The body was found charred beyond recognition, dumped behind a closed-down textile factory. The fire had eaten away the flesh, leaving behind brittle, blackened bones. Forensics estimated the victim had been burned alive, a detail that turned even the seasoned detectives pale. But Jonas, ever the steady partner, kept his reaction locked deep inside.
Damien stood beside him, hands tucked neatly in his coat pockets, watching the scene with calculating eyes. His face was unreadable. Not cold, not curious—just... neutral.
"Another one," Jonas muttered, crouching near the taped perimeter. "Same pattern as the last. It's like this guy wants us to know it's him."
"He's escalating," Damien replied calmly. "Or enjoying himself. Maybe both."
Jonas didn't respond. His focus was on the forensic techs lifting scorched remnants from the ashes. Damien, however, wasn't watching the body. His eyes had drifted toward the shadows beyond the scene—toward the smoke that clung to the broken windows of the abandoned factory. He wasn't thinking about the fire. He was thinking about Cole.
Cole had gone too far with this one. The fire was unnecessary. Sloppy. But Damien wouldn't scold him just yet. Not when they were getting closer to something far more dangerous than a burnt corpse—attention.
"Think it could be the same guy from the campus murders last fall?" Jonas asked.
Damien shook his head. "Different style. This one wants a message sent. The one from campus just liked the kill."
Jonas rubbed his temples. "What message is he trying to send?"
Damien's mouth twitched, almost into a smile. "Maybe we haven't listened close enough."
Back home, the house was quiet. Elliot was in his room, lost in whatever world he always disappeared into. Damien didn't bother disturbing him.
Cole was waiting in the garage.
The moment Damien opened the door, the metallic scent of cleaning agents hit him like a wall. Cole was scrubbing something from the inside of the trunk. Blood, most likely.
"I told you not to burn him," Damien said flatly.
Cole didn't look up. "He fought."
"They all do. That's not an excuse. Burning the body creates noise. Noise draws attention."
Cole stopped scrubbing, his shoulders tense. "I thought that's what we wanted. To make a statement."
Damien stepped closer. "No, we don't make statements. Not yet. Right now, we observe. We let them build their narrative. Then—when they're certain they understand the story—we change it. That's how we stay in control."
Cole turned around, eyes hard. "Then what about this new guy? The one dumping bodies with matching injuries? It's not me. And it's not you, right?"
Damien raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying.
"Then who is it?" Cole asked, a note of tension creeping into his voice.
"That's what I intend to find out," Damien said, almost to himself.
Back at the precinct, Jonas had started connecting dots. He laid out photos across his desk—burned corpses, stab wounds, missing fingers. He hadn't yet realized they were looking at two killers, not one. And that one of them was standing across from him every day.
"Whoever this guy is, he's not new to this," Jonas muttered. "He knows how to avoid cameras, how to clean up."
"Or maybe he knows how to be invisible," Damien offered, arms crossed, voice cool. "It's the ones in plain sight we often miss."
Jonas chuckled. "Philosophy now?"
Damien smiled faintly. "Observation."
Jonas didn't notice the way Damien's hand twitched slightly at his side. Didn't see the faint smudge on his cuff. Didn't hear the weight behind his words.
That night, Damien stood at the window of his study, looking out over the street. A storm was brewing—literally and otherwise.
The city wasn't just being stalked by killers. It was being played.
And Damien, patient as ever, would make sure he stayed ten steps ahead.
Even of the new player in the game.
Whoever they were… they'd made a mistake.
They'd entered Damien's world.
And no one walks out of it unmarked.