Chapter 3 — The Investigation Begins

Detective Damien Kingston

The body was still warm.

Detective Damien Kingston stood over the corpse of Eduardo Diaz, his gray-blue eyes cataloging every detail with the precision of a man who had stared into the face of death too often to flinch. The abandoned factory loomed around him, its rust-streaked walls and skeletal machinery casting jagged shadows under the feeble light of a single industrial lamp. Rain dripped through cracks in the corrugated roof, the staccato rhythm punctuating the oppressive silence. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the stale smell of oil and rust, clinging to Damien’s senses. Somewhere, a loose pipe hissed faintly, like a dying whisper.

Eduardo’s bulk slumped against the cold concrete, the once-pristine lines of his tailored coat soaked through with glistening red. Damien crouched, his leather shoes creaking softly, and studied the wound with a practiced eye. A single strike, angled upward, expertly aimed to pierce the heart. No hesitation. No wasted effort. Whoever did this wasn’t just efficient—they were deliberate.

Nearby, a shard of mirror rested beside the body, its jagged edges gleaming faintly under the dim light. Damien’s gloved fingers hovered over it before carefully picking it up, tilting it to catch the reflections of the ruinous space. Blood smeared its surface, but the placement was clear—this wasn’t an accident. It was intentional. A message left for anyone who cared to notice.

The shard’s edges seemed to cut into more than just light; they cut into Damien’s thoughts, tugging at an almost intangible sense of familiarity. He couldn’t place it—yet. But it nagged at him, like a word on the tip of his tongue. This wasn’t a Mafia hit. It lacked the theatrical brutality or calculated warnings that typified such acts. This was… something else.

“Detective Kingston!” The sharp voice of his partner, Special Agent Callahan, cut through the still air. Damien straightened slightly, glancing over his shoulder as Callahan’s polished shoes clicked across the concrete floor. The man’s crisp, tailored suit was somehow immaculate despite the factory’s grime, and his expression was all business, though the faintest flicker of unease darted across his dark eyes as they landed on Eduardo’s lifeless form.

“What have you got?” Damien asked, his voice calm, edged with the steel of focus.

Callahan stopped beside him, adjusting his tie out of habit, his sharp features tight with thought. “Preliminary report just came in. No signs of forced entry. Whoever did this got in and out clean. They knew the layout, knew the guard’s position.”

“What about the guard?” Damien asked, folding his arms and turning toward his partner.

“Still alive,” Callahan replied, his tone clipped but measured. “Found unconscious behind the factory. Zip ties on his wrists, mild concussion. Whoever took him out didn’t want to kill him.”

Damien’s brow furrowed. “Not exactly standard operating procedure for anyone in Eduardo’s line of work. Loose ends are liabilities.”

“Exactly,” Callahan said, his voice lowering slightly, the words pointed. “This wasn’t sanctioned. Eduardo was too high up. Someone’s making moves outside the usual playbook.”

Damien glanced back at the shard of mirror, his thoughts turning over the clues like pieces in a labyrinthine puzzle. The precision of the kill, the deliberate restraint with the guard, the shard itself—it all pointed to a deeper intent. “This wasn’t about power,” Damien said finally. “This wasn’t about taking his place.”

Callahan raised a skeptical brow. “Then what was it about?”

Damien crouched again, his gloved fingers tracing the edges of the shard as though it might whisper its secrets. “Erasure,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “This wasn’t about climbing the ladder. This was personal. Whoever did this didn’t just want Eduardo dead—they wanted him gone.”

Callahan crossed his arms, shifting his weight slightly as his polished demeanor cracked under the weight of the scene. “So, what are we looking at? A vigilante? A rogue assassin?”

“Maybe both,” Damien murmured. “Or neither.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications neither man wanted to voice. Vigilantes usually burned out fast in this city, consumed by the very fires they lit. Rogue assassins were cold, mercenary. But this… this felt different. The shard of mirror, the calculated precision—it wasn’t just a kill. It was a statement.

“Do we know anything about Eduardo’s recent movements?” Damien asked, standing and brushing a hand over his chin, the faint rasp of stubble grounding him in the moment.

Callahan nodded. “His staff mentioned a letter earlier this week. Hand-delivered, no return address. They said he burned the envelope after reading it. Whatever it said, it spooked him. Left him more paranoid than usual.”

“A letter,” Damien repeated, his gaze sharpening. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “Have forensics analyze the ashes. See if there’s any trace of ink or material we can work with.”

“I’m on it,” Callahan said. “But it’s going to be a slog. Eduardo had more enemies than friends, and most of them had the means to take him out.”

“We don’t have time for a slog,” Damien countered, his voice cutting through the air with an edge that surprised even himself. He exhaled slowly, reigning in his frustration, and continued in a steadier tone. “Whoever did this isn’t done. This was too clean, too calculated. They’re building toward something.”

Callahan studied him for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Damien,” he started, his voice softening, “you’ve been running yourself ragged since…” He hesitated, the unspoken name lingering between them like a phantom. “Since Sarah.”

The name hit like a dull blade, reopening the wound Damien kept buried beneath layers of steel resolve. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a fleeting moment, the rhythmic drip of water from a distant pipe seemed deafening, pulling him back to a memory he didn’t want to relive. Blood on pavement. A scream that shattered the night. A promise he couldn’t keep.

“This isn’t about her,” Damien said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute.

“Isn’t it?” Callahan pressed gently, his concern threading through his usually detached tone. “I know what chasing ghosts does to good detectives. Don’t let this case chew you up and spit you out.”

Damien’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The truth of Callahan’s words was too raw to acknowledge here, surrounded by the echoes of death and decay. Instead, he turned back to the scene, to the puzzle waiting to be solved. “Start compiling a list of Eduardo’s associates,” he said finally. “Anyone who might’ve had access to this factory. I’ll handle the rest.”

Callahan sighed, his shoulders shifting almost imperceptibly. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As Callahan’s footsteps retreated, Damien crouched beside Eduardo’s body once more. The shard of mirror glinted faintly in the dim light, its jagged edges sharp and unyielding. He slipped it carefully into an evidence bag, sealing it with a deliberate snap. Whoever had left it behind had left more than a mark—they’d left a challenge.

Outside, the rain hammered harder against the rusted roof, its relentless rhythm a grim counterpoint to the storm building in Damien’s mind. He stepped into the night without hesitation, his mind already racing through possibilities. Somewhere in the shadows of the city, a killer was waiting. And Damien intended to find them.

Even if it meant confronting the darkness within himself along the way.