The body was left in the middle of Hyde Park.
Gutted. Hung upside down from a horse carriage post. No symmetry. No message. No art.
Just blood.
Just noise.
Julian dropped the paper on the table. The headline screamed louder than the corpse ever could:
MURDER IN THE PARK: VIGILANTE OR MANIAC?
"Not us," he said.
Carmen didn't answer.
She was already dressed.
Black gloves. Long coat. Hair twisted into a knot tight as a threat.
"Vivienne," she said without turning. "You're coming."
The body was still warm when they arrived.
Police tape flapped in the wind like something nervous. Officers hovered, unsure whether to be bored or afraid. Spectators clustered in the grass, starved for spectacle.
Carmen moved through them like smoke.
Knelt beside the corpse. Didn't blink.
Vivienne hovered behind her. Close enough to taste the metallic tang of blood in the air.
"It's messy," she said.
"No," Carmen replied. "It's stupid."
She pointed at the wounds. Hesitation lines. Sawed flesh. Panic.
"This wasn't a statement. It was a tantrum."
Vivienne watched the crowd.
"They wanted to be seen."
Carmen stood slowly, brushing blood from her knee.
"Then we'll show them the price of visibility."
Back at the flat, Julian already had the name waiting on the table.
"Simon Bell. Thirty-five. Obsessed with the spiral killings. Wrote letters to the press. Got arrested once for stalking a victim's mother."
Carmen took the file. Read it once. Set it down.
"He thinks murder is attention. We made it art. He turned it into a diary entry."
"He doesn't belong in our shadow," Julian said.
"He belongs in the dark."
They found Simon outside a brothel two nights later.
He was swaying, half-drunk, muttering nonsense to himself, fingers sketching spirals in the air.
Carmen walked up like a ghost.
"Do you know who I am?"
Simon blinked. Then smiled.
"I wrote poems about you."
Julian appeared behind him.
"Did you write them in blood?"
Simon's smile twitched.
"I just wanted to help. I thought I could be like you."
Vivienne watched from the mouth of the alley.
Carmen pulled Simon forward.
Took him by the shoulder like she was guiding a child.
"You don't get to be like me."
She made him kneel.
No ceremony.
No spectacle.
The blade touched his throat and didn't hesitate.
He choked once. Then folded.
Julian dragged the body into the sewer grate. The sound of the cover scraping back into place echoed like a final period.
Vivienne followed them home, silent.
Didn't speak until they were inside, the blood washed from their hands, the warmth of killing gone.
Then she asked:
"Would you ever kill me like that?"
Carmen looked at her.
Not cold. Not cruel.
Just honest.
"If I had to."
Vivienne smiled.
"Good."