The clock had passed midnight when Valentera began to breathe again. For this city, as everyone knows, does not live in the daylight; it awakens when the law sleeps. The fog presses down on the alleys like an invisible hand, hiding what should not be seen. The cobblestones are wet, not from rain, but from the remnants of a night that never washes itself clean.
Roberto Marini was walking slowly, his steps making no sound except in his own ears. His heavy coat draped tightly over his body, and his Italian hat concealed the scar that cut across his left cheek—a scar carved by time itself. He carried no lantern… he never needed one. He despised the light that reveals superficial things and misleads from the truth.
Last night, Valentera was silent… not a silence of peace, but one that meant something had happened—something heavy that cannot be expressed in words. And now, in the alley of "Fonte Vecchia," the police stood like ghosts, staring at a lifeless body sprawled on the ground.
The corpse of Leo Carlos.
Leo was not just a seasoned detective; he was Roberto's mentor… the man who taught him that "the truth is not seen in evidence… but in what the evidence hides."
But now, here he was, laid out like a trivial victim in an absurd play.
His blood seeped between the cobblestones as if searching for an exit, and his head tilted at an angle that suggested not sleep… but collapse.
Roberto showed no emotion. That wasn't his nature. He approached the body slowly, his eyes scanning the place as if interrogating the shadows themselves.
"Mr. Marini, there are no fingerprints. The killer left nothing behind."
The voice came from behind him, Detective Verano, an eager young man who believed crimes were solved by the number of questions asked. Roberto didn't respond. He bent down calmly, stared at Leo's face, and at the corner of his lips, a faint smile appeared… not of pity, but as if sharing a secret with him one last time.
When he raised his head, his eyes caught a small detail…
A droplet of blood hanging at the corner of the wall, in a spot the killer couldn't have reached unless standing at a height.
"Our killer likes to play," Roberto said quietly.
Verano approached quickly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the killer wanted us to see this drop."
It wasn't a complete answer, but it was enough to send Verano's mind into a spiral of possibilities. As for Roberto, he knew that someone who plants his blood on the walls like this… is toying with his mind alone.
He pulled out a black leather notebook from his coat, opened it to a blank page, but wrote nothing. His mind was writing elsewhere.
The Masked Killer.
The name had been spreading through the streets for weeks. Crime after crime, all bearing a unique signature — a strange symbol drawn near the crime scene, sometimes with a thread of blood, sometimes with a small stone placed in a specific corner. Everyone spoke of this killer as if he were a legend… but tonight, he chose Leo Carlos.
But Roberto was not like the others. He never believed in legends. Yet, he also couldn't explain how all the evidence in all the murders… led to nothing.
He turned back to the body. He looked at Leo's right hand. The fingers were curled, but within them was a small piece of paper.
Verano bent down quickly: "We didn't see it, sir."
Roberto gestured for him not to touch anything. He took the paper himself. It was a thin sheet, like a page torn from an old book. On it, a single word was written in faded ink:
"Forget."
Roberto smiled quietly. No one but him would understand this message. Or at least, that's what the killer intended.
But deep inside, something began to scratch… as if his own memory trembled.
He turned his face towards the dark street, his eyes scanning the corners. Not searching for a fleeing killer… but for a shadow he knew was close, very close.
"Mr. Marini, is this the signature of the Masked Killer?" Verano asked eagerly.
Roberto didn't reply directly.
He knew the Masked Killer more than anyone else, in a way he couldn't explain… or perhaps didn't want to.
"Verano…"
"Yes, sir?"
"I want to hear from Valentera tonight. I want reports on every person who moved in this alley within the past three hours. Everything, even those who did nothing."
"Understood."
Roberto gave one last look at Leo's body, then raised his eyes to the small mirror fixed above one of the doorways — his reflection was blurred… as if he saw another person behind his face.
He never believed in legends. But now, before his mentor's corpse, he began to doubt his own memory.
In Valentera… when truth fades, memory becomes the enemy.