The rain came too early.
At exactly 3:33 a.m., the skies above Durnhill cracked open, shedding a torrent that hadn't been forecast, expected, or welcome. It wasn't just rain—it was thick, slow, metallic. Like the city was bleeding.
Amelia Hart stood under the crooked awning of a shuttered bakery, trench coat soaked, eyes fixed on the alley across the street. Her breath fogged the cold air in front of her. She hated anomalies. This whole case had been one.
She glanced at her watch. Alexis was late, as usual.
Across the way, the alley flickered under a flickering sodium lamp, and a sliver of a body—no, a silhouette—was curled near the dumpster. Third victim in as many weeks. No forced entry. No witnesses. No evidence left behind except for the symbol carved into the victim's tongue.
A spiral. Always the spiral.
Footsteps behind her. Soft. Confident. Annoying.
"I brought coffee," said a voice, smooth and unrepentant. "One's poison, one's not. Let's see how lucky you are tonight."
Amelia didn't look back. "You're late."
Alexis Voss slid beside her, handing over a steaming paper cup. She wore a black leather jacket over a hoodie, and her red hair glistened like neon in the wet. "I was gathering intel."
"You were sleeping, weren't you?"
"Define sleeping."
They stood in silence for a moment. The sound of the rain was unnatural—too rhythmic. Too heavy. Like something was hiding in it.
Amelia finally turned to her. "This makes three. All found in blind alleys. All with that mark."
Alexis took a long sip of her coffee. "And no signs of struggle. No prints. Not even city rat droppings, which is basically unheard of around here."
"Someone—or something—is cleaning up."
"Or they're not real."
Amelia glanced at her sharply.
Alexis smirked. "Relax. I didn't say the victims weren't real. But maybe they were made to look that way. You ever think of that?"
"I don't like games, Alexis."
"Lucky for you, I do."
The flickering light buzzed overhead as the two crossed the street. The alley stank of wet garbage and copper. A patrol cop nodded at them and stepped aside.
The body was that of a woman—young, dark-haired, blank-eyed. Still warm.
No sign of struggle. No clothes torn. No bruising. Just the spiral.
Amelia crouched, inspecting the mouth with gloved fingers. The tongue was still bleeding slightly.
"This was fresh," she muttered. "As if the cut happened after she died."
Alexis crouched beside her, scanning the walls. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a pocket flashlight. "Look."
On the brick wall, faint under the grime and water stains, was something etched deep into the brick. Another spiral.
And below it, in jagged lettering:
"One awakens. Two remain."
Amelia stood slowly.
"What the hell does that mean?" Alexis whispered.
Amelia didn't answer. She was staring past the wall—beyond it.
In her mind, a door had opened. Something on the other side stirred.
And in the rain, for just a second, she swore she saw eyes watching them.