Something is harvesting hearts in the woods outside Oaktown.
​Detective Kraven, a cop who’s seen it all, is on the trail of an impossible killer. The victims aren't just murdered—their hearts are gone, taken from their chests without a single drop of blood. As he tracks the spiraling pattern of bodies, Kraven realizes the hunt is not random. It's leading to one place: the center of his town.
​Seventeen-year-old Bruce is an outcast, a ghost in his own high school, haunted by a constant, high-voltage hum in his bones that separates him from the world. His only anchor to normalcy is his girlfriend, Ruth, the one person who doesn't see him as a freak.
​But Bruce is a freak. He was born after a three-year pregnancy, in a supernatural storm that stopped time and killed his mother. His grandmother, Anah, is the only one who knows the truth—the secret of the dark, coiled birthmark hidden on his shoulder.
​When Anah gives Bruce an ancient amulet to "quiet his mind," the hum vanishes, only to be replaced by something far worse: a terrifying, primal hunger. He is plagued by nightmares of a vast, monstrous heart, pulsing in the dark, calling to him.
​As the heartless killer spirals closer, Bruce and Kraven are set on a collision course. Bruce must unlock the dark secret of his birth before the hunter finds him—or worse, before he discovers the monster he’s hunting is the one living inside his own skin.

Harris lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. "Krav, man, we gotta call this in. State, FBI... somebody."


"Already did," Kraven said, pulling out his own battered notebook. "This is the third one in this county in two months."


Harris went pale. "The third? Why am I just hearing about this?"


"Because the first was a drifter over by the county line. The second was a tourist up by the state park. Different jurisdictions. I just connected the M.O. this morning." Kraven took the cigarette Harris offered him. "Same deal. No blood, no struggle, no heart."


"A serial killer," Harris breathed. "Some... some psycho ritual."


"Rituals are messy, Harris. They leave things. Pentagrams, Bibles, chicken-bones. This... this is the opposite of messy. This is... efficient." Kraven took a long, harsh drag. "And it's escalating."


"The locations. First one was thirty miles out. Second was fifteen. This one is five miles from the Oaktown sign." Kraven looked at the body, then back at the trees. "He's not just killing. He's hunting. And he's getting closer to home."


"Closer to what?" Harris asked, his voice a nervous squeak.


Kraven didn't answer. He just stared at the perfectly empty space in the man's chest. Efficient, he thought again. No. Not efficient. That was the wrong word.


Chapter 8 - "Not the First"