CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The fluorescent buzz of the interview room light was a stark contrast to the darkness that had enveloped London streets just hours before. Finn"s head throbbed from the blow he"d taken, a nagging reminder of the chase and the face that may or may not have been Max Vilne"s, lurking in the periphery of the chaos.

Chronos sat across from them, hands folded on the cold steel table, his eyes steady and unblinking as they met Finn's gaze. The man"s calm was unsettling, as if being in the custody of law enforcement was no more inconvenient than a delayed train.

"Mr. Chronos," began Amelia, her voice even, betraying none of the fatigue that had settled deep in her bones, "we can arrange for a solicitor if you—"

"I am no liar," Chronos interjected, his voice bearing a weight that seemed too heavy for the sterile room. "I"ve no need for legal shields."

Finn leaned forward, the movement deliberate, piercing the bubble of stillness Chronos carried with him. "Everyone"s got a real name," Finn pressed, his tone carrying the subtle roughness of someone who had seen too many dark corners of human nature. "What"s yours?"

"Names are chains of the past," Chronos replied, his voice laced with a conviction that bordered on fanaticism. "My essence, my true identity, is Chronos. I shed my given name long ago, like dead skin."

Amelia cast a glance at Finn, a silent exchange of skepticism. They knew identities could be obscured, but never truly discarded, not while threads of one"s history clung to the fabric of reality.

Their suspect was an enigma, cloaked in the guise of an ancient deity, yet flesh and blood sat before them. Finn"s mind raced through the details of the case, piecing together the strings that connected Chronos to the murders, to Victorian Britain, to the insidious threat of the Tempus Machine virus.

"Chronos," Finn stated, allowing the name to hang in the air, "time"s up." His eyes held the other man"s unwavering gaze, searching for a crack in the facade for the human beneath the myth.

Amelia slid a file across the table towards Chronos with a precision that matched her analytical mind. The paper"s edge came to a halt just within reach of their suspect, its contents as revealing as the look of anticipation on her face.

"That"s funny," she began, her words slicing through the tension, "because given your fingerprints, we were able to find you." Her finger tapped the file, a metronome counting down the seconds to his response.

Chronos"s hand hovered over the dossier before snapping it open, his eyes scanning the contents. His stoic demeanor cracked, a fissure of anger breaking through the surface as he met the name staring up at him: Chris Harlow.

"According to this," Amelia continued, undeterred by the storm brewing in Chronos"s eyes, "Chris Harlow was a lecturer at a small college in Kent." She paused, allowing each fact to sink in like weights into the depths of his conscience. "And that he disappeared 12 months ago."

The air in the room grew thick with unspoken accusations, the truth clawing its way out of the shadows. Finn watched the man across from them closely, every muscle twitch, every clench of the jaw. He saw not a mythological figure, but a man cornered by his past, haunted by the alias he"d crafted like a shield against the world.

Chronos sat back, his chair scraping against the floor, a sound that echoed the tumultuous turn of his thoughts. But Finn had seen enough, witnessed the momentary lapse, the ripple across an otherwise placid lake. Now, it was only a matter of time until they found the stone that caused it.

Finn leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cold metal table as he scrutinized the man known as Chronos. The sterile light of the interview room glinted off the handcuffs that bound their suspect to the reality he so desperately tried to escape.

"Names are just labels, ephemeral and without essence," Chronos declared, his voice a concoction of defiance and delusion. "I discarded mine for a cause far greater than most can comprehend."

Amelia"s brow furrowed, her patience fraying like an overused rope. "A cause? You talk about sacrifice, but you left behind children. Was abandoning them part of your ‘greater good'?"

He fixed her with a gaze that was meant to be unwavering but betrayed a flicker of conflict. "My children," he said slowly, as if tasting the unfamiliar words, "will inherit a world unshackled from the chains of technology once the Tempus Machine virus is released."

Finn observed the man's fervor, the way his hands animatedly sketched a future free from digital constraints. It was the passion of a believer, or perhaps the desperation of a dreamer. Finn's mind, however, lingered on the man"s past rather than his prophesied future.

"Did you find solace in the past, Chris?" Finn prodded casually, using the name as a hook. "Was it comforting to retreat there when reality didn"t match up to expectations?"

The color rose in Chronos's cheeks, a stark contrast to the clinical white walls surrounding them. His jaw tensed visibly, anger seeping through the cracks of his cultivated calm.

Finn pressed on, unfazed by the brewing storm. "There's a statement here that one of our constables took," he continued, tapping a finger on the stack of papers retrieved from their previous encounter with Chronos's ex-wife. "It says Chris Harlow was bullied badly as a child, so much so that she feared you had suffered a breakdown—a retreat into memories and old hurts."

Chronos's mouth twisted bitterly, the rawness of old wounds written across his face. But Finn knew better than to relent; this was the moment they could unravel the enigma before them.

"Is that why you want to erase technology, Chris?" Finn asked pointedly. "To wipe clean the slate of a world that"s been nothing but cruel to you?"

The room held its breath, awaiting a confession that dangled precariously on the edge of revelation.

Finn studied Chronos, whose real name—Chris Harlow—seemed to have become a trigger for his buried traumas. The man"s face was now shaded with the telltale signs of anger and vulnerability.

"Did you ever use the historical past as a sanctuary, Chris?" Finn asked, watching closely as the question landed like a jab to Chronos"s ego. "I know that when I was a kid, if things got bad, I disappeared into detective fiction and old ghost story collections from decades ago. Part of me wanted to go back to when things seemed more easily defined. Villains were villains. Heroes were heroes. Even if it didn"t hold up to scrutiny, it was enough to let me escape my childhood woes. Did you escape into history books, I wonder? All to escape a horrible past. Substituting it for a much older one. With no hope for the future, you could only look back. Not to your own past, that was too difficult. But to the Victorian era, where things made more sense to you through 21st century eyes."

The flush of red that spread across Chronos"s cheeks was as revealing as an open book. It betrayed the truth without the need for words, but Finn needed more than silent admissions.

"Or are you brave enough to deal with the here and now, now that the mask is removed. Where is Vilne?" Finn"s voice was firm, unyielding.

Chronos"s eyes flashed defiantly. "I"ve told you before, I don"t know," he spat out, the frustration in his voice growing with every syllable.

"Chris," Finn said. "Let me tell you what I see: I see a man who has lost his marriage, unable to attend to the scars of being bullied as a kid. Those scars had grown, but you had been able to hide them, at least until your marriage collapsed. With no loving wife to listen to you or help you through it, you turned inward, and when you did that you only found bitterness. A bitterness for the world, a world you wanted to punish. You killed people who you had some connection to through your project, people who had no idea what you were trying to build, but who could get you closer to it. And yet... You were manipulated by someone smarter than you, Max Vilne. He used your insecurities and hatred for the world against you, and your expertise in the past... He is the real mastermind. You are just a sheep."

"A sheep!?" Chris screamed. "I am a dreamweaver. I am Chronos! I killed with precision, and I helped bring all of this to fruition. You have no idea what"s in store for you!"

Chris grinned. "Do you think those fools were killed because they were involved in our project? Some were... But some were dispatched simply to reel you in. You and your red-headed partner. So that the final dance can play out! You are the sheep! You"ve been solving crimes with no rhyme or reason, all designed to buy us time, time to bring the Tempus Machine online! I will say not a word more!"

Finn felt sick to his stomach. Chris wouldn"t mention Vilne, but what he had said was enough to make Finn reach for a terrible conclusion—that Vilne had ordered the deaths just to give Finn something to chase.

"You might not want to give up Vilne," Finn said. "But let me promise you, neither of you will prevail. It"ll all have been for nothing! Come on, Amelia." Finn motioned towards the door. They stepped into the quiet of the hallway where the tension from the interrogation room seemed to dissipate.

"Think there"s any truth to it? A virus that could take down modern technology?" Amelia"s question sliced through the silence.

Finn"s mind raced with the possibilities. He knew what Vilne was capable of; the man was a ghost in the machine, elusive and dangerous. "No," he lied smoothly, unwilling to stoke her fears. "But there"s still so much that doesn"t make sense. Either way, we have to find Vilne."

Amelia sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "We"ve got no way to trace him."

"Let"s leave it to the tech guys," Finn suggested pragmatically. "They might be able to extract something useful from Chronos"s computers."

As they walked away, Finn felt the weight of uncertainty settle over him. The Tempus Machine was out there, and time, which seemed to be on Chronos"s side, was running out for them.

The interrogation room"s door clicked shut behind them, sealing away the enigma that was Chronos. Finn rubbed at his temple, feeling the echo of a headache born from a mix of exhaustion and the earlier blow to his head.

"Long day," he muttered, more to himself than to Amelia, who stood beside him, her gaze still fixed on the closed door as if she could see through it to the secrets beyond.

"Understatement," Amelia replied, her voice carrying a weariness that mirrored his own.

Finn glanced sideways at his partner. The fluorescent lights of the corridor cast harsh shadows across her face, accentuating the determination etched into her features—a resolute sculpture of duty and drive.

"You should head home," he said, his tone gentle yet laced with concern. "Get some rest."

"It doesn"t feel like the time to take a break, Finn."

"What else can we do right now? The tech guys will be ready with their assessment in a couple of hours, other than that the trail is cold," Finn said. "We"re exhausted, and the second the tech guys get anything from Chronos" files, we might have to work 24 hours round the clock to catch Vilne, if this computer virus is even a real thing. This is the calm before the storm. Use it to get some sleep."

Amelia turned to face him, her eyes holding his for a moment before she nodded slowly. "I will."

"Need a lift?" Finn offered, already picturing the silent cab ride where the day's events would replay over in their minds without need for words.

"No, thanks." She hesitated, then added, "There"s something I need to do. Something overdue."

Finn"s brows knitted together in curiosity. "What is it?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Amelia"s mouth. She reached out, her hand warm against his cheek—a brief, comforting touch. "Don"t worry about it," she said softly, her eyes revealing nothing.

He watched her walk away, her figure retreating into the labyrinth of Hertfordshire Constabulary's dimly lit corridors.