The city never really slept, but tonight, the streets felt unnervingly quiet. A thin fog clung to the cracked pavement as Emily Hayes adjusted her camera strap and slipped under the yellow police tape before anyone noticed. Her sneakers barely made a sound as she crept deeper into the alley, following the faint hum of voices up ahead.
She shouldn't be here. Definitely shouldn't be here. Fresh out of college and barely two months into her internship at the Metro Chronicle, she was still the girl fetching coffee and organizing notes for other reporters. But this, this was a chance. The Crimson Ghost had struck again, and the city was losing its mind. Another body, another crime scene, and maybe… just maybe… her first real story.
The alley smelled like bleach.
Emily's breath hitched as her eyes landed on the victim. A young man, sprawled against the brick wall like a discarded doll, his eyes wide open, his lips tinged blue. Not a single drop of blood on the concrete. It was almost too clean.
Her phone buzzed.
"Hayes!" A deep voice cut through the fog.
Emily flinched, shoving her phone back into her coat pocket and spinning toward the sound. Detective Shaw emerged from the haze like a shadow, his trench coat swaying as he strode toward her. His sharp gaze, framed by dark brows, pinned her in place.
"Do you ever follow instructions?" Shaw muttered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one saw her. "If Chief catches you in here, you'll be banned from every crime scene in the city."
"I'm not doing anything," Emily lied, angling her body to block the camera slung at her hip. "Just… observing."
Shaw's lips twitched, almost a smirk. "Observing is one thing. Crossing the line while a serial killer is out there? That's how rookies end up in body bags."
Before Emily could reply, another voice called out. "Detective, coffee run!"
They both turned. A man approached from the street, holding two steaming cups. The glow from the café sign behind him framed him like a portrait: tall, broad-shouldered, with sleeves rolled to his elbows despite the chill. His easy smile cut through the tension.
Ethan Cole, owner of Cole's Brew & Bakery, the café across from the precinct.
"Thought you could use these," Ethan said, handing Shaw a cup. His voice was warm, calm, like the steady flicker of a candle. Then his eyes found Emily's, lingering just a beat too long. "New face. Don't think I've seen you here before."
Emily swallowed, suddenly aware of how her messy ponytail and too-big jacket screamed rookie. "Emily Hayes. I, uh, write for the Chronicle."
Ethan's smile deepened. "Brave, sneaking in here." His gaze swept the alley, calm but observant. "Be careful, though. The Ghost doesn't like curious people."
It wasn't what he said it was how he said it. Casual. Almost amused. Emily felt a shiver crawl up her spine, though she forced a polite smile.
Shaw cleared his throat. "Alright, out. Both of you. I don't need my crime scene turning into a social club."
Emily didn't argue. She turned to leave, but as she passed the body, something caught her eye a flicker of red against the victim's pale hand.
She crouched for just a second, pretending to tie her shoe, and saw it: a single crimson petal, pressed between the victim's stiff fingers.
Her heart pounded. The reports she'd read none had mentioned this. Not once.
Emily lifted her phone, snapped a quick photo, and slipped it away before anyone noticed. Her chest felt tight as she straightened, forcing herself to walk casually out of the alley.
By the time she reached the street, Ethan was gone. The fog had swallowed him whole.
She tugged her coat tighter around herself, the chill finally sinking in. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe he was just a kind café owner with perfect timing.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't a call. It was a text from an unknown number.
Emily's fingers trembled as she opened it.
Stop digging, little reporter.
Her breath caught in her throat as the message dissolved into static, disappearing before she could screenshot it.
Emily's throat tightened. She glanced over her shoulder, the fog curling thick and heavy behind her. The ally was empty, but her instincts screamed otherwise.
A faint crunch echoed from somewhere deep in the mist - slow, deliberate footsteps on gravel.
Emily tightened her grip on her bag, forcing herself not to run. She walked, fast and steady, eyes forward, heart thundering.