Corbin's Past

The rain lashed against the precinct window, a relentless drumming that mirrored the disquiet in Miles Corbin’s gut. He stared at the photograph on his desk, the serene, almost beatific expression on Dr. Evelyn Reed’s face a stark contrast to the grim reality of her study. The artifact, a coiled serpent carved from obsidian, still seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy even in its static form. He’d seen it countless times since that first, suffocating night, and each time, a cold knot tightened in his chest.

He’d been called to countless crime scenes, witnessed horrors that would curdle the blood of lesser men. But this one… this one felt different. It was the quiet desperation in Dr. Reed’s eyes, the way her fingers, so delicate and learned, were still locked around the serpent’s cold stone body. It spoke of a struggle, a final, desperate act of possession or defiance.

A sharp rap on his door jolted him from his reverie. Detective Miller, young, earnest, and far too eager for Corbin’s taste, poked his head in. “Corbin? Captain wants to see you. Something about the Reed case. New leads, maybe.”