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Downstairs, Gwen was preparing dinner.
Upstairs in George's study, Hawk sat flipping through the case files on journalist Ottos.
Last Christmas Eve, the reporter had been found tied to a cross and burned alive on the banks of the Hudson River.
The moment the news broke, every media outlet in New York exploded.
And so did the public.
The NYPD didn't particularly like this journalist—he'd been a thorn in their side for years. But he was still a reporter, still one of their own in the media world. So the press rallied around him with righteous fury and dramatic eulogies. That was expected.
The public joined the outcry too, though for different reasons. They were convinced Ottos had uncovered some dark conspiracy and been silenced for it.
The success and failure of public education, all rolled into one.
Call it "feel-good education." In reality, it was just a polite term for keeping people ignorant.
Keeping people ignorant drastically reduced management costs. But once you made that choice, you had to accept the consequences—the moment someone lit a spark, the mob could be whipped into a frenzy.
Case in point—
A significant portion of the population still believed the Earth was flat, that there was another world beyond the ice wall at the North Pole. And now, with the media fanning the flames, they took to the streets, demanding justice for Ottos.
Under these circumstances, the 21st Precinct—and Captain George Stacy in particular—was under fire from both sides.
Pressure from the public below. Pressure from headquarters above.
George could have ended it easily if he'd wanted to. Pull some dead junkie out of the morgue, pin the murder on him, case closed.
Don't think for a second that wrongful convictions didn't happen in America.
A killer caught on camera could walk free if his high-priced lawyer convinced a jury the footage was AI-generated. Meanwhile, an innocent man with an airtight alibi could end up in prison if the prosecution convinced twelve people he'd committed murder through telekinesis.
That was the jury system.
In court, you didn't need to convince the judge. You just needed to convince twelve random citizens.
But George refused to take the easy way out.
He still had principles. Standards he wouldn't compromise. So despite the lack of a primary crime scene and zero surveillance footage near the Hudson, he gave Detective Mahoney full support to solve the case properly.
It took nearly two months. Just last month, the tech team managed to recover fragments of data from Ottos burned laptop hard drive. From those fragments, they found a name. Following that thread led them to the Blood Apocalypse.
Not a person. An organization.
A cult, to be precise.
But a legal one.
Religious freedom and all that.
The Blood Apocalypse's founder was named Ellani. The cult believed that "blood sacrifice would summon the Four Horsemen to cleanse the world."
That was all they had.
Cults, even legal ones, operated in the shadows.
Journalist Ottos had barely scratched the surface—he'd found the founder's name, Ellani, and then... nothing.
Mahoney moved fast, applying for an arrest warrant.
And then—
Someone walked into the precinct and confessed. Admitted to killing Ottos without hesitation. Before Mahoney and George could even process it, the DA's office had already cut a plea deal with the suspect at lightning speed.
Just like Mahoney said—the brass wanted this case closed. Nobody wanted to waste resources on a journalist who'd spent years making their lives hell.
Someone had confessed. George's hands were tied. Even though he was certain the confessor was a fall guy, headquarters was breathing down his neck. He had no choice but to close the case.
Once again—
If George had been willing to compromise, he'd be a lot higher than captain by now.
But he wasn't.
So he kept investigating. Quietly. On his own time.
And then...
He got targeted for it.
Hawk finished reading through the files, then scanned the sparse online information about the Blood Apocalypse. He shook his head, unsurprised but somewhat exasperated.
Bottom line, George had gone up against a cult. Of course they tried to silence him.
On the crazy scale, cults ranked way higher than HYDRA.
HYDRA was just a villainous organization. They didn't deal in brainwashing or mind control.
Cults, though?
That was their entire playbook.
...
Hawk closed the file, stood, and left the study. Downstairs, he found Gwen in the kitchen preparing dinner.
He gave her the full rundown of what he'd read.
When he finished, Hawk smiled. "If you want, I'll go chop this Ellani guy into pieces."
George was a cop. He needed evidence.
Hawk wasn't. And he generally didn't bother with evidence. Suspicion was enough to justify action.
Simple logic—
If you didn't do it, why would I suspect you instead of someone else?
Gwen frowned, then shook her head.
"No."
"Hm?"
"This is Dad's case."
The thought had crossed her mind multiple times—just tell Hawk to take care of Ellani. But she fought down the impulse, pulling a perfectly cooked steak from the oven as she looked at Hawk. "You believe in results-based justice. Dad believes in procedural justice. That's why he doesn't like Spider-Man. And this is Dad's case. He almost died for it. So he should be the one to close it."
Hawk understood immediately.
George had nearly been killed working this case.
If he survived, woke up, and learned the cult leader had been splattered from orbit by some random vigilante—he'd be depressed for months.
So—
George's case. George's closure.
Hawk nodded, smiling as he took the steak platter from Gwen. "Whatever you say. You're the one with the PhD in this family."
Gwen had already earned her doctorate.
Meanwhile, Hawk was about to start summer break, and he still hadn't picked an internship.
Gwen rolled her eyes at the teasing comment.
"But I might ask for your help eventually."
"Of course. Wherever you point, that's where I go." Hawk's tone was light but sincere.
He didn't dwell on the cult situation.
It was just a cult.
Gwen said leave it to George? Then he'd leave it to George.
...
An hour later.
After dinner, Howard and Simon sat quietly in the back of Hawk's Audi A8 as he drove them to New Amsterdam Hospital.
No yelling. No roughhousing.
The two boys stood silently beside George's hospital bed, looking at their father—intubated but stable, still unconscious but clearly out of danger.
Across the room, Helen sat eating the dinner Gwen had packed, offering commentary on her daughter's cooking.
"Not bad. Your skills are improving."
"Of course!"
Gwen preened at her mother's praise, lifting her chin like a swan. "I'm the daughter of the great chef Helen Stacy."
Helen smiled at her daughter's pride, then glanced at Howard and Simon standing quietly by their father's bedside. "I used to think those two were nothing but trouble. But they're actually pretty good kids."
Gwen followed her mother's gaze, watching her brothers hold hands as they stood vigil. She smiled. "They're just energetic. Deep down, they're sweet."
"Their grades aren't, though." Helen nodded in agreement, then shifted her attention back to Gwen. "If they had even a tenth of your academic talent, I'd be thrilled."
Gwen defended her brothers. "Mom, boys mature slower. Hawk was a troublemaker when he was ten too."
Hawk, who had been sitting quietly nearby, suddenly found himself dragged into the conversation. He blinked, met Gwen's expectant gaze, then looked at Helen with a perfectly serious expression. "That's true. I was very disruptive at ten. Always singing loudly during church services and events."
Helen laughed. "You were in the choir. If you hadn't been singing loudly, that would've been a problem."
Hawk glanced at Gwen and shrugged helplessly.
Gwen smiled, shaking her head, then turned back to Helen. "Mom, you should have more faith in Howard and Simon. When Hawk and I have kids, even if they don't have a tenth of his intelligence, I won't be upset."
Helen looked at her supremely confident daughter and let out a knowing chuckle. She glanced at Hawk.
"Do you believe that?"
"I do."
Helen's smile widened. "Really?"
Hawk opened his mouth, caught between Gwen's expectant gaze and Helen's amused expression. Finally, he threw up his hands. "Ma'am, don't put me in the middle of this."
Caught between his fiancée and his future mother-in-law.
Hawk felt like he should be standing outside the room, not trapped inside it.
But—
Helen, having gotten the answer she wanted, simply smiled knowingly at Gwen without saying another word.
Gwen shot Hawk a look, then turned back to her mother with determination.
"I'm serious, Mom."
"I believe you."
Helen nodded, her expression grave—though the smile threatening to break through completely undermined it.
After all—
Only a mother truly understands another mother.
Helen looked at her daughter—her pride and joy, who had earned a PhD at twenty—and couldn't help but smile.
"Just don't come crying to me when reality hits."
"I won't!"
Gwen's tone was absolute.
She was brilliant.
Hawk was brilliant.
Their child—the product of their combined genius—would have at least a tenth of their intelligence. That was basic genetics.
Ninety-nine parts her, one part Hawk. A tenth of that? Still ten parts genius.
Not bad at all.
Gwen was satisfied with her math.
Helen turned to Hawk with a smile. "So, have you two decided? Boy or girl? When the time comes."
Hawk looked at Gwen, his expression warm. "As long as it's ours, I'll love it."
He'd learned his lesson. He wasn't stepping into that trap again.
He wasn't going to be a pawn in whatever game his future mother-in-law and fiancée were playing.
Besides, he meant it.
Boy or girl, as long as Gwen was happy, he was happy.
Gwen beamed at Hawk, then looked at Helen. "One daughter, two sons. That's what Hawk and I agreed on."
Helen raised an eyebrow, immediately recognizing where that configuration came from.
She smiled. "Sounds good."
"I think so too."
Gwen's smile was radiant.
...
Hawk and Gwen stayed at the hospital with Howard and Simon until nine o'clock before taking the boys back to the apartment.
After the hospital visit, both boys were unusually well-behaved. They washed up without complaint and went straight to bed.
Hawk and Gwen returned to the living room to meet with Detectives Mahoney and Hale, who had come back with them from the hospital.
Mahoney stared at the paper from George's study—the one with "BU" written on it—completely stumped.
Hale, sitting nearby, was equally frustrated. "I checked the CI database this afternoon. No one with those initials. Not even close."
Gwen spoke up. "Could it be a confidential informant from another precinct?"
CIs weren't just random people. They had rights, protections. The DA could choose not to prosecute certain crimes if the informant was valuable enough. Their intel could be used in court, unlike evidence gathered by cops without a warrant.
But all CIs had to be registered.
Hale nodded. "The deputy chief is coordinating with other precincts. Nothing yet."
Gwen fell silent.
Hawk asked about the shooter instead.
Normally, Mahoney and Hale wouldn't discuss case details with civilians—especially victim's family members.
But Hawk and Gwen weren't normal civilians. And the victim was their precinct captain.
More importantly, before they'd left the hospital, Helen had made it clear: they weren't talking to Hawk and Gwen. They were reporting to the Captain's wife.
After all, George was injured, not dead. He was still the captain of the 21st Precinct.
Honestly, there wasn't much to report.
Because—
The suspect was already dead.
"After Hale and I found surveillance footage of the shooter fleeing the scene, we issued an APB immediately."
"Cop killings are top priority."
"The entire NYPD mobilized. Half an hour later, patrol officers from the 3rd Precinct reported finding the motorcycle the suspect used to escape."
"It had been torched."
"Tech recovered the VIN as fast as they could and traced it to a suspect."
"But when we got to his address, he'd already hanged himself."
"Left a suicide note."
"Whether it's real or staged, the 21st's medical examiner is working on it now."
"..."
Hawk and Gwen exchanged glances.
Gwen frowned. "Could this suspect be BU?"
Hale shook his head. "Suspect's name is Ethan Thompson. Initials ET, not BU. We did find a handgun in a bag at the scene. Ballistics is running tests, but the caliber matches."
"Blood Apocalypse member?"
"We're checking. But so far, no connection between the suspect and the cult."
"Really?"
Hawk felt a flicker of curiosity.
But only a flicker.
He wasn't a professional detective. Hell, he was worse at solving cases than Gwen.
Then again, He didn't need evidence to solve cases. Just suspicion.
And Gwen had told him to hold off for now. So even though he was interested in George's shooting, it was mild interest. He was mostly just keeping Gwen company.
Gwen wasn't a professional either—just the best amateur you could find.
So after the three of them compared notes, they hit a dead end. All they could do was wait for the ME and forensics to confirm the dead man's identity.
As for this "BU"—
They'd have to wait until George woke up tomorrow.
Assuming the people behind this didn't send another shooter to the hospital to finish the job.
Wait.
Finish the job?
Hawk raised an eyebrow, glancing at Gwen as she walked Mahoney and Hale to the door. "What if they try again at the hospital?"
Gwen smiled at him.
Hawk looked confused.
Gwen's smile widened. "That's the difference between amateur and professional, Hawk. The precinct already thought of that. Mahoney and Hale are heading back to the hospital to stand guard."
Hawk's expression cleared.
Right.
This wasn't just any cop who'd been shot. This was a precinct captain.
Hawk shook his head, laughing at himself.
"So we don't need to worry?"
"Exactly."
Gwen nodded, her smile warm. "Dad will wake up tomorrow. Then we'll know who BU is. If Dad finds him and the guy runs, that's when you step in."
She'd said she wanted George to handle this case himself.
But if the suspect fled? That was a different story.
If he stayed in New York, let himself be arrested properly, went through the system the way her father believed in—that was ideal.
But if he ran?
Then Gwen wouldn't hesitate to unleash Hawk.
With that settled, the two of them headed back to what had been Gwen's bedroom and prepared for bed.
...
About an hour later—
Hawk's movements suddenly stopped.
Gwen, lying beneath him, felt the abrupt halt. Her eyes were hazy as she looked up at him. "What's wrong?"
Hawk came back to himself, looking down at her with a serious expression.
He leaned down and kissed her.
"Your mother has been reborn."
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