ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ - ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

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'𝙒here are you?'

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'𝙒here are you?'

Enzo gazed boringly at his cellphone as he watched the little blue line blink back and forth with an undrafted text message. After receiving Harrison's texts an hour or so ago, he (reluctantly) climbed into his car and drove from base to the linked address.

Since then, however, he had not responded to anything else. There was no answer to what floor he may be on, where he was, or what the hell he was doing at an abandoned hotel in the middle of downtown Los Angeles this late at night. That alone had his fingers tapping the side of his leg in anticipation; Harrison wasn't exactly reliable, but if he needed something, he made his presence known – whether that was over the phone or in person, it didn't matter.

He walked into the spinning door and turned on the flashlight on his phone; he looked around the deserted lobby for a few seconds, finding nothing incriminating until he approached the stairs. Crouching down to get a better look, he dragged his fingers through the burgundy droplets; some were dried and crusted over, while others still lingered like a small puddle.

Blood.

Standing, he began his climb to whichever floor this may lead him. His eyebrow twitched in distaste the higher he went; while his supposed partner was on the dumber side, he never did anything without a veil of lies before it. He had no idea what to expect at the end of this – was he going to have another poor woman in his grasp?—bleeding out and confused like usual?

Will he catch him with his pants down again?—hovering over yet another unresponsive person?

Enzo swallowed his thoughts and clenched his jaw, arriving at the tenth-floor landing. He cocked his head to the side and investigated the trail without so much as a step in its direction. He could see from here – feel the eerily cold air from this warm night escaping to chill his arm – the door was open just barely, but enough to put him on edge.

Cautiously, he trudged to the door and withdrew his gun at the same time. Using the barrel of the gun as a safety net, he pushed open the door; the freefall swing made a creaking noise in its wake, but as far as he could tell, that was the only movement that sounded from this otherwise plain room.

He rounded the corner of the first wall he saw and stopped in what seemed to be the center of the place; he knew from the structure that it was built with the intention to be a penthouse, but looking around, he could see the numerous doors blocked off. The only space that seemed open for habitation was the one he was in right now.

A few more minutes passed before he moved from his spot. He wanted to make sure that if there was someone else in here, he wouldn't be caught off-guard by them. No noises, no voices, no wisps of breath alerted him – he knew that he was in the clear.

Still, he kept his gun in his hand just in case.

Enzo investigated the half-eaten dinner resting on a long table – the white table cloth was less than that shade of color now. Dabbles of red rested in one area while streaks of the same color tainted it in longer strides in another; something told him that it was not due to the medium-rare meat.

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