Noise. Screams. Chaotic flashes, scattered and distorted, surged through his head.
The owner of these visions was lost—adrift in fragments of memory that weren't his, or maybe were.
Footsteps thundered closer. Heavy, desperate, echoing down a narrow hallway with faint, flickering lights.
Breaths grew ragged. Cries pierced the air. Hands reached, clawed, then slipped away—
And fate struck exactly as it was meant to.
A body twisted in bed. Sweat drenched his skin as though he were fighting someone unseen, locked in a violent struggle.
The screams rose higher, pressing against his skull—
Until the shrill ring of a phone shattered them all.
He jolted awake, gasping for air, his heart racing as if the nightmare still had its claws in him.
---
Meanwhile
Back at the crime scene, the black rose was secured as evidence, along with the chilling card that carried those haunting words.
Daniel Carter's body had already been taken to the coroner for examination.
Once the scene was cleared, Nicholas gave his order:
"Sam, bring me the director of this place. And anyone else who was here."
Minutes later, Sam returned, escorting three men—the center's director, and two swimmers who looked like Carter's colleagues.
Their footsteps slowed as they approached where Natalie, Nicholas, and Luca were waiting.
The weight of silence pressed down, as if the answers they carried might shatter everything.
Nicholas stepped forward, his hands buried in his pockets, his expression as cold as ice. His eyes scanned the three men standing before him—the manager and two fellow swimmers—watching every twitch, every flicker of unease.
"When was the last time you saw Daniel Carter?" His tone was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Kyle cleared his throat, answering steadily, though the weight of Nicholas's gaze pressed on him.
"We usually meet once or twice a week at most, but lately, with the big competition coming up, we've been together almost every day—training, pushing ourselves. The last time I saw him was yesterday. Around 2 p.m."
Nicholas tilted his head slightly. His gaze narrowed.
"And after that? Did you talk to him again?"
Natalie's voice followed, cool and precise, her eyes locked on Kyle as if she could read the truth from his face.
Nick Miller shifted uncomfortably, exhaling before answering.
"He left after a short discussion. Said he had something to take care of. None of us saw him again after that… nor do we know why he came back here later. Honestly, whatever brought him back—it wasn't something he shared with us."
For a moment, silence pressed in, heavy with grief more than suspicion. Then the manager spoke, his voice thick with sadness.
"Daniel… he was a humble man. Beloved by everyone who knew him. It's still impossible to accept that he died in such a cruel, brutal way."
Nicholas's eyes narrowed again.
"So… no threats? Nothing unusual? No enemies that you know of?" His question was calm, but his tone carried an edge of demand.
The manager swallowed hard, clearly nervous—not guilty, but weighed down by the pressure of protecting the center's reputation.
"Sir, we honestly don't know. At least… not about his personal life. We only saw him here, as an athlete, as a friend. Beyond that—we can't say."
Natalie and Nicholas exchanged a brief glance. She gave the faintest nod, signaling it was time to wrap up.
Luca stepped in, his voice firm, final.
"The body and the evidence found at the scene have already been secured. The investigation will move forward swiftly. If we require further testimony, you'll all be summoned to the station."
The words dropped like a verdict, leaving the three men shifting uneasily in their places. The investigation was only beginning—but already, the weight of suspicion hung heavy in the air.
_________
In a dim, chilled room filled with a foul, suffocating stench — the unmistakable odor of decaying flesh — the air was heavy with the scent of death itself.
This was the autopsy room, where doctors uncovered how and when people died.
The smell had become almost unbearable, a mixture of cadaverine and putrescine — gases released as bodies decayed — but for those who worked here, this was simply part of their job.
A young forensic doctor stood by the doorway, her expression unreadable. She watched as the officers entered, wheeling in the body along with the collected evidence.
Everything was handed over carefully, and with a short nod, the doctor promised to proceed with the examination immediately.
She slipped on her gloves — the faint snap of latex echoing in the sterile silence — and stepped closer to the table. The white sheet was lifted, revealing the lifeless body beneath.
She began her work, moving methodically from the extremities to the torso.
The skin was cold, the muscles stiff — the clear signs of death several hours old.
From that alone, she could estimate the time of death with precision.
But as her eyes moved over the corpse, something else caught her attention — the sheer number of stab wounds scattered across the body.
They were savage, brutal, and merciless, cutting through the flesh with no pattern or hesitation.
She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. Then she reached for the scalpel.
The sound of metal against flesh sliced through the stillness of the room — soft, deliberate, inevitable.
This was where the truth would begin to speak.
After finishing their examination of all the evidence at the center, the team—just as they had entered together—now stepped out together.
But to their surprise, the chaos outside hadn't faded. Dozens of reporters still filled the area, even though more than an hour and a half had passed since the investigation began.
As soon as they appeared, flashes exploded once again, and the noise rose like a wave. Journalists swarmed forward, shouting questions, desperate to know what evidence had been found.
Sam and Luca immediately moved to block them, their expressions hard as they forced a path through the crowd. The reporters pressed closer, cameras and microphones colliding in the frenzy—but the officers held their ground.
Finally, after a tense struggle, they managed to break free, slipping into the police cars and shutting the doors before anyone could stop them.
Inside the car, Luca switched on the air conditioner, exhaling sharply as he leaned back in his seat.
"God, I was this close to suffocating out there," he muttered in frustration. "They're like a herd of wild animals."
After the team had finished reviewing all the evidence at the center, they finally stepped out — the four of them — the same way they had entered.
But to their frustration, the chaos outside hadn't died down.
Reporters still crowded the front, lights flashing, questions flying in every direction.
Even after nearly an hour and a half, the swarm hadn't thinned.
As soon as they appeared, a wave of shouting and camera flashes hit them like a storm.
Sam and Luca moved quickly, trying to block the reporters and carve a path through the crowd.
With effort, they managed to reach the patrol cars and shut the doors before another round of questions came crashing their way.
Luca leaned back in his seat with a frustrated sigh, twisting the air vent toward himself.
"My God… I was starting to suffocate in there. They're like a herd of wild camels," he muttered under his breath.
Sam, still gripping the wheel, spoke with irritation, "Every single time there's a case, they do this. It's infuriating."
Nicholas closed his water bottle and set it aside, his tone dry and sharp.
"It's their job, Sam. That's what gets them paid — headlines, bonuses, the next big scoop.
Self-centered vultures who don't care about the tragedy they're feeding on."
Natalie, leaning her head against the window, exhaled slowly.
"Did Dr. Mary receive the body and the evidence? We'll need the preliminary report as soon as possible."
Luca nodded, eyes half-closed in exhaustion.
"Yes, everything's been delivered. She's probably already started the autopsy."
"Good," Natalie replied, her voice steady despite her fatigue.
"Sam, let's head to the forensic lab. Maybe she's found something by now."
Nicholas glanced over. "If you get tired, I'll take over the wheel," he said seriously, trying to ease his partner's strain.
Sam smirked faintly. "Don't worry, man. I'm used to driving. Get some rest — we'll be there soon."
Nicholas simply nodded, his gaze fixed outside the window, lost in thought.
---
After some time, Dr. Mary finally completed the initial examination.
What she found was shocking — though not to her. She'd seen worse.
A few soft knocks broke her focus. She peeled off one glove, walked to the door, and opened it.
"Hey, Mary. How are you holding up?" Natalie greeted her with a tired smile.
"I'm fine, dear. You?" the doctor replied warmly.
"Still alive," Natalie said dryly, before her tone shifted into the sharp professionalism she was known for.
"Did you find anything that stands out? Anything unusual about the body?"
"By the way," Natalie added, "you already know Sam and Luca. This is Nicholas — my new partner. We're working together on this case."
Nicholas stepped forward politely, shaking Mary's hand before they all moved toward the examination table.
"When the body arrived," Mary began, "I confirmed the estimated time of death. It was between 2:30 and 3:00 a.m."
"So… early this morning," Sam said, frowning. "That means he came back to the center after leaving yesterday afternoon. But why?"
"Exactly," Mary replied, adjusting her glasses
"When the body was delivered, the muscles were
already in full rigor. That process usually takes six to eight hours — sometimes up to twelve.
Which means he died in the very early hours of the morning."
Nicholas's jaw tightened slightly. "And that black rose — what the hell is it supposed to mean?"
"The rose," Mary said, glancing toward the sealed evidence bag, "is a rare one. No fingerprints.
But there's something else about this case that truly disturbed me."
Luca frowned. "Something else? What do you mean?"
"Come closer," she said, gesturing for them to approach the body.
"Look at the stab wounds — his hands, his legs, his abdomen. The depth averages around four centimeters.
These weren't random strikes; they were controlled, precise… vicious."
She paused, her voice lowering.
"But what really caught my attention was the number."
They leaned in. The room went cold.
"Twenty-three stab wounds," she said quietly.
"All over his body — two to the back of the neck, the rest scattered everywhere."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Even the air felt heavier.
Nicholas muttered under his breath, his tone bitter and laced with dark irony.
"Twenty-three stabs… whoever did this wasn't just killing him. They were sending a message.
Something tells me the days ahead are going to be darker than my hair."