yellow bungalow. “Is that the holiday apartment Zachary rented?”
Mrs. Sutton doesn’t answer him at first. She seems too focused on carefully taking the card from him, her eyes fixed on his gloved hand. Scola imagines that she holds her breath for a moment, when her fingertips nearly touch his as she does so. Ready to get out of Mrs. Sutton‘s presence as quickly as possible, he pushes his hands back into his pockets.
“It is,” she says after a moment and drags her eyes from the card in her hand back up to Scola, not even bothering to look out the window as well. “We completely refurbished it three years ago though, so I don’t think it’ll be of any use to your investigation. You are welcome to take a look at it, though. If you’d like.”
He really doesn’t, but he has to, just in case there might be any clue against all odds.
“Yeah I think I would,” he says, trying not to sound too strained.
Mrs. Sutton’s face lights up a little as he agrees and she gets up to open one of her kitchen drawers. “Let me give you one of our cards as well, while we’re still here,” she says and takes out a flat cardboard square to hand it to him. This card is indeed different than the one they found on Zachary. Firmer and a bit thicker, a pastel yellow instead of orange. “We changed numbers you see.” She says and pushes the drawer shut again.
“Thank you,” he says almost a bit too dryly and slides the card into his pocket.
“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Sutton says with a smile and puts a hand on his arm to guide him outside. It takes more self-control than he’d have expected not to pull a face at that. She seems to have gathered herself just fine after everything he just told her. “Maybe you should come by some time, you seem like a decent young man.”
Scola opens the door and extracts himself from her hold with what he hopes is a polite smile. “I’ll think about it,” he lies and nearly grimaces again at how delighted Mrs. Sutton looks when he says that. People try to flirt with him on the job every once in a while and they’d laugh about it together afterwards, but something about the way that woman looks at him…
“Wonderful, just remember to call ahead,” she tells him as she passes him by to lead him towards the bungalow, which seems to be uninhabited currently.
Scola closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before he follows her.
And here he’d thought seeing a dead look-alike of himself was going to be the most uncomfortable thing that’d happen to him today.
~ ○ ~
“Did Lydia Sutton give you any useful information?” Jubal asks Scola, who makes his way into the JOC with a cup in one and a piece of paper in the other hand. During his tour of the Suttons’ holiday apartment he’d developed a nagging headache, which he’s now trying to counter with strong and possibly overpriced coffee.
“She did, if you consider an exorbitant amount of renovation tips useful information,” Scola mutters and takes a sip of his coffee, letting the rich aroma linger on his tongue. “Outside of that she didn’t know much that I’d consider tangible, all I can give you is this,” he says and holds the paper out to Jubal. “It’s the receipt for Zachary Summit’s stay, apparently he booked the apartment for two nights, arrived early in the morning on November 3rd and left on November 5th -”
“Which is three days before his kidnapping,” Jubal says, eyes fixed on the receipt. Scola follows him as he goes on to give it to one of the analysts. “It is. But she says neither her nor her husband noticed anything suspicious. Zachary apparently spend most of his day there at the house or with them in the garden.”
“So you’re saying it’s a dead end?”
“It might be, there’s nothing else that sticks out besides the fact that she kept looking at me like…,” Scola grimaces and makes a vague hand gesture. “I don’t know, but it was creepy,” he says with an exasperated expression, before he lifts his cup to his lips once more.
“Maybe there aren’t that many handsome men in Fontaine,” Jubal suggests, causing Scola to huff in halfhearted amusement. “No, but seriously, you don’t think she’s involved?”
“I don’t see why she would be, she seemed genuinely upset when she heard about Zachary and there seems to be no motive. If there was any evidence in that house, it was destroyed when they renovated it,” Scola answers and throws a look at the JOC’s screens, trying not to look too hard at Zachary Summits photograph. “What about you guys? Any new leads?”
“We won’t know what killed him for sure until forensics finally gives us more info, but they assume it’s an overdose. We were also able to trace Zachary back to this northern Central Park entrance,” Jubal tells him and points his pen at one of the screens, where there’s a grainy freeze frame of Zachary entering the park. “At which he appeared around 1 am. He seems disoriented, keeps looking over his shoulder, which suggests that there might be somebody following him, but surprise, surprise, nobody shows up. Turns out he came out of this alleyway just across the street about two minutes earlier.” Jubal’s outstretched hand wanders from one grainy picture to another. “But how he got there? Nobody knows. He doesn’t show up on any other footage in the relative vicinity of that place. OA and Maggie are there right now to see if they can find anything or anyone that could give us a clue.”
Scola raises his eyebrows slightly as he listens. “So what, he appeared out of apparently nowhere after six years and just dropped dead? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, you can say that again,” Jubal mutters and rubs a hand over his face. “The only good news is that we haven’t found anything that could connect this to you, which of course, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re off the hook, but…”
“So my life is only mildly more threatened than usual, that’s reassuring,” Scola says dryly, his tone betraying the hint of relief he feels at the information. A smile tugs at his lips, when he feels the look Jubal throws his way in response. “Very funny, Stuart.”
“Jubal,” Kelly pipes up and they both turn their heads to look at him. “I just got a call from forensics, first findings confirm that Zachary died of a morphine overdose. They also found several cuts on his arms and thighs,” he says and transfers a few pictures onto the screens at the front of the room.
“Some of them are more recent, others seem to be several years old, but all of them were inflicted with the same kind of tool, a thin blade, possibly a scalpel. There are a few small burn scars on his palms and the marks on his wrists and ankles suggest that he’s been restrained, presumably with handcuffs. The bruises on his face and neck aren’t older than a day or two, there are older ones on his torso though.” Kelly’s voice sounds more and more strained with every new piece of information he lists. “And he has two tattoos that he apparently didn’t have when he went missing.”
It’s an eerie sight and not just because Zachary resembles him so much.
Some of the scars along his arms and thighs are white and completely healed, while others are still dark red or ringed with bruises. Most of them seem to bearranged with purpose, one methodically placed next to the other with equal spacing and depth.
The bruises in his chest, ribs and abdomen are already green and yellow while the ones on his face, neck and limbs are still red and blue, in some places almost purple. The colors stand out starkly against Zachary’s waxy skin in the clinical white light of the examination room in which the pictures were taken. If one didn’t know that they were looking at a corpse, they might confuse it with an abstract kind of painting.
And then there’s the tattoos. The first one appears to be a combination of the Alpha and Omega symbol. It’s placed perfectly centered on the back of Zachary’s neck, while the second tattoo sits on his ribs. On top of the green and yellow of his injuries, it reads: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35in a neat, darkfont.
The words leave a bitter taste in Scola’s mouth. And judging by the silence that took hold of the room the moment the pictures showed up on screen, he’s not the only one. They’ve definitely seen worse, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
“Looks like he was tortured,” Jubal points out after a moment, his voice slightly hoarse before he clears it. “Erm… what’s- what’s with the symbol, does that ring a bell with anyone?”
“It’s not used by any groups we know of,” Elise informs him, the clicking of her keyboard is loud in the relative silence of the room until the world seems to start spinning again. “The symbol itself is relatively popular among Christians, because it symbolizes the eternity of God.”
“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End,” Scola mutters under his breath and finds that he seems to be unable to tear his eyes away from the pictures of Zachary’s injured body. He can feel Jubal staring at him from his right. “What?” he asks when he glances away after all, just to be met with a pair of raised eyebrows. “I know things.”
“And it never ceases to amaze me,” Jubal says and pats his shoulder, before he turns to talk to the room again. “Okay guys, as it appears our perpetrator systematically tortured our victim over the span of his captivity and marked him with religious symbols and scripture, what does that tell us?”
“Many religiously motivated perpetrators view themselves as an extension of God. Maybe Zachary depicted behaviors or characteristics, that his captor viewed as sinful and therefore punishable,” Elise suggests, her face seems a bit pale. This case is going to mess with all of their heads, he can already tell.
Jubal nods and twirls his pen between his fingers in thought. “Good call, any other ideas?”
“The quote is weird isn’t it?”, Scola says and throws the words on the screen another look. “Everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. It almost seems to imply that this was done out of affection.”
“Maybe it was,” Elise proposes thoughtfully and he looks at her curiously. “If Zachary was kept by the same person for the last six years, it would be plausible to believe that whoever had him held some kind of affection for him, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe he had a stalker,” Scola mutters and glances at Jubal, who frowns in thought.
“Thatmight explain why they kept his ID and wallet, the perpetrator could have collected things that belonged to him,” Kelly chimes in and leans back in his chair.
“Yeah, and if there actually is a religious aspect to their obsession, they might have hurt Zachary to cleanse him of his sins. To… save him from damnation, maybe,” Elise continues quietly. “It’s not unheard of.”
Jubal nods carefully, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “So we’re changing our working theory from serial offender to obsessive stalker with religious motives,” he sums up and glances back at Zachary’s profile. “Is there anyone in or outside of his former social circle who would fit that mold?”
“Not that we know of, butNew Haven could do some digging for us.”
“And we can talk to Zachary Summit’s parents.”
Jubal and Scola turn to look at Isobel, who just entered the JOC through the door behind them. “They just arrived from Danbury.”
Scola sets down his coffee cup on the table next to him to follow Isobel there, when she raises her hand to stop him. “Not you.”
It takes him a moment to understand why she would say that. His resemblance to their son might upset them. “Right,” he mutters and awkwardly picks his cup back up even though he lost his appetite the moment Zachary’s battered body appeared on screen.
“Why don’t you talk to the guys from New Haven and check in with Maggie and OA, see if they found something,” Jubal suggests, obviously attempting to somehow make him feel betterabout the situation.
Scola nods and turns to leave, just to be stopped by Isobel once more before he can pass her by. “Scola?”
“Yes?”
“I’m taking you out of the field until further notice.”
“What, why?” he asks and furrows his eyebrows. He understands, that he can’t talk to Zachary’s family, but he’s more than able to do fieldwork.
“There might be no proof of a connection between you and this case, but we are not taking any chances on this,” Isobel says, her expression stern. “You are to support the analysts and coordinate with Connecticut until we have this guy, am I clear?”
“Isobel, I really don’t think-”
“Am I clear?” she repeats with a bit more emphasis.
They end up staring at each other for a moment.
Scola can’t quite figure out why she’s so set on this. They’ve worked cases that were far more personal. There is no connection between him and Zachary or Zachary’s murder for that matter, at least not yet. And even if there was, he’d want to be out in the field and actually able to act when it counts. Not that he minds staying in but… he minds - maybe even a bit too much. It’s that part of him, that usually gets him in trouble, when he loses hold of it.
Not keen on being taken off the case completely - and because he knows that constant concerns for his safety (or him actively being targeted) would negatively influence their work in the field – Scola eventually averts his eyes and nods. Their collective safety and the case are more important than his ego. He has a family to get home to after all. “Crystal,” he answers her, not able to completely hide his initial discontent.
Isobel carefully scans his face for another moment, as if she’s trying to gauge if his statement can be trusted, and then nods as well. “Good.”
Scola grinds his teeth in disgruntlement and leaves to check in with Maggie and OA.
At the very least he’ll be able to be somewhat more accessible like this in case there’s a problem with Dougie;with Nina gone for what could turn into the whole of next week, that might turn out to be beneficial.
He tries not to think too much about Zachary Summit’s parents, who’re probably waiting in a conference room just around the corner for someone to ask them questions they’ve probably answered a dozen times at this point. Six years of uncertainty and now this.
Scola throws his cup – which is still filled with a sixth of cold coffee - into the nearest trash can, the ache in his neck picking up again as he keeps subconsciously grinding his teeth.
He can hardly wait to get home tonight.
~ ○ ~ ○ ~ ○ ~ ○ ~
Notes:
The second chapter as promised. I feel like I should add that English is my second (technically third but not really) language, so if some sentences sound weird, that's probably why. Thank you to everyone who's already been commenting! I hope I won't disappoint '^^
I'll see you tomorrow with some more build-up!
kobovi on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 08:33AM UTC
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StarlightWrittenInInk on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 06:13PM UTC
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FBIwatcher on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 04:19PM UTC
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StarlightWrittenInInk on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Dec 2025 06:13PM UTC
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