"Midnight Secret"

 

Chapter 1 — Shadows in the Cold

The wind howled outside Zane Faulkner’s apartment, rattling the frosted window panes like impatient fingers tapping for entry. Snow swirled under the dim glow of the street lamp, turning the street below into a ghostly white carpet. Inside, the air was warm, the fire crackling lazily in the corner — and Eli, wrapped in a blanket, was slouched on the couch with a comic book.

“You know,” Eli said without looking up, “if you’d actually dress like the heroes in these stories instead of that overcoat, you might be… I don’t know… fun.”

Zane, sitting in his armchair with a cup of steaming tea, smirked. “And if you stopped reading about men in tights, you might be… I don’t know… sane.”

Eli looked up sharply. “Tights are aerodynamic. You ever tried chasing someone in a trench coat? You look like you’re trying to fight a bedsheet.”

Zane sipped his tea calmly. “Yet somehow, I still catch them. Bedsheet and all.”

They had been like this for half an hour — Eli trying to provoke, Zane refusing to bite more than necessary. The night had that strange stillness that came before either a storm… or trouble.

It came as three firm knocks on the door.

Eli jumped slightly. “Who knocks at midnight in this weather?”

Zane set his cup down and walked to the door without a word. The knocks came again, quicker, as though the visitor feared running out of time. Zane opened it.

A man stumbled inside, clutching his chest. Snow clung to his coat and hair, his face pale as if life itself was slipping away. His lips trembled, forming words.

“You… don’t… know… what’s… coming—”

And then, right there on Zane’s carpet, the man collapsed. His head tilted unnaturally, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Eli froze. “He… he just died.”

Zane knelt beside the man, his eyes narrowing. “No… he was killed.”

Chapter 2 — Death in the Warmth

The first thing Zane noticed was the faint smell — not blood, not alcohol — something chemical, sharp and almost sweet.

“No blood, no wounds,” Eli whispered. “So how—”

“Poison,” Zane said softly, almost certain. “But not ingested. Airborne.”

Eli’s eyes widened. “You’re telling me someone gassed him in the middle of a snowstorm?”

Zane didn’t answer. His gaze moved to the man’s left hand. The fingernails were slightly blue, but his right hand was clenched tightly around something. Gently, Zane pried it open.

A small brass token lay in the man’s palm. No markings, except for a single engraved number: 17.

Eli leaned closer. “What is it? Room key? Locker number?”

“Could be anything,” Zane murmured. “But it’s something he wanted me to see. He held it even as he died.”

Zane searched the man’s pockets. A wallet — no cash, no ID. Just a folded scrap of paper with three words written in hurried, shaky handwriting:

“Clock. Snow. Silence.”

Eli frowned. “This is creepy. And vague. And creepy.”

Zane stood up, glancing toward the window. Snowflakes drifted past in slow motion under the lamplight. Somewhere far away, a clock chimed once. Midnight.

Chapter 3 — Threads of the Unknown

By the time the police arrived, Zane had already made tea for Eli and cleared the man’s body from the center of the room, covering it with a blanket.

Detective Marlowe, an old acquaintance, stepped in. “You really know how to pick your midnight entertainment, Faulkner.”

“Wasn’t me this time,” Zane replied calmly.

Marlowe glanced at the token Zane was holding. “Seventeen? Any idea?”

Zane shrugged. “That’s why I called you. Thought you’d like a head start before I solve it.”

Marlowe rolled his eyes. “You and your games. We’ll run fingerprints. Don’t go poking around.”

Zane’s smirk deepened — which Eli knew meant exactly the opposite.

As soon as the police left, Zane grabbed his coat.

Eli groaned. “We’re not going out there. It’s freezing.”

“Then you’ll warm up by walking fast.”

Chapter 4 — The First Clue

They traced the man’s tracks in the snow. Zane moved with precision, Eli with complaint. The prints were deep but erratic, as though the man had been running… then stumbling. They led toward the old district — a place of boarded-up shops and dim alleys where the city’s heartbeat was faint.

Zane stopped suddenly. Ahead, the tracks ended. Just stopped in the middle of the street.

Eli looked around. “That’s impossible. Did he… fly?”

“No,” Zane said slowly. “Someone met him here. Someone careful enough to cover their own tracks.”

He scanned the area and spotted something in the snow — a single silver button, half-buried.

Eli picked it up. “Great. Now we’re collecting laundry.”

Zane pocketed it. “Not laundry. Evidence.”

Chapter 5 — The Empty Hotel

The brass token burned a question in Zane’s mind. They walked to the only place in the district that still had numbered tokens — the old Winter bell Hotel.

Inside, the lobby was empty. Dust clung to the chandeliers, and the reception desk looked abandoned.

“Seventeen,” Zane told Eli. “Let’s see what it hides.”

They found Room 17 on the second floor. The door was unlocked. Inside: darkness, and the stale smell of air that hadn’t moved in years.

Zane’s flashlight beam swept across the room. Bare walls. A single chair. And on the chair… a ticking clock.

Eli stepped back. “Nope. No way. I’ve seen this in movies and it never ends well.”

Zane walked to the clock. It wasn’t telling the right time. It was stuck at 11:53.

He turned it over. Inside was a folded photograph — the man who died in Zane’s apartment, standing next to an unknown woman, both smiling. Behind them, a snowy street… and in the corner, half-visible, the same silver button Zane had found earlier.

Chapter 6 — Silence Speaks

The hotel room was too quiet. Zane listened, tilting his head.

“There’s no outside noise,” he said.

“Because it’s empty,” Eli replied.

“No. There’s always something — wind, pipes, rats. This is absolute silence. Engineered silence.”

Zane moved to the wall and tapped it lightly. Hollow. He pulled a penknife from his pocket and wedged it into a crack. A panel popped open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay a small metal canister, no larger than a fist.

Eli swallowed hard. “Is that what I think it is?”

Zane nodded. “Compressed gas dispersal device. Enough to kill a man in seconds if used at close range.”

Eli stared. “So… someone met him, used this, and then…”

“…sent him to me,” Zane finished. “The question is — why?”

Chapter 7 — The Footsteps Return

As they left the hotel, fresh snow had begun to cover the ground. Yet Zane noticed new footprints leading away from the building.

He followed them silently, Eli trailing behind. The prints led to an alley, then vanished again.

Eli muttered, “Whoever this is, they’re a magician.”

“No,” Zane said. “They’re meticulous. Which means they’ll make one mistake eventually.”

They returned to the apartment at 3 a.m., both chilled to the bone. The man’s body had been removed, but the scent of that chemical still lingered faintly in the air.

Zane stood by the window, staring into the snowy night. Somewhere, far away, a faint bell chimed.

Eli asked, “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Zane’s smirk returned, though softer this time. “Not yet. But the night isn’t over.”

Chapter 8 — A Knock in the Storm

The storm outside had grown fiercer. Snowflakes smacked against the window like impatient messengers. Zane sat at his desk, examining the silver button under a magnifying glass. Eli paced the room.

“I’m telling you, this whole thing feels like we’re being baited,” Eli said.

“We are,” Zane replied without looking up.

Before Eli could argue, another knock sounded at the door — lighter than before, but urgent.

Eli groaned. “Not again…”

Zane opened the door. Standing there, snow in her hair, was Lyra.

She stepped inside, removing her gloves. “You didn’t tell me you were working a case.”

“I didn’t know I had to,” Zane replied casually.

Her eyes narrowed. “You do when bodies start showing up in your living room.”

Eli smirked. “She’s got a point.”

Zane ignored them both. “What brings you here at three in the morning?”

Lyra held up a folded newspaper. The front page showed the man who had died earlier — his name now revealed as Victor Hale. The headline read: “Local Historian Found Dead — Police Suspect Poisoning.”

“I know him,” Lyra said. “Or rather, I knew of him. He was researching something… something dangerous.”

Chapter 9 — The Map in the Snow

Lyra placed a small notebook on the table. “Victor came to my office last week. He said he’d found a map — one that led to an artifact buried in the old district.”

Zane glanced at the notebook. Inside was a hand-drawn map of Winter bell, marked with small red X’s. Room 17 of the hotel was one of them. Another was the clock tower at the edge of the river.

Eli groaned. “Let me guess… we’re going to the creepy clock tower in a snowstorm.”

Zane stood up. “Exactly.”

They set out together, their breath fogging in the cold. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of light behind frosted windows.

At the tower, Zane noticed something strange — fresh footprints leading to the entrance, but none leaving.

Chapter 10 — The Clock Strikes Twice

Inside, the air was thick with dust. The great clock gears loomed above, unmoving. A narrow staircase spiraled upward into darkness.

Halfway up, Lyra stopped. “Do you hear that?”

They all listened. A faint, irregular tapping echoed from above.

When they reached the top, they found an open wooden crate. Inside: dozens of identical brass tokens, each engraved with a different number.

Eli picked one up. “Seventeen’s not special, then?”

“Every number means something,” Zane murmured. “But only one leads to the truth.”

He shone his flashlight into the corner — revealing a figure crouched in the shadows. The man bolted, leaping past them and down the stairs.

Zane gave chase, his coat flaring behind him. Outside, the figure disappeared into the blizzard.

Lyra caught up, panting. “Did you see his face?”

Zane nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. And it’s not someone we can go to the police about.”

Chapter 11 — The Silent Archive

By dawn, the storm had eased. Zane led them to an old stone building near the river — the city archives.

Inside, the caretaker, an elderly man with clouded eyes, recognized Victor Hale’s name. “He came here often… asking about the Midnight Collection.”

Zane’s gaze sharpened. “Show me.”

The caretaker led them to a locked room. Inside, shelves held dusty ledgers, photographs, and a peculiar glass case containing a single object: a pocket watch, its hands frozen at 11:53.

Lyra whispered, “Like the clock in Room 17.”

Zane examined the watch. Etched inside the lid were the words: Clock. Snow. Silence.

Eli looked uneasy. “That’s exactly what was on the paper Victor had.”

Zane closed the watch. “Then this is the center of it all.”

Chapter 12 — The Twist in the Glass

As they left the archives, Zane’s phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “You’re too late.”

They hurried back to the apartment — and found the door ajar. Inside, the desk had been ransacked. The silver button was gone.

Lyra scanned the mess. “They were here. While we were gone.”

Eli muttered, “I told you this was a trap.”

Zane picked up a single scrap of paper left on the desk. It was a photograph — of Lyra, taken from a distance, last night.

Her face went pale. “They’re watching me.”

Zane’s tone remained calm. “They’re watching all of us.”

Chapter 13 — The Hunter Revealed

That night, Zane set the trap. They returned to Room 17, leaving the lights off and the door slightly open. Eli and Lyra waited in the shadows while Zane sat in the chair, the frozen clock ticking faintly beside him.

An hour passed. Then footsteps approached.

A tall man stepped inside, moving with calculated precision. His gloved hand reached for the clock — and Zane caught his wrist.

The intruder’s face was pale, eyes cold and deliberate. “You should have stayed out of this, Faulkner.”

“Lucian Vale,” Zane said quietly.

Eli’s jaw dropped. “Wait… that’s Lucian Vale? The guy—”

“Yes,” Zane interrupted. “The one who never loses.”

Lucian smiled faintly. “And I’m not losing tonight.” He wrenched free, tossing a small canister to the floor. Gas hissed into the room.

Chapter 14 — The Final Play

Zane grabbed Lyra and Eli, shoving them toward the door. “Out. Now.”

They stumbled into the hallway as Zane stayed behind, kicking the canister away and pulling his scarf over his mouth. Lucian was already at the window, climbing down the fire escape.

Zane followed. The chase was silent except for the crunch of snow. They crossed the rooftops until Lucian vanished into the maze of alleyways, leaving only a faint laugh behind.

When Zane returned to the apartment, Lyra rushed to him. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” he said simply.

Chapter 15 — The Midnight Secret

The next evening, Zane gathered them all in the apartment.

“This,” he began, holding up the brass token, “was Victor’s way of telling me where to look. Room 17 was a meeting point — a place where Lucian hid the pocket watch. The numbers on the tokens correspond to locations marked on Victor’s map. All of them hide similar objects.”

Lyra frowned. “But why?”

“Because each object contains microfilm,” Zane explained. “Information Lucian has been collecting — names, accounts, deals. Victor found out and tried to warn me. But Lucian reached him first.”

Eli leaned forward. “And the silver button?”

“From Lucian’s coat,” Zane said. “Victor tore it off during the attack. I kept it knowing Lucian would come for it — which is how I drew him into the open.”

Lyra asked softly, “So the gas…?”

“A signature move. Silent, quick, and untraceable. But it only works once.”

Eli looked puzzled. “Then why didn’t you catch him?”

Zane’s smile was faint. “Because sometimes letting the enemy run tells you more than cornering them.”

Chapter 16 — Closing Words

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly. Outside, snow still fell — quieter now, gentler.

Lyra finally broke the silence. “So what happens next?”

Zane looked into the flames. “Next, we wait. Lucian thinks he’s ahead. That’s his mistake. Secrets have a way of unraveling… especially at midnight.”

Eli muttered, “That’s dramatic.”

Zane stood, his coat catching the light. “Every truth worth knowing is dramatic, Eli. And every midnight hides a secret worth finding.”

He turned toward the window, snowflakes drifting past like tiny, silent messengers. Somewhere in the city, a clock chimed — 11:53.

The case was closed… for now.