Chapter 3

Trevor was at his desk when the call came. The phone buzzed against the wood like a live wire, and he knew before he picked it up. You don't get calls at 2 AM for good news. You get them because something broke that can't be fixed.

"She's gone."

Vane's voice was rough, stripped of its usual bravado. Trevor felt the words land like stones in his chest, each one heavier than the last.

"Who?" he asked, though he already knew.

"Evelyn Reed. Found her an hour ago in her apartment. Same M.O. as Maya. Same signature."

Trevor's hand tightened on the phone. Evelyn. The soft-spoken woman with the worn locket and the kind eyes that held too much grief. The sister who had trusted him enough to share her suspicions. The woman who had secrets she'd hinted at but never fully revealed.

"I'm on my way."

He hung up before Vane could argue. The revolver was already in his jacket pocket, a familiar weight that had become part of him over the past days. He grabbed his notebook and the glass shard, still wrapped in cloth, and headed out into the rain-slicked night.

The precinct was alive with activity when he arrived. Officers moved with purpose, their faces grim. Detective Isabella Rossi stood at the center of it all, her impeccably dressed figure a stark contrast to the chaos around her. She spotted Trevor the moment he walked through the doors and her expression hardened.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Evelyn was my source. I have a right to know."

"You have a right to stay alive," she shot back, her voice cutting through the noise. "This isn't a game, Trevor. Two women are dead now. Connected. And you're running around the city chasing shadows."

"I found the glass shard. I found the pattern."

"And where did that get us? Evelyn is dead."

The words hit harder than she probably intended. Her eyes flickered—a moment of something softer, regret maybe, before the mask snapped back into place.

"Look," she said, her tone measured, "I know you cared about Maya. I know you're trying to help. But this killer is methodical. He's watching. He knew Evelyn was a loose end, and he tied it off. If you keep pushing, you'll be next."

Trevor met her gaze. "I'm already next. That's the point."

Rossi studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Vane's in the briefing room. Don't get in the way."

He found Vane hunched over a table covered in photographs. Evelyn's apartment. The body. The scene. Each image told a story of violence and precision. The killer had been careful, almost artistic in the way he'd arranged the scene. A message, maybe. Or a signature.

"She was found by her neighbor," Vane said without looking up. "Heard a crash around midnight. By the time he got the super to open the door, she was gone."

"Same as Maya?"

"Close enough. Strangled. A single piece of glass left on the body." He finally looked at Trevor, his eyes tired. "We found a match for your shard. It's from a specialized lens—high-end optical equipment. Research-grade stuff."

"Research?"

"Yeah. The kind of thing you'd find in a lab. Or a private collection."

Trevor's mind raced. The break-ins at optical labs. The shard. The photograph he'd received. It was all connected, but the pieces still didn't fit together cleanly.

"There's more," Vane said, his voice dropping. "Evelyn left a message. A note hidden in her locket. It had your name on it."

Trevor's heart stopped. "What did it say?"

Vane pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. Inside was a crumpled piece of paper, stained with what looked like dried blood. He handed it to Trevor, who read the words written in shaky handwriting:

"He knows you're following. He's been watching since Maya. Be careful who you trust. - E"

"She knew," Trevor whispered. "She knew she was in danger."

"She knew something," Vane corrected. "And whatever it was, it got her killed."

Trevor pocketed the note, his mind already working. Evelyn had been scared. She'd hinted at secrets about Maya's personal life that she couldn't share. Now she was dead, and the only lead he had left was the photograph and the address he'd received in that alley.

"I need to check something."

"Trevor—"

"I'll be careful."

He left before Vane could stop him. The address from the photograph was burned into his memory—a warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. It was the kind of place where things went to disappear. Where secrets were buried.

The rain had stopped by the time he arrived, leaving the streets slick and gleaming under the dim streetlights. The warehouse loomed ahead, its windows dark and boarded. A chain-link fence surrounded the property, but a section had been cut, the edges curling inward like a wound.

Trevor slipped through the gap, his revolver drawn. The air inside was cold and still, thick with the smell of rust and decay. He moved carefully, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor.

A light flickered at the far end of the space. A single bulb hanging from a frayed wire, illuminating a chair in the center of the room. On the chair sat a photograph. Of Evelyn. Alive. Smiling. The kind of smile that said she'd been happy once, before the darkness closed in.

Beneath the photograph was a note:

"You're getting closer. But close isn't the same as there. - J"

J. Jake. The ghost in the city's underbelly. The phantom whose presence was only felt when it was too late.

Trevor's hands trembled as he picked up the note. This wasn't just a warning. It was an invitation. A game. And he was the pawn.

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

"Check your left pocket."

He froze. Slowly, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small key. It hadn't been there before. Someone had put it there without him noticing. On the subway. In the crowd. Somewhere between the precinct and here.

The text continued:

"Come alone. Tomorrow. Midnight. The old observatory on Crestwood Hill. Bring the key. Bring the shard. And whatever you do, don't tell Rossi."

Trevor stared at the screen, his pulse hammering in his ears. The killer was toying with him. Leading him by the nose. But if he wanted to stop this, if he wanted to find the truth, he had to play along.

He pocketed the key and left the warehouse, the note and the photograph burning a hole in his mind. Evelyn had trusted him. Maya had trusted him. He couldn't let their deaths be just another case file.

As he stepped back into the night, a figure emerged from the shadows. Jenna. Her soft features were hard to read in the dim light, but her voice carried a sly edge.

"You're in over your head."

"I know."

"He's watching you. Every move you make. He knew you'd come here."

"Then he knows I'm not stopping."

Jenna stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. Jake isn't just a killer. He's a collector. He chooses his victims carefully. Maya. Evelyn. They weren't random. They were part of something bigger."

"What something?"

She shook her head. "That's for you to find out. But be careful, Trevor. The truth you're chasing might destroy you."

Before he could ask more, she melted back into the shadows, leaving him alone with the key and the shard and the weight of two dead women pressing down on his shoulders.

Trevor looked up at the sky, the clouds parting to reveal a sliver of moon. Tomorrow. Midnight. The observatory.

He had twenty-two hours to prepare. Twenty-two hours to decide if he was walking into a trap or toward the truth.

Either way, he wasn't going alone. Not really. He had Evelyn's note. He had the shard. He had the key. And he had a killer who wanted to play.

Game on.