Hailey pov
The silence in Hailey's apartment wasn't peaceful.
It was alive—dense and heavy, pressing against her ribs like it wanted inside her lungs. It wasn't the comforting kind of silence that soothed. It choked. Like the air was mourning something she hadn't figured out how to grieve yet.
The low hum of her refrigerator was the only thing that tethered her to reality, a constant whisper in the distance reminding her that the world was still spinning—even if her own had ground to a halt.
Her cereal sat untouched on the table, the milk congealed and yellowing. She didn't remember pouring it. Her laptop screen dimmed, still glowing faintly, casting pale blue light against the mess that used to be her sanctuary. Messages blinked red—unread, unanswered. Her email inbox climbed into the triple digits. Everyone wanted something.
Answers. Progress. Results.
But Hailey couldn't give them anything. Not yet.
Because all she wanted was to understand what the hell she was staring at.
Her walls—once pristine and white—had transformed into a web of obsession. Paper, photos, red thread, ink-stained notes in her frantic scrawl. A mind map of madness. A shrine to horror.
Her living room had become a crime scene of its own.
Victim One. Victim Two. Victim Three.
Each one pinned to the wall with surgical precision. Lines of red string fanned outward from the first photo, arteries connecting carnage. It was grotesque—and beautiful in its order. Like veins stretching across drywall.
Blood trails. Mutilation angles. Times of death. Proximity to highways. Autopsy sketches. Each detail meticulously cataloged. She had filed them in chronological order, rearranged them by method, by motive, by madness. And still, the puzzle refused to click.
Why aren't you making sense?
She stepped forward, bare feet against cold tile. The sensation helped keep her anchored. Her hair was messily knotted, a pencil stabbed through it like a weapon. She reached for a photo near the center—Lewis Adam, the most recent victim.
His face was slack. Eyelids half-closed. Blood streaked across his chest like a canvas—meticulously carved, almost reverent.
Same method.
Same message.
Same… signature.
She didn't know what it meant yet. But she could feel it.
Something primal. Something personal.
She dropped the photo and turned back to the couch, rifling through the piles of files until she found the autopsy report. She didn't need to read it again, but she did. Her eyes scanned the words she had memorized:
Genitals mutilated.
Tongue removed.
Cauterized incisions.
No sign of sexual assault.
Four days held captive.
Restrained in a basement.
No forced entry.
Victim lived alone.
No known enemies.
Same pattern.
Same silence.
But this one felt different.
Hailey crossed the room, sat at her desk, and opened a hidden folder on her encrypted drive. Not officially sanctioned. Definitely not bureau-approved. But this wasn't about protocol anymore. This was about the truth.
Victim One: Gary Sloane
Victim Two: Mark Delaney
Victim Three: Lewis Adam
All men. All federal employees. All lived alone.
No spouses. No children. No pets.
No one to come looking until it was too late.
Not random. Not impulsive. Chosen.
And yet… no direct connection. No joint investigations. No shared cases or scandals. She'd already cross-referenced everything from housing records to government clearances. Nothing fit.
Unless…
Her breath hitched.
Unless they weren't chosen for what they did—but for what they knew.
She stood and pressed both palms to the wall, eyes flicking across the tangled web of string and ink like the answers might bleed through if she stared long enough. Her skin crawled. Her pulse buzzed beneath her skin like static.
And then—buzz. Buzz.
Her phone lit up on the table, its glow slicing through the darkness.
Cassian.
The name alone made something tight in her chest ease—just a fraction.
She stared at it, hesitant. Then slid her thumb across the screen.
"I didn't think you were a night owl," she rasped, voice like gravel.
His voice came through warm and smooth. "And miss your 3am crime-board unraveling? Never."
Despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she admitted, dragging a hand down her face. "It's in my skin. Crawling. Whispering. I can't shut it off."
Cassian exhaled softly, the sound like wind through a low-lit bar. "Want me to come over and stage an intervention? Tie you to the couch? Force you to watch trashy reality TV until you forget what flayed rib cages look like?"
"You're an asshole."
"You're sleep-deprived."
She flicked on the kitchen light. Her reflection in the microwave startled her—dark circles, clenched jaw, haunted eyes. She looked like someone on the verge of unraveling. Maybe she was.
"I'm missing something," she said, staring at herself.
"What?"
"Something he's taking. It's not about jewelry or valuables. It's deliberate. Intentional. Like he's… erasing them."
"Erasing them, how?"
"Symbolically. Like he's rewriting their stories. Removing parts of them that mattered to him."
Cassian was quiet for a beat. "So he knew them?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they reminded him of someone he knew. Either way—no forced entry. That means access. Trust. Familiarity."
Another pause. Then, too casually:
"I have a feeling this case is going to take a long time to crack."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why did you say it like that?"
"Say what?"
"'Going to take a long time to crack.
Cassian chuckled, but it sounded off. "Just playing devil's advocate. I mean, think about it—who else could pull this off? These guys weren't low-level nobodies. They had clearance. Walls. Security. Someone's walking past those without breaking a sweat."
Her throat felt tight. "He'd have to be someone they trusted."
"Exactly."
The line buzzed between them. She could hear his breathing—steady. Calm.
Hers wasn't.
"Get some rest, Hailey," Cassian said gently. Too gently. "You're no good to the case if you burn out."
"I can't rest. Not now."
"Sure you can," he said. "Turn off the lights. Close your eyes. Let the monster sleep."
Something in his voice shifted at that last word.
Monster.
Hailey's skin prickled. She almost missed it. Almost.
She hesitated. Then forced a breath. "Fine. I'll try."
"Good," he said. "Goodnight, Hailey."
The line went dead.
She stood there in silence, the phone still in her hand.
Something was wrong.
She turned slowly, her eyes falling back to the wall.
To the photos. The strings. The patterns