I'm not alone
The city had its ways of making people disappear. Some were subtle—whispers in the dark, the kind of erasure that came with bureaucratic indifference. Others were violent, brutal, meant to send a message. Karen had seen both, and she had no intention of being on the receiving end of either.
But that was the risk of digging.
The newsroom was quieter than usual, the kind of hush that came when people either didn’t care or didn’t want to be involved. Karen sat at her desk, the glow of her monitor washing her face in cold light as she scrolled through police reports and property records, looking for a pattern. Valdez wasn’t just running a trafficking operation—he was building something, and he had help.
Ellison dropped a thick folder onto her desk with a thud, nearly making her coffee spill. “Tell me you went home last night.”
Karen didn’t look up. “Define home.”
Ellison sighed, running a hand over his face. “Christ. You’re gonna burn yourself out.”
“Not before I get the story.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” He pulled up a chair, glancing at her screen. “What am I looking at?”
“Shell companies. Dummy accounts. Real estate acquisitions under different names, but they all trace back to Valdez.” She tapped the screen. “He moves girls through short-term rentals, changes locations every few months. Some of these women—” She hesitated, jaw tightening. “They don’t resurface.”
Ellison exhaled. “And no one’s done anything about it?”
“Oh, I’m sure plenty of people have.” She leaned back, rubbing her temples. “Just not in the way that helps.”
Ellison watched her for a moment, then grabbed one of the reports off her desk. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Then at least let me help.”
Karen glanced at him, the usual exasperation in his tone replaced with something else—concern, maybe. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that she had this under control. But they both knew that was a lie.
She nodded once. “Okay.”
⸻
Frank had spent the better part of the night tracking down one of Valdez’s enforcers, a low-level scumbag named Ramos. Ramos was a talker—until he wasn’t.
Frank had been watching him for weeks, waiting for an opening. It had come in the form of a routine drop-off, a quick exchange in a back alley that ended with Frank slamming Ramos against a concrete wall and pressing a gun under his jaw.
“You got one chance,” Frank had said, voice low and even. “Make it count.”
Ramos, to his credit, had lasted longer than most. But fear had a way of loosening tongues.
By the time Frank was done, he had enough to confirm what he already suspected—Valdez wasn’t just trafficking women. He was moving product, money, information. And he had cops on his payroll.
Now Frank sat perched on a rooftop, watching Karen through the scope of his rifle—not aiming, just watching. She was predictable, in the way only stubborn people were. She’d keep pushing until she found what she was looking for, and she’d get herself hurt in the process.
He told himself to stay out of it. Every time he saw her name in a byline or caught a glimpse of her chasing leads she shouldn’t be touching, he reminded himself it wasn’t his problem.
But Karen had never been someone who could be dissuaded. And that was the problem.
When she walked out of the Bulletin alone, that familiar pull twisted in his gut.
He followed.
⸻
Karen knew she was being watched.
Years in this city had sharpened her instincts into something close to survival. The weight of a gaze, the prickle at the back of her neck—it wasn’t paranoia if you were right.
She turned down a side street, glancing casually at her reflection in a shop window. The figure trailing her stayed in the shadows, moving with practiced ease.
She sighed. “I know it’s you.”
The footsteps behind her stopped. A moment later, Frank stepped into the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, hands in his jacket pockets.
They stayed in silence for a moment before Frank grew the balls to speak.
“You’re still lookin’ into Valdez,” he said.
Karen crossed her arms. “No shit.”
“You need to stop.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Why? Because it’s dangerous?”
Frank’s jaw ticked. “Because he’ll see you comin’.”
She took a step closer, tilting her head. “And you think I should just let you handle it?”
“That’d be the smart thing to do.”
Karen scoffed. “Right. And what, you take him out and call it justice? These girls' stories need to be told and if you just go off and kill him, someone will just step into his place.”
Frank exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “Jesus, Karen. You think this is about justice?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This is about making sure you don’t end up in a ditch.”
The air between them tightened.
Karen swallowed hard, but she didn’t back down. “You can’t stop me.”
Frank searched her face, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded, just once. “Didn’t think I could. Didn't really want to. I don't feel the need to prevent you from doing what you think is right.”
She wasn’t sure if that was relief or resignation in his voice.
“Then what do you want?” she asked.
Frank’s mouth twitched, like he almost wanted to smile. “To keep you safe. To make sure you don’t get yourself killed before you write the damn article.”
Karen let out a slow breath. “Then get out of my way.”
Frank didn’t move. “I’m takin’ Valdez out, eventually. He's gotta go.”
Karen’s stomach turned. “And then what?”
Frank was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally—
“Then maybe you can sleep.”
She hated that it made her heart ache.
She knew in that moment that Frank didn't need to be perched on that rooftop every night to know what she was doing. She wasn't readable to many people except for him. He knew her, more than most.
Instead of answering, she turned, walking away before she said something she’d regret.
Frank didn’t follow. But he didn’t leave, either.
Not yet.
⸻
Karen’s hands were steady as she turned the key to her apartment, but her mind was racing. If Frank was right—and she knew he probably was—Valdez had eyes everywhere.
She poured herself a drink, spreading out her notes on the kitchen table. The names, the faces, the missing pieces of a puzzle she was so close to solving. If she connected them all, she could blow this thing wide open.
A knock at the door made her freeze.
She set down her glass carefully, reaching for the gun in her desk drawer.
“Who is it?”
A beat of silence. Then—
“It’s me.”
She exhaled, unlocking the door. Ellison stepped inside, his expression grim.
“I got something you need to see.”
He set a folder on the table, flipping it open to reveal a grainy security photo. Karen’s stomach clenched as she recognized the man standing beside Valdez.
A police captain.
One she’d worked with before.
"Looks like I'm losing sources."
Ellison sighs, "You still have a few. Notably the vigilante that you have on speed dial."
"Daredevil is no longer my source, Ellison" She said, for what felt like the millionth time.
"Wasn’t talking about that one"
She stayed in silence for a moment. Ellison knew she wasn't getting all her info from strippers and small-time drug dealers. But technically, Frank is dead. So he should have no reason to suspect anything.
"I don't know what your talking about."
Ellison rolls his eyes, "So you're telling me the so-called "punisher copycat" just happens to be dropping bodies closely leading to this "Valdez" character and you have no connection to him?"
Karen nodded, "That's exactly what I'm saying. Maybe he has no idea he's helping me with my case."
"Whatever you say."
A stretch of silence comes across them before Karen speaks up,
"I can't let this go. I won't."
Ellison met her eyes. “Told you not to do this alone.”
Karen swallowed hard, pulse steadying.
“Looks like I’m not.”