"Who the hell are you?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Alejandra," she replied, her tone dripping with mockery as she flicked a cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. "And you? What do they call you, besides naked and half-dead?"
Steven pulled the blanket tighter around himself, heat creeping up his face. "Steven," he muttered. "Where are my clothes?"
"Gone," Alejandra said, crossing her arms. "Burnt to a crisp. Found you out there in the woods looking like you just crawled out of hell." She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "I don't know what you've been up to, but you've got some explaining to do."
Steven groaned, running a hand over his face. The memories of the previous night were still fragmented, but the fiery image of his skull, the screams of the gangsters, and the overpowering heat were impossible to ignore.
"I don't need to explain anything," he said sharply. "Just give me something to wear."
Steven stumbled out of the tent, wrapped in the blanket like some kind of awkward mess, but his embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by Alejandra's smirk. She leaned casually against the tree, her eyes making no attempt to look anywhere but him.
"Really?" Steven muttered, trying to pull the blanket tighter around himself. "You gonna stare at me all day?"
Alejandra raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. "I'm not staring. I'm just… admiring," she teased. "You know, for someone who seems so mysterious, you've got a pretty impressive… presence."
Steven shot her a glare, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. He shuffled, trying to adjust the blanket in some semblance of modesty, but as he turned, it slipped off his shoulders and fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Alejandra's eyes were immediately on him, and her smirk only deepened as she slowly took in the view. Steven froze, his face heating up. "What the hell?" he muttered, his hands fumbling as he scrambled to pick the blanket back up.
"Hmm," Alejandra mused aloud, "not bad. Definitely didn't expect this, Steven." She tilted her head as she looked him over, her gaze lingering for just a second too long. "I mean, it's pretty impressive… package you've got going on there."
Steven's eyes widened, his heart racing, but he tried to sound tough, even though his voice betrayed him. "What the hell are you looking at? Seriously?"
"Oh, come on," she said, not even trying to hide the playful glint in her eyes. "I'm just appreciating the view. You've been hiding all this under that blanket, huh? No wonder you've been acting all mysterious."
Steven's mind raced, trying to process the situation, but his thoughts kept getting tangled up in the sight of her shameless grin. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, yanking the blanket back up around his shoulders.
Alejandra stepped closer, her voice dropping lower as she continued. "You know, Steven," she began, "you've got a lot of fire under all that brooding. Maybe you should show it off more often." She gave him a once-over, her eyes trailing down to where his blanket had almost fallen. "Can't blame a girl for appreciating the view, right?"
"God, you're impossible," Steven said, his face burning. But despite the frustration, there was something about her confidence—her unbothered attitude—that was beginning to work its way under his skin. His heart rate kicked up, but he was still trying to maintain his composure.
Alejandra leaned in a little closer, her voice now a low tease. "It's alright, Steven. No need to be shy. I'm not going anywhere." She gave him a sly smile. "But hey, if you're looking to break that mysterious vibe, maybe I can help you out."
Steven's thoughts swirled as he tried to brush off the increasing tension between them, but it was hard to ignore how she was making him feel. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, well, maybe you should find someone else to tease," he muttered, stepping back, but not before giving her one last, quick glance.
Alejandra laughed, clearly enjoying every moment of his discomfort. "Relax, Steven," she said, her grin lingering. "You're not so bad when you stop being all stiff. Besides, I think there's more to you than you're letting on."
As Steven mounted his bike, the engine roared to life, the familiar hum filling the air as he revved the throttle. The blanket, discarded carelessly on the ground, was a distant memory now, replaced by the tight pants Alejandra had offered him. Despite the awkwardness, the fit was decent, and it gave him a bit of comfort as he finally started to pull away from the tent.
With a grunt, he revved the engine harder, determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Ignoring her, he kicked the bike into gear, the machine surging forward with a smooth power that matched his rising confidence. His focus returned to the road ahead, the wind whipping through his hair, the rhythm of the ride clearing his thoughts.
Still, in the back of his mind, Alejandra's words echoed. He'd never admit it, but the idea of her teasing him like that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. Not that he'd let her know.
As he sped off into the distance, he could hear the faint sound of her laughter, as if she had already won. And maybe... just maybe, she had. But Steven wasn't one to back down, not when he had a mission to complete.
***
Once again, the church lay in ruin, its once sacred walls now tainted with death. The air was thick with the scent of decay, as the bodies of those who had been inside lay crumpled and lifeless, their twisted forms a grim reminder of the havoc that had unfolded. The authorities were swarming the area, detectives, uniformed cops, and forensics teams, all working together in a frantic effort to piece together what had happened.
The church's altar, once a place of peace, now stood as a macabre monument to the terror that had been unleashed. The lifeless body of Father Albright remained where he had fallen, his expression frozen in terror. His death had left the community reeling, and the investigation into the mysterious events was in full swing.
As the officers sifted through the remains, Arthur Brown, a local investigative reporter, stood at the edge of the chaos, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. His reputation as a determined journalist had earned him the respect of his peers, and today, it seemed, he would be the one to get the answers. He'd covered crime scenes before, but nothing like this.
Arthur had been following the strange reports for days—rumors of death and destruction at the church, whispers of a man who had appeared before the victims, demanding a piece of paper. What was this cryptic request? What did it mean?
And most importantly—who was responsible?
As the scene unfolded, news reporters crowded around Arthur, their microphones pushing forward, demanding answers. The press was buzzing with questions, but all eyes were on Arthur, who seemed to be the one with the insight into the mystery. The tension was palpable as the officers continued to investigate, but it was Arthur who had the ear of the reporters now.
"Arthur, any leads on what happened here?" a reporter asked, shoving a mic in his face.
Arthur shifted slightly, his eyes scanning the wreckage as he spoke. "All I know is what's been reported. A man, a stranger, demanding a piece of paper from Father Albright... and then the chaos. This isn't just some random act of violence. There's something more going on here."
Another reporter pressed him, "But what could it mean, Arthur? What's the connection between the paper and the murders?"
Arthur paused for a moment, thinking. "It's hard to say, but I've got a gut feeling that this man—whoever he is—has been leaving a trail of destruction. And the piece of paper... might be the key to unlocking whatever his intentions are."
The crowd murmured, and the officers looked at each other, unsure of what to make of Arthur's words. Meanwhile, the investigative reporters and news crews continued to surround him, eagerly awaiting his next move in uncovering the truth.