The Rookie's Reckoning

The air in the precinct was thick with the metallic tang of stale coffee and the unspoken tension that clung to Jack like a cheap suit. Even the fluorescent lights seemed to hum with a low, disgruntled buzz, mirroring the knot in my gut. Captain Mulligan had called us in, his face a mask of grim pragmatism, but I could see the flicker of concern in his eyes. This wasn't just another case anymore. This was personal.

Jack sat across from me, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the chipped Formica tabletop as if it held the secrets of the universe. He hadn’t looked at me since Mulligan had dropped the bombshell. Not that I blamed him. The latest victim, a man named Silas Croft, was more than just another name on a casualty list. He was Jack’s uncle.

“Another hunter,” Mulligan’s voice was a low rumble, cutting through the silence. “Found three miles from his cabin, upstate. Same MO. Clean shot, no struggle. And the signature… the deer skull, placed on his chest.”