The night was suffocating.

  A thick fog had settled over the city, making the old railway station look even more ominous. The once-busy tracks were now nothing more than rusted metal veins, leading nowhere.

  Damien stood still for a moment, absorbing the scene. The flashing red-and-blue police lights painted the old train cars in eerie, shifting shadows. His breath came out slow, controlled, but his pulse had started a rhythmic drumbeat of unease.

  A murder at this hour, in this location—it wasn’t random.

  It was planned.

  Isaac pulled up beside him, the usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. “You’re not gonna like this.”

  He didn’t have to say it.

  Damien already knew.

  The body was posed.

  Tied to an old train car, arms bound above her head, throat slashed so deep the skin barely held together. Dried blood had formed macabre streaks down her torso, soaking into her torn blouse. The scent of rust, mildew, and death clung to the cold air.

  But Damien wasn’t looking at the body.

  His eyes were fixed on what was behind it.

  Carved into the metal of the train car, just above her head, was a symbol.

  An insignia.

  The same one.

  Again.

  A sharp prickle of recognition crawled down Damien’s spine. He’d seen it before. On other victims. On evidence boards. In his dreams.

  And once… in a place far more personal.

  He clenched his fists, forcing his breathing to remain steady.

  This wasn’t just another case.

  This was a message.

  A warning.

  And it was meant for him.

  Captain Reynolds’ heavy footsteps signaled his approach. His expression was even darker than usual. He sighed before speaking, like he knew what was about to happen next.

  “Her name’s Evelyn Carter.”

  Damien’s world tilted.

  Carter.

  He knew that name.

  The pieces snapped together in his head before Reynolds could continue.

  Evelyn Carter was family.

  A distant cousin on his mother’s side. Someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone who shouldn’t have been here—shouldn’t have been a victim.

  And yet, here she was.

  Bleeding. Bound. Marked.

  His stomach twisted into a knot, but he kept his face unreadable. He couldn’t let anyone—not even Isaac—see how deep this cut.

  Because the moment killers knew something personal affected you, they wouldn’t stop.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  They’d make it worse.

  Isaac muttered under his breath. “Shit, Damien. This wasn’t just a kill. This was deliberate.”

  Damien nodded once, tightly. “I know.”

  Reynolds cleared his throat. “And that symbol—”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Damien interrupted. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He wasn’t ready to talk about where.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he turned back to the insignia, eyes tracing every sharp curve and jagged edge of the carved symbol.

  It meant something.

  Something more than just a calling card.

  A pattern.

  A curse.

  And it was following him.

  Isaac crossed his arms. “So what’s the play? You can’t just pretend this doesn’t affect you.”

  Damien exhaled, his fingers twitching slightly. A habit he only had when something truly disturbed him.

  “This isn’t about me,” he lied. “This is about finding whoever did this.”

  Isaac wasn’t buying it. “Bullshit.”

  Damien ignored him.

  He had to focus. The insignia wasn’t just random graffiti.

  It had appeared before.

  Years ago.

  On another case.

  On a letter sent to his mother.

  And once… scrawled in his own blood.

  His grip on reality tightened like a noose. He couldn’t afford to go there. Not now.

  Instead, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. There was only one person who could help him decipher this.

  One person who had warned him before.

  He hesitated—just for a moment—before pressing the call button.

  The line rang twice before a voice answered.

  Low. Rough. Familiar.

  “You’re finally ready to talk.”

  Damien’s throat felt dry. “Tell me everything you know about the insignia.”

  A pause.

  Then, a quiet exhale.

  “Meet me in one hour. But Damien… be careful. You’re running out of time.”

  Click.

  The call ended.

  Damien stared at his phone, the weight of the words pressing down on him like a stone.

  Running out of time?

  For what?

  His past was catching up.

  And this time…

  It wouldn’t let him go.

  The sky was still dark, a dull gray creeping over the city as dawn threatened to break. The streetlights flickered, struggling to keep the shadows at bay.

  Damien sat on the edge of the rusted platform, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts. The insignia. The victim’s name. The eerie precision of the kill.

  It was all too perfect. Too orchestrated.

  Someone had known.

  Someone had known Evelyn Carter was connected to him.

  And that meant one thing—whoever did this wasn’t just a killer.

  They were playing a game.

  And Damien was the prize.

  He exhaled sharply, gripping his phone. He had 15 minutes before the meeting.

  Fifteen minutes to figure out if he was walking into another trap.

  The cemetery was empty. The early morning mist curled between the gravestones like ghostly fingers, stretching and pulling in slow waves. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

  A figure stood near an old oak tree, barely visible through the fog.

  Damien didn’t hesitate. He approached with measured steps, his pulse a steady rhythm in his ears.

  The figure turned.

  Ronan Vale.

  Ex-detective. Conspiracy theorist. A man who had disappeared from the force five years ago after a case too dark to stomach.

  “Damien.”

  “Vale.”

  They studied each other for a moment, the past creeping into the cold air between them.

  “You finally believe me,” Ronan said, his voice edged with something unreadable.

  Damien slipped his hands into his coat pockets, his posture tense but controlled. “Tell me what you know.”

  Ronan glanced around before stepping closer. His eyes were sharp, haunted.

  “The insignia,” he murmured. “It’s older than you think. Older than both of us.”

  Damien’s jaw clenched. “Go on.”

  Ronan took out a worn notebook and flipped through the pages. He stopped at one, then turned the book so Damien could see.

  A sketch of the insignia.

  The same one carved into Evelyn’s murder scene.

  Damien’s stomach twisted. “Where did you get this?”

  Ronan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The same place you first saw it.”

  Damien’s blood ran cold.

  No.

  That wasn’t possible.

  Because the first time he had seen the insignia…

  It had been drawn in his father’s handwriting.

  Damien barely heard the wind rustling through the trees. His mind was moving too fast, pieces colliding in the dark corners of his memory.

  His father.

  The man who had vanished when he was ten years old.

  The man the world believed was dead.

  The man Damien had spent his entire career trying to forget.

  And yet, here it was again. His shadow bleeding into another case.

  Ronan studied him carefully. “You remember now, don’t you?”

  Damien didn’t answer.

  He couldn’t.

  Because the truth was staring at him, clear as day.

  His father had known about the insignia.

  And if Ronan was right…

  He wasn’t the only one.

  A sudden buzz from Damien’s phone snapped him out of his thoughts.

  A text.

  Unknown Number: You’re looking in the wrong places. Turn back.

  His fingers tightened around the device. Who the hell was this?

  Ronan frowned. “What is it?”

  Damien didn’t answer. Instead, he replied to the message.

  Damien: Who are you?

  Three dots appeared.

  Then, another message.

  Unknown Number: You already know.

  And then, a final message—

  Check the morgue.

  A chill crawled down Damien’s spine.

  Something was waiting for him.

  Something worse than a corpse.

  He turned to Ronan. “We need to go. Now.”

  Because whoever had just sent that message—

  They were already ahead of him.

  And Damien had a sickening feeling that he was exactly where they wanted him to be.