BLOODY CURTAIN ROD

With nightfall, he and Cleo'd found their way to a remote corner of the resort, one its wealthiest visitors sneered at in disdain, repulsed at having to share their vacation spot with the middle-class citizens who dared to taint these luxurious grounds. The Bordeau district catered to such modest wallets.

"Welcome to the Sunset Lodge. Do you have a reservation?"

"No," Echo said in a strained voice. Their first day on Golden Bay had turned out fruitless, aching feet and a throbbing headache his only reward for his efforts.

"No worries, Ms., we still have a couple left. Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Twin room, single beds."

"Shower or bath?"

"Shower."

"Are you sure?" the peppy receptionist asked, sparkling eyes straying to where a pouting Cleo was leaning against her desk. Cleo, who'd nearly drowned in a puddle. Twice. "It's only 700 berries extra..."

"I'm certain," he forced between clenched teeth. They should have returned to the sub. Who cares if each trip heightened the risk of getting caught? He'd already be in bed (or in a cell. But there were beds in prison… right?). "How much for the night?"

"That will be 8000 berries!"

... Better not think of all the scraps he could buy with that. Or the chocolate. His stomach rumbled at the thought, the protest shamelessly echoed by Cleo's own as he traded a handful of coins for a bony key.

"Have a nice stay, Sir!"

In the drop of a second, the receptionist's eyes grew impossibly wide, small hands flying up to her parted lips as an anxious tsunami swept away her cheer.

Echo tensed, hunger and tiredness repressed by old instinct. He extended his abused haki, brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers reaching for a taser dis—

"I meant, Madame! Have a nice stay, Madame!"

Good lord... He was too tired for this, just like he was too tired to modulate his voice's rough timber.

"Thank you," he said with as kind a smile as he could muster, before he clasped a hand over Cleo's shoulder and stirred the snickering girl toward the staircase.

As soon as he stepped inside their black and gold dominated suite, Echo's eyes zeroed in on a lush queen-sized bed, its silken sheets and farandole of cushions luring him in with oh-so-sweet promises of rest. He was gay enough to resist a siren's call, not a bed three sizes his own.

"Just going to... small power-nap," he mumbled into the heavenly cloud.

His lids fluttering shut, and within seconds, he drifted into blissful nothingness.

*

After what felt like much longer than his intended power nap, a resounding 'bang' startled him awake. The blast was echoed by many others, and a glance through the window presented him with the nostalgic spectacle of colorful explosions.

Cleo, her thin body sprawled on top of her giant nest, remained fast asleep throughout the show.

Climbing up a fountain, and trees, and lampposts, and private properties... the day had gotten the best of her boundless energy. A yawn tore his jaw wide open for so had walking through a crowded island with his observation haki blasted on.

Grogginess clung to him as he shuffled to the bathroom. The steaming hot water appeased some of the built-up tension in his shoulders, and with a sigh, he relished in the sensation until an angry rumble cut through the fog.

Food. Right. He groaned, weary of the celebrating crowd, but the loud snores of his ogre princess were all the incentive he needed to slip back into his clothes.

Echo stalked toward the bedroom's desk and scribbled a quick note. His curvy writing bled across a corner of the yellow square before he reconsidered and drew a buffet of Cleo's favorite food instead (meat at the center with a couple of camouflaged veggies lurking in thse corner). He placed the post-it on her cushion and dropped a feather-light kiss on her forehead before walking out.

The streets were dark with people, hundreds of Golden Bay's middle-class visitors hanging around the night market while others enjoyed an over-priced dinner in one of the district's posh restaurants.

What I wouldn't give to fly over the crowd.

Thankfully, it took him just shy of fifteen minutes to reach a promising food stall. The old couple behind the counter offered a wide array of grilled meat but also, bless them, some vegetable skewers and mouth-watering candy apples. His eyes rounded at the sight. When was the last time he'd had one? In Sabaody park? It felt like an eternity. A smile stretched his lips as he imagined the wonder on Cleo's face, reminiscent still of her awe when she'd had her first taste of chocolate.

He made his way back with a skip in his steps and a grin on his face.

This isn't such a bad day after all, he thought as he pushed the door to their room open—

Greasy meat splashed the parquet, two large and glossy candy apples rolling out of their forgotten bag.

Hands shaking in building terror, Echo bent low to inspect the curtain rod laying amidst a ripped cushion's scattered feathers. Blood stained one end of the rod, a cracked tooth—premolar, adult—laying like a trophy underneath.

"Cleo?" he called out in a trembling voice. "Princess it's me…" Please come out.

Echo's skin prickled, his carnal envelope too small to contain his rising panic as he inspected the Cleo-less room.

Think!

Every second counted.

Calm down, he told himself in vain when black spots darkened his vision.

"Breath. Imagine you're blowing out a candle. Take a deep inhale... and blow. Pffft," the memory of his mother's voice whispered reassuringly.

He'd only been gone thirty minutes, so not long enough for someone to both subdue Cleo and leave the island.

"Right," he whispered to himself. There was still time. His amber eyes hardened with resolve.

"Alright," he said, voice as shaky as his plan. He fisted his dress, knuckles pressed to his hammering heart.

"Breath. Imagine you're blowing out a candle."

He could do this. He'd find her.

His teeth, grinding painfully one moment, parted around an anguished scream the next as he forced the range of his observation haki way beyond its limit.

One second. It lasted barely one second, yet the shadow of death was knocking at his shattered door. Echo collapsed, unblinking gaze veiled in darkness as his frayed nerved released punishing discharges throughout his convulsing body.

Am I dead? No. Death wouldn't be this painful. He wasn't dead. He just was. A mind that had escaped its body and struggled to merge back with its broken vessel. And for what? During the short time his observation haki had covered the island, it had brushed against the hundreds of vaguely familiar people he'd crossed paths with during the day, and thousands of foreign figures he had yet to come across, but none of them were Cleo.

Blood dribbled from his nose.

God damn it! Had he miscalculated? With a devil fruit power, someone could have rushed her away, maybe even flown her away, but that rose the most burning question of all: why? Why Cleo? Why here? Why now? Had she been targeted or was this a coincidence?

Whichever the case, she was either unconscious or off the island. Unconscious or off the island. Unconscious or off the island. Trapped in his unresponsive body, he repeated those words like a mantra. Unconscious or off the island. One or the other. It had to be one or the other... Because if she wasn't then... No! She was either unconscious or off the island.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than two minutes, the spasming eased, and with a pained groan, Echo forced his shaking body off the ground.

His emotions were a mess of thousands of strangers' melancholy and joy sprinkled in with some anger, pain, doubt, sorrow, and every other emotion living-beings experienced. They jumbled through his body, pulling for his favor like bickering siblings over their parents' attention. Too bad he had no room left for them. His terror eclipsed it all.

Leaning against the wall, Echo staggered back to the second floor's gold-carpeted corridor only to pause. His nap tingled, and a glance to his left showed his beady-eyed neighbor observing him through the crack of his door. Brown-eyes widened, wrinkled hands pressing against the frame, but Echo was faster than the amateur spy and with a single kick he sent the door flying into the wall.

"What happened?" he asked, too—tired, scared, angry, in pain—to reign in his aggression.

The elderly man whimpered.

"What did you hear?" Echo growled, every word punctuated by a menacing step forth until he had his quivering prey pressed into a corner. "What did you see?"

"I... I just heard a scream... L-Like someone was d-dying."

"Not now!" Echo yelled in exasperation. "What did you hear before?"

The wannabe spy curled up in fear. "N-Nothing. I'm sorry! I heard nothing! Not now, not then. N-Nothing happened, sir, I-I promise!"

Echo resisted the urge to shake the stammering fossil.

"Breath. Imagine you're blowing out a candle. Take a deep inhale... and blow."

"I'm calm," he growled. "So fucking tell me what you heard. Please."

"Nothing, I swear... I-I didn't hear a single sound until that scream."

Which, considering the chaotic state of his room, was bloody fucking impossible!

If patience was a thread, Echo'd just been torn to shreds.

"What kind of gullible fool—"

...

...

...A devil fruit. Of course. One that could plunge a room in silence maybe, he conjectured with furrowed brows. Or one that allowed its user to play with people's memories or even just their senses like Leny had during Mary Geoise's fire. A chill rippled down his spine at the memory of his father's lip-wired slave.

"Fuck!"

Echo went to thread his fingers through his hair only to meet the coarse curls of his wig. He tore it off, desperate for the grounding feel of digits carding through his locks, and paced in a tight circle.

This wasn't a simple kidnapping, not if such a specific devil fruit was involved. In fact, it was frightfully similar to what the families of the abducted victims had described: no noise, no witness, only the undeniable proof that their loved ones had fought.

The shadow of panic lurked in the corner. It crept on him, engulfing his shaking body like a clingy lover. Echo pulled at his hair, desperate to keep the sinister darkness away.

Had Cleo been targeted after all? And if so, by who? Who would—

He halted, eyes wide with realization, and before he could second guess his epiphany, he was racing down the stairs and crossing the hotel's lobby.

Fueled by nothing but adrenaline, drunk on emotional overload, he stumbled toward the resort's upscale area.

Copious amounts of alcohol had the Bordeau district's visitors turn a blind eye on his disheveled state, but the closer he got to the Golden quarters, the more unwanted attention he garnered. At this rate, he'd have half of Silver Guard's officers after him before he had wig-man hanging by his intestines.

Echo just barely extended his observation haki. He grimaced at the effort, his aching body tensing in quiet protest as he veered inside a dark alley where two middle-aged men were frolicking behind a pile of crates.

Bound to the shadows, Echo tip toed closer. Small triangular blades slid out of his gloves, the tip of each sea-stone needle coated in a shimmering black powder, and before they'd even noticed him, he slashed both men's exposed skin. One yelped, the other gasped, but neither could resist the pull of sleep.

Echo took his wrinkled and blood-stained dress off in favor of his slimmest snoozing victim's three-piece costume. The jacket hung loose over his shoulders, the matching gray trouser barely clinging to his hips, but with some creative adjustments and the help of his trustee cable-belt, he turned half-way presentable and jumped back into the crowd.