The city had only just begun to believe it could finally sleep again—when morning tore it apart like a scream in a dark room.
First came the siren. Then the news. Two children—a brother and sister—vanished from their own home. Their nanny found dead, mutilated, as if someone had tried to carve the evil right out of her skin.
Within half an hour, the place was crawling with detectives: Karl, Tommy, Sam, and Anna. Outside, the crowd thickened like a hive stirred with a stick—neighbors, reporters, gawkers. The peaceful morning already smelled of ash and dread.
Anna and Sam arrived first. The moment they stepped from the car, flashbulbs exploded around them. Cameras thrust forward, microphones jabbed hard enough to bruise. Voices swarmed:
"Detective! Is it the Heart-Eater again? Or that freak, Gatto?"
"How many more before you actually do something?"
"Two kids! Two kids! What are you waiting for?"
