Logan leaned against the hood of his car, arms folded across his chest as he watched the commotion at the crime scene. The flashing lights from the police cars cast a harsh, rhythmic glow across the wet street. The officers looked tense. Their faces were pale and drawn under the sirens' strobe. From the distance, it seemed serious. Serious enough to grab the attention of the whole neighborhood. Yet, here he was, observing from the shadows like a gargoyle.
As he scanned the crowd, he caught sight of a woman who seemed entirely out of place among the tired officers and frightened neighbors.
She was striking. Her dark skin glowed even under the harsh industrial lighting, and she carried herself with an undeniable, vibrant energy. Her hair was styled in thick, intricate dreadlocks that cascaded down her back, adorned with small gold cuffs and rings that caught the light every time she moved her head. She wore a sharp olive-green blazer over a crisp white collared shirt, her neck layered with gold chains and a cowrie shell choker.
She stood right at the yellow-and-black barrier, hands on her hips, arguing with a cop who was denying her entry. Her long, gold-painted nails tapped impatiently against the air as she spoke.
"Come on! I can help! You know I'm good at this," she was pleading with a short, stout officer whose patience seemed to be wearing thin.
"Sorry, Miss Winchester. We can't let anyone beyond this point. This is official business. You're not needed here," the officer replied, standing firm. He crossed his arms in a manner that suggested he had dealt with her persistence a thousand times before.
"Official business? Please," Olivia scoffed, gesturing vaguely at the chaotic scene behind him with a manicured hand. "It looks like a circus back there, Officer Miller. And I see you guys scratching your heads. Just let me take one look. I bet I can see something you missed. A pattern? A symbol? You know I have an eye for the... unusual."
"The only thing you have an eye for is trouble," Miller grunted, stepping sideways to block her view as she tried to crane her neck. "This isn't one of your little internet mysteries, Olivia. Go home."
Olivia let out a dramatic, frustrated huff, throwing her hands up. The gold rings on her fingers flashed. "I'm trying to help! You people are so stubborn. When you hit a dead end, don't come crying to me."
"We won't," Miller said flatly. "Goodnight, Miss Winchester."
Logan watched the exchange, a faint smirk touching his lips. She was tenacious. He had to give her that.
Olivia let out an annoyed huff. She didn't retreat. Instead, she paced back and forth, her olive-green blazer fluttering in the night wind as she scanned the perimeter for another way in.
Logan chuckled to himself in the shadows. She was nothing if not persistent. But the cops clearly weren't having it tonight. She stood there for a moment longer, clearly frustrated, before finally stepping back. Though it was obvious she wasn't giving up entirely.
"Guess she doesn't take 'no' for an answer," Logan muttered under his breath.
He watched her pace the sidewalk. Her eyes were locked on the officers as if she was trying to telepathically will herself past the barricade.
Logan's gaze drifted away from her to a section of the barrier that wasn't as heavily guarded. An idea sparked. With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he silently made his way toward the unguarded spot. He ducked low and slipped under the black and yellow tape.
But before he could blend into the shadows of the crime scene, a voice rang out behind him.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
Logan cursed under his breath. Caught.
He turned back toward the barrier. Olivia was staring right at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her sharp eyes narrowing under her dreadlocks.
He gave her a blank stare before stepping out from behind the barrier, realizing stealth was no longer an option.
"It's none of your business where I go," Logan replied coolly. His voice was laced with mild annoyance. "You're not a cop."
Olivia raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "No. But I am a private investigator. And I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be crossing police barriers."
"And you are?" Logan countered. His tone dripped with sarcasm. He started walking away, back toward the barrier, hoping she'd leave him alone if he just kept moving.
"Hold on a minute," Olivia said, stepping in front of him to block his path. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
"Taking a look," Logan muttered, trying to sidestep her.
But she was persistent. She mirrored his movement, her gold-ringed fingers tapping against her arm.
"Well," she said, eyeing his worn leather jacket and boots. "You're acting mighty suspicious for a farmer."
Logan paused. He sized her up for a moment. She was sharp. Too sharp.
"I'm not just a farmer," he said.
"Oh?" Olivia's curiosity piqued, her expression shifting from accusation to intrigue. "So what else do you do? Because last I checked, you were selling carrots at the market."
Logan stopped. He rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for this interrogation. But seeing as he wasn't going to shake her off without an explanation, he decided to improvise.
"Who said I was just a farmer?" Logan asked, keeping his face deadpan. "I'm also a private investigator. Just like you."
He delivered the lie smoothly. He hoped it would be enough to get her off his back.
Olivia's mouth dropped open slightly. She clearly hadn't expected that.
"Wait. Really?" she asked, blinking. "But..."
"You thought wrong," Logan interrupted. "Farming is a hobby. Investigating? That's my real job."
She looked skeptical. She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to him, studying his face for a crack in the armor.
"Really? So what's your specialty then, Mr. Investigator?"
Logan paused. His mind raced for a convincing answer that would shut down the conversation.
"Missing persons. Cold cases. The usual," he said with a casual air.
Inwardly, he hoped she would buy it. Or at least buy it enough to let him pass.
"Missing persons, huh?" Olivia raised a skeptical eyebrow, the gold cuff on her ear catching the flashing blue lights. "And yet, I haven't heard of you before? I know every PI in this county."
"People have layers, Winchester," Logan said, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. "Anyway, it's none of your business what I do."
He glanced toward the crime scene, then back to her, forcing a look of indifference.
"I mean, the town itself is usually quite boring," he added, delivering the second lie with a straight face. "Who would need another private investigator in a place like Inkdale? So, I stuck to farming. Keeps the bills paid."
Olivia stared at him for a beat, processing the absurdity of his statement. Then, she let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
"Boring?" She gestured wildly toward the yellow tape and the swarm of officers behind them. Her long, gold-painted nails sliced through the air.
"Wake up, farmer. There is a huge crime scene, and half the town is gossiping. And you think this place is boring?"
Logan didn't flinch. "Exceptions to every rule."
"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" Olivia said, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing.
Olivia tilted her head, the gold cuffs on her dreadlocks catching the police lights as she studied him intently.
"Alright, 'detective,'" she said, using her long, manicured fingers to make exaggerated air quotes around the word. Her tone was clearly still dubious. "We should totally work together on this. Two private eyes are better than one, right?"
Logan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache forming right behind his eyes.
"Look, Winchester, I work alone," he grunted. "It's just how I operate. I've got this under control."
"Under control? You were sneaking in like a teenager past curfew," Olivia teased, a smirk playing on her lips.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice so the nearby officer wouldn't hear.
"Come on, you know you want a partner. I can be useful, promise. Plus..." She paused, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I already know you're lying about being a PI. I bet you don't even have a license."
Logan stiffened. She was sharper than she looked.
Olivia leaned in, whispering the ultimatum. "So... You want to team up? Or I'm telling the cops about your 'PI expertise' right now. I'm sure Officer Miller would love to run your credentials."
Logan stared at her. He calculated the odds. If she caused a scene, the police would demand ID. If they ran his name, it would complicate his life significantly.
He let out a low, defeated growl.
"Fine," he hissed through gritted teeth. "But you follow my lead. And if you get caught, I don't know you."
Olivia's grin widened, showcasing perfect teeth against her dark skin. "Yes! You won't regret this. Let's crack this case wide open!"
Logan rubbed his temples, already feeling the weight of the mistake he was making. "I already do," he muttered.
He raised a hand to Olivia, signaling her to stay put. "Wait here. Don't move."
"Aye aye, Captain," she saluted mockingly, though her eyes were gleaming with excitement.
Logan walked back to his black muscle car. He popped the trunk, blocking her view with his broad shoulders as he lifted the false bottom of the carpet. Beneath the spare tire lay a hidden compartment. He rummaged through a collection of fake IDs, cards, and badges.
He flipped through them: FBI, State Trooper, Wildlife Control. He settled on a generic but official-looking Private Investigator badge encased in a leather wallet. He inspected it for a moment, wiping a speck of dust off the lamination, before slipping it into his jacket pocket.
He slammed the trunk shut and headed back to where Olivia stood, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, her gold jewelry chiming softly.
"All set?" she asked.
Logan gave her a curt nod. "Yeah, yeah..."
They approached Officer Miller, the same stout man who had refused her entry earlier. He was busy scribbling in his notebook, his pen scratching aggressively against the paper. He closed it with a tired exhale, not even looking up as their shadows fell over him.
"I told you once, you're not allowed in," Miller grumbled, sliding the notebook into his jacket pocket. "Go home, Olivia."
Logan stepped forward, his movement smooth and authoritative. He flashed the badge from his pocket, holding it just long enough to look legitimate, but short enough to prevent a close inspection.
"We're private investigators," Logan said calmly. His tone was matter-of-fact, carrying the weight of someone who belonged there. "We've been hired to assist with this case. My associate here," he nodded toward Olivia, "was just a bit too eager earlier. You know how rookies are."
Olivia opened her mouth to protest being called a rookie, but a sharp glare from Logan silenced her. She settled for a tight, forced smile.
Officer Miller squinted at the badge, then up at Logan. His eyes were filled with skepticism.
"Hired by who?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. " The family hasn't even been notified yet."
Olivia displayed a slightly anxious expression, shifting her weight. The lie was thinning.
Logan didn't blink. He stepped closer to the officer, invading his personal space just enough to be dominating without being aggressive. He locked eyes with Miller.
"Can't disclose that," Logan replied smoothly. His voice dropped an octave, resonating with a strange, compelling frequency. "Client confidentiality. We have the necessary authorization and expertise to contribute to this case. It is crucial that we start our work as soon as possible."
For a fleeting moment, the officer appeared frozen. He stared into Logan's eyes. It might have been a trick of the police lights reflecting off the wet pavement, but Logan's deep brown irises seemed to shimmer with a sudden, crimson hue.
The officer's resistance wavered. His eyes glazed over slightly, the skepticism draining out of his face as if it were being washed away.
"Right... authorization," Miller mumbled, his voice monotone. "Crucial."
He unclipped the barrier tape and lifted it.
"Fine. But stay out of the way. This is still an active crime scene."
"We will," Logan said.
He ushered Olivia through the gap. As they passed, the crimson tint faded from his eyes, leaving them dark and empty once more.
As they moved beyond the barrier, the sounds of the crowd fading slightly behind the hum of police radios, Olivia couldn't help but glance at him. Her expression was a mix of amusement and genuine impression.
"How did you do that?" she whispered, leaning in slightly so only he could hear. "One minute he's a stone wall, the next he's opening the door for you. That was... something."
Logan shrugged, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. His demeanor was as nonchalant as ever.
"Yeah, well," he mumbled, stepping over a puddle reflecting the flashing blue lights. "I guess I just have a way with words."
They walked past a group of onlookers who had gathered near a gap in the hedges. They were all holding up phones, snapping pictures and filming the crime scene with morbid fascination. The flashes of their cameras popped like tiny lightning strikes in the dark.
Olivia crossed her arms, the gold bracelets on her wrists clinking together. Frustration flashed across her face.
"This is unbelievable," she hissed, glaring at a teenager live-streaming the event.
Logan remained unfazed. He glanced at the crowd with heavy, bored eyes. His tone was casual.
"That's just how people are. Annoying, but it is what it is."
"Still," Olivia muttered, turning her back on them to scan the yellow markers dotting the grass. "It's kind of disgusting. The way people treat these things like entertainment. Like it's a show."
"People are curious by nature," Logan replied. His voice was devoid of judgment, stating a fact as cold as the wind. "It doesn't matter if it's something tragic or gruesome. It's just human instinct. They want to see the wolf, as long as the cage holds."
Their path resembled a complex web of yellow evidence tags and technicians in white suits. Logan and Olivia navigated through the chaos, stepping carefully to avoid contaminating the scene.
In the middle, three figures stood near the covered remains of the body. Their heated discussion came to an abrupt halt as they noticed the newcomers approaching. The silence that followed was heavier than the rain.
The trio turned their attention away from the corpses, focusing on the new arrivals.
The first, a man with striking blue eyes and a carefully groomed black handlebar mustache, exuded authority in his navy police uniform. His dark hair was swept back, and his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He stood with a rigid, artistic poise, his piercing gaze sweeping over them like a painter assessing a flaw on a canvas.
Beside him stood a tall, enigmatic figure, most of his features obscured by the deep cowl of a grey hooded sweatshirt. He looked down, his posture withdrawn and intense. A dark, intricate tattoo peeked out from the collar of his hoodie, creeping up the side of his neck.
Completing the trio was a woman dressed in a beige trench coat over a sleek suit. She had short, choppy dark hair that framed a face of sharp angles and heavy-lidded eyes. Currently, latex gloves shielded her hands, and a medical mask concealed her lower face, but her stance radiated a commanding energy. Her square glasses reflected the flashing lights of the police cars, hiding her expression.
The one in a uniform raised a brow, the mustache twitching slightly as he eyed the pair suspiciously. He didn't look like the type who tolerated interruptions.
"Who are you two?" he demanded, his voice crisp.
"I'm Olivia Winchester, and this is my partner, Logan Osborne," Olivia said, introducing herself with infectious enthusiasm. She held out her badge proudly, the gold casing glinting in the light. "We're private investigators."
She nudged Logan with her elbow, flashing him a grin that urged him to play along.
With a quiet sigh that was more of a growl, Logan reluctantly complied. He fished the leather wallet from his pocket and flipped it open, presenting his badge with considerably less enthusiasm.
The one in the hoodie shifted. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his hood as he studied Logan's face.
"Aren't you a farmer?" He asked. His voice was low, raspy, as if he hadn't used it in hours.
Logan met the man's gaze. He didn't blink.
"Farming is my other job," Logan replied smoothly.
The man in the hoodie, scoffed. His eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Listen," Sebastian rasped, stepping closer. "You're just wasting your time and ours. Private investigators have no place here. This is a police matter, not some amateur detective novel where you get to play hero."
Logan's expression remained indifferent. He glanced between the trio, completely unfazed by the aggression.
"I get it, the Inkdale Police Station has never collaborated with outsiders," Logan stated, his voice low and grating against the rain. He moved closer until he was eye to eye with the man in the hoodie, although he had to look up slightly to meet the taller man's gaze.
"But if the rumors about the gravity of the crime are true, then you'll require our assistance. Trust me, you do need us."
The man in the hoodie pressed his lips together, his demeanor shifting as he absorbed Logan's words. His gaze locked onto Logan's eyes.
For a split second, the police lights seemed to catch Logan's irises at the wrong angle. Or perhaps, the right one. They shifted to a mesmerizing, deep shade of crimson again.
The man in the hoodie sighed, his resistance crumbling like wet paper. He pursed his lips, looking away.
"Fine," he rasped. "You can collaborate with us on this case."
Logan smirked in response, the red hue fading from his eyes instantly. He turned his head to Olivia, who was struggling to contain her excitement. Her broad smile radiating a joy that felt out of place next to a dead body.
The man in the hoodie raised an eyebrow, perplexed by her reaction.
"But what about the Captain and the others? They might not agree," questioned the uniformed officer.
"We'll deal with them when we return to the station," the man in the hoodie responded, his tone unwavering and determined.
Taking a step forward, he extended a gloved hand toward Logan.
"Sebastian Isaac Smith," he introduced himself. "Detective from Inkdale."
"So, you're the detective," Olivia remarked, her voice bright, while Logan grasped Sebastian's hand in a firm shake.
The officer with the immaculate handlebar mustache spoke up, stepping between them.
"Officer Alden Smith," he introduced himself, eyeing Logan and Olivia closely with his piercing blue eyes.
"And this is Dr. Juliet Rodriguez, our forensic pathologist," Alden finished.
Juliet adjusted her glasses. She looked Logan up and down, her expression unreadable behind her mask.
"Charmed," she said, her voice dry. "Now, if you're quite done measuring dicks, there are bodies that need attention."
Detective Sebastian Smith crossed his arms over his chest, the grey fabric of his hoodie straining slightly. His gaze was hard, staring out from the shadow of his cowl.
"Who hired you?" he demanded, his voice low and raspy.
Logan, maintaining his composure, simply replied, "Can't disclose that. Client confidentiality."
Officer Alden Smith sighed, the sound sharp in the night air. He glanced between the two investigators, his immaculate mustache twitching with suppressed annoyance.
"Fine," Alden relented, waving a hand.
Sebastian nodded, stepping back to allow them a view. He gestured to the bodies lying on the wet grass. Their faces were pale and lifeless, frozen in the innocence of youth, illuminated by the cold beam of a flashlight.
"This is Alexander Bateman," Sebastian said, pointing to the boy. "And she's Emily Thompson."
His voice carried the weight of tragedy, even as he maintained a professional tone.
Logan stared down at them. The boy with the bright eyes who had bought from him that morning. The girl that was with him.
The silence in Logan's head was suddenly deafening. They weren't just names anymore. They were the couple whose happiness had grated on him just hours ago. Now, they were meat.
"They were so young," Olivia whispered. Her usual bravado faded for a moment as she took in the scene. She adjusted her blazer, a nervous tick. "Who would do this?"
"They knew each other for years. Probably grew up together," Officer Alden Smith chimed in. His voice was thick with grim responsibility as he adjusted his belt, his immaculate uniform standing out against the chaos. "Their bodies were found early this morning by a jogger who stumbled upon the scene. Based on the evidence, we're treating this as a double homicide."
Logan stared at them. The faces he had seen laughing just hours ago were now still, pale ghosts in the grass.
"Do you have any leads on potential suspects?" he asked. His voice remained steady despite the macabre sight before him.
Detective Sebastian Smith shook his head. The motion was barely visible under his hood.
"Not yet. We're still in the early stages. Alexander's father made his fair share of enemies in both business and his personal life. We're not sure if that's relevant here. As for Emily... her family was well-liked. No enemies we know of. But until we find solid evidence, we can't rule anything out."
Olivia spoke up, her gaze sharp. She tapped a gold-ringed finger against her chin, thinking.
"Have you managed to collect any witness statements or secure surveillance footage from the area?"
The detective let out a weary sigh that rattled in his chest. "Unfortunately, no. This is a quiet neighborhood. Not a lot of foot traffic at night. We're trying to gather CCTV footage from the surrounding businesses, but it'll take time and the jogger didn't see anything except the bodies."
Suddenly, a commotion broke out at the edge of the crime scene.
A police officer shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "Someone put a stop to that reporter!"
Officer Smith immediately sprang into action. He charged toward the intruder with surprising speed.
"I'll take care of this," Alden growled, clearly fed up with the interruption.
"We haven't had a case like this in years," Sebastian muttered.
"Just because the police haven't encountered a crime in years doesn't mean it hasn't been happening," Logan said, raising an eyebrow.
Detective Sebastian Smith's expression shifted instantly. His brows knitted together in a mixture of surprise and defensiveness.
"Are you suggesting that we haven't been doing our jobs properly?" Sebastian rasped, stepping forward.
"Let's just focus on the victims," Olivia interjected with a calm, disarming smile. She stepped between the men, her presence bright against the grim backdrop. "We're all on the same side here, right? Finding answers."
Logan seemed unaffected by the tension. He turned his attention back to the bodies, effectively dismissing the detective's anger.
"Well, let's begin then," Logan said.
He accepted a pair of latex gloves from a nearby kit, snapping them on with a sharp thwack. He rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket and crouched down beside the lifeless form of Alexander Bateman.
Dr. Rodriguez joined him. She adjusted her glasses and knelt on the other side, ready to assist.
Logan's sharp gaze took in every detail. The boy's blonde hair was messy, matted with mud and rain. His expression was frozen in a mask of absolute terror, eyes wide and staring at nothing. His torn, blood-stained clothing told the story of a violent, desperate struggle.
Two jagged stab wounds marred his abdomen, dark and ugly. Yet, it wasn't the fatal wounds that caught Logan's attention.
It was the severed right hand.
The stump wasn't bleeding. It wasn't ragged. The cut looked clean, almost surgical, but the tissue around it was pale blue and crystallized.
It looked like it had been flash-frozen in an instant.
His attention unwavering from the body, Logan addressed the doctor in a composed, detached tone.
"Tell me about his hand."
Dr. Rodriguez adjusted her square glasses. She leaned in closer, her voice muffled slightly by her mask.
"That is the anomaly," Juliet said. She pointed to the stump with a gloved finger. "It wasn't severed by a blade. There are no serration marks, no clean slice. The bone is shattered, and the tissue... look at the edges."
Logan leaned in. The flesh around the wound wasn't red or raw. It was pale, almost white, and hard to the touch.
"It's crystallized," Logan murmured. "Cauterized by extreme cold."
"Exactly," Juliet nodded, impressed. "It's as if the hand was flash-frozen in a split second and then snapped off like a dry twig. I've never seen anything like it outside of industrial accidents involving liquid nitrogen. But there's no chemical residue here. No smell of chemicals."
Sebastian shifted behind them, the hood of his sweatshirt casting a shadow over his face.
"So what are you saying, Doc?" he rasped. "Some guy is running around with a freeze ray? Or he dipped the kid's hand in a bucket of ice before killing him?"
"I'm saying the physics don't make sense, Detective," Juliet countered coolly. "The rest of the body is warm. Just the wrist is frozen. It defies explanation."
Undeterred by the grim details of the frozen hand, Logan continued his methodical examination. He moved his attention to the victim's torso, where dark, heavy bloodstains had soaked through the fabric of the shirt. His curiosity was piqued by the way the fabric bunched.
Gently tugging at the collar with his gloved hands, he ripped the shirt open slightly, revealing an unusual, raised stitched pattern at the center of the boy's chest.
"Did you notice this?" Logan queried, his skepticism evident as he glanced up at the pathologist.
Dr. Rodriguez's brow furrowed behind her glasses. "I assumed those bloodstains were from the weapon or another source. I haven't done a full undressing of the body yet."
Casting an incredulous look at the detective, Logan pressed on. "The stitching on his chest suggests something more. It's precise. It might indicate recent surgery... or serve as a twisted signature left by the murderer. Further analysis in the lab is required."
Reluctantly, Detective Sebastian Smith nodded. His frustration with Logan was evident; the grey fabric of his hoodie shifted as his hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. He didn't like being upstaged at his own crime scene.
"What if it's not merely a signature?" Olivia mused, leaning over Logan's shoulder.
Studying the stitching closely, the doctor replied, "The pattern resembles a symbol, though I can't quite identify it yet. It looks... ritualistic."
Sebastian looked around at the dark woods, his voice raspy. "It's strange that a couple was killed right around Valentine's Day. It feels... personal."
Olivia interjected again, this time with a touch of dark humor, trying to break the suffocating tension. "So, are we living in a real-life 'My Bloody Valentine'?"
Both the detective and the doctor froze. They exchanged incredulous looks, taken aback by the comment. Sebastian stared at her from under his hood with a look that could curdle milk.
As Olivia's attempt at humor fell flat, her embarrassment became palpable. She cleared her throat, adjusting her blazer.
"Sorry," she uttered, stepping back. "Too soon."
Logan, however, didn't look up from the body. But if one looked closely, they would have seen his shoulders shake once, a dark chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Without allowing the awkward silence to linger, Logan swiftly shifted his focus to the next victim.
"Doc," Detective Sebastian Smith rasped, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Once you're finished with the boy, make sure to contact the forensic team. We need them to bag everything and get detailed macros of these wounds before the rain washes anything else away."
Dr. Rodriguez acknowledged the directive with a sharp nod, her glasses catching the light as she rose to her feet to make the call.
Logan knelt beside Emily. She was an Indigenous American girl, her features striking even in death. He observed that her dress had been soaked in blood, rendering it difficult to discern its original color. The once vibrant hues were now obscured, overshadowed by the somber, heavy shade of crimson that matted the fabric to her skin.
His gaze shifted to the bodice of her dress. The top part had been torn or unbuttoned during the struggle, exposing the ghastly sight beneath. Three deep, jagged stab wounds marred her chest, evidence of the brutal, frenzied force that had been inflicted upon her. The wounds gaped open, a haunting reminder of the violence that had ended her life.
Bending down closer, Logan's keen eyes fixated on the bloodstains around her sternum. He used the tip of his gloved finger to lift the collar of her dress slightly.
There it was again.
Beneath the blood, he found a similar intricate, raised stitched pattern he had seen on the boy. It was precise, almost surgical.
However, his attention was quickly drawn to something else. A faint glimmer of silver peeking out from the cutout shoulder sleeve of her dress.
Curiosity piqued, Logan carefully retrieved the object with his tweezers. He held it up to the light. It was a long, silver needle, stained with blood.
"I think I've found something," Logan exclaimed, his voice low but urgent.
Sebastian and Olivia turned to look.
"Not only do we have this stitched pattern on her body," Logan said, pointing to the chest, "but I also found this hidden in her sleeve."
He held the needle up so the detective could see the glint of silver against the dark sky.
"What's intriguing is that these patterns..." Logan traced the shape of the stitches on Emily's chest with his eyes. "They seem to correspond to alchemical symbols. This can't be a mere coincidence."
"Alchemical symbols?" Detective Sebastian Smith rasped, squinting at the needle. "Like the ones from that period with castles, witches, and all that weird shit?"
"It's actually called the Middle Ages or the Dark Ages," Olivia interjected, a teasing lilt in her voice. The gold cuffs on her dreadlocks caught the light as she tilted her head. "And if I recall correctly, alchemical symbols began to be used around the sixth century. Not exactly 'witches and weird shit,' Detective."
Sebastian stared at her from under his hood, his expression deadpan. "Ah. Thank you, Miss Discovery."
"You're welcome," Olivia retorted, a small, amused smile playing on her lips.
"We need to examine if this needle was used by the killer for the stitching," Dr. Rodriguez stated, her voice sharp as she interrupted the bickering. She adjusted her glasses, looking between the detective and the private investigator. "It might provide crucial evidence regarding the method."
"Alright," Sebastian replied, reaching for an evidence bag. "Let's send it to the lab for analysis."
"Yeah, well," Logan interrupted, his voice low. He held the needle up to the light, twisting it slowly. Then, to everyone's surprise, he brought it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. "I don't think it was the one used for stitching."
Olivia leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean? How can you tell?"
Logan lowered the needle, his eyes scanning the silver surface with microscopic intensity.
"If this needle was used for stitching flesh, it would likely bear traces of blood, tissue, or at least the iron scent of dried hemoglobin," Logan explained, his tone clinical. "However, upon closer examination, there are no signs of any stains or residue. It appears to be clean. Sterile, almost."
He paused, glancing at the stitching on Emily's chest.
"That suggests it wasn't the tool used for the job. It was placed there afterwards. However... that doesn't mean it can't hold some DNA from the killer. Sweat, skin cells..."
Olivia's eyes widened. "Did you just... smell that to figure it out?"
Logan stiffened slightly, realizing he might have shown too much. "Well, I smelled it for blood," he corrected quickly. "And examined the needle for stains and all. Basic observation."
Sebastian rolled his eyes so hard it was visible even in the shadows of his hood.
"Like I trust that," the detective muttered. "We'll send it to the lab anyway. We do this by the book, not by the nose."
He snatched the needle from Logan with a gloved hand and carefully placed it into the evidence bag, sealing it with a snap.
Logan shrugged, unperturbed by the detective's lack of trust. "Suit yourself," he replied with a hint of indifference, wiping his hands on his jacket.
"If my memory serves me right," Logan said, pointing a gloved finger to the raised stitching on the boy's chest, "that particular symbol represents Gold."
Detective Sebastian Smith and Olivia exchanged intrigued glances. The revelation hung in the cold air between them.
"Gold? Just gold?" Sebastian scoffed, his voice raspy with skepticism. He crossed his arms, the tattoo on his neck stretching. "If you knew about the symbol, why didn't you tell us the meaning five minutes ago?"
Logan stood up slowly, maintaining his air of detachment. He looked the detective dead in the eye.
"First, no one asked. Second, I don't trust you either," Logan replied flatly. "That's why I won't be telling you the meaning of the second symbol on the girl until we get to meet your Police Captain. I need some assurance that we won't be kicked out of this investigation after today."
A small, knowing smile played across the detective's face. "That's true," Sebastian admitted. "You don't have any assurance. And honestly, I would have gladly kicked you out ten minutes ago if you weren't useful."
Olivia, observing the air around them growing thick with testosterone and mistrust, interjected with a touch of diplomacy.
"Okay, boys, let's not dwell on these concerns," she said, raising her hands. "It's crucial for us to work together. Once we establish trust, we can fully collaborate on solving this case. But for now, let's just focus on the dead bodies, shall we?"
The detective, still harboring a hint of skepticism, glanced at Olivia and then turned his attention back to Logan. After a moment of contemplation, he finally nodded in agreement.
"Right. Let's refocus on the case."
Olivia, eager to move forward, asked with anticipation, "So, what's our next step?"
Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck. "First, we'll thoroughly analyze the needle, gather evidence from the bodies, and document everything. Then, we'll delve into the realm of alchemy and symbolism."
"And while we're at it," Olivia chimed in enthusiastically, "let's dig deeper into the victims' backgrounds. We should uncover any potential connections they might have to alchemical practices or beliefs. Valuable clues could be hidden within their histories."
The detective concurred. "Sure. Let's move the evidence and the bodies to the lab for further examination."
Logan nodded firmly, acknowledging the plan. He peeled off his latex gloves with a snap and walked over to a designated biohazard bin, disposing of them.
At the same time, Detective Smith beckoned Doctor Rodriguez. Juliet adjusted her glasses and efficiently took charge, barking orders at the forensic team to begin bagging the bodies.
As the chaos of the cleanup began, Olivia looked at Detective Sebastian Smith, then over at Officer Alden Smith, who was busy directing traffic. She noted the similarities between them.
"Are you and Officer Smith brothers?" she asked suddenly.
Logan stopped mid-step. He let out a long, suffering sigh and facepalmed, dragging his hand down his face.
"What?" Olivia asked, blinking innocently at Logan. "I was curious!"
Sebastian let out a short, dry huff. He adjusted the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Unfortunately," Sebastian rasped.
"Hey, I heard that!" Alden called out from twenty feet away. He didn't look up from his clipboard, his posture perfectly straight. "I'm the one who stayed in uniform to keep the family reputation respectable, remember?"
"And I'm the one who actually gets his hands dirty," Sebastian muttered under his breath, turning back to Logan. "We're done here for now. If you're really 'investigators,' I expect to see you at the precinct tomorrow morning. 10:00 sharp. If you're late, I'm revoking your access before you can say 'idiot.'"
Logan gave a sharp, single nod. He didn't care for the detective's tone, but he needed the information only the police database could provide.
"We'll be there," Logan said, his voice flat.
Logan began to walk toward his car, the gravel crunching beneath his heavy boots. "Ready to move the investigation forward," he said, glancing back at the scene.
As he reached for the door handle of his black muscle car, a loud, long growl erupted from Olivia's midsection, echoing in the quiet night.
"Yeah, but can we stop somewhere to eat?" Olivia asked, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she adjusted her sharp olive-green blazer. "I'm starving. Investigating on an empty stomach is against my religion."
Logan closed his eyes for a second, letting out a long, ragged sigh. He looked up at the night sky, as if asking the stars why he was being punished.
"Fine..." he muttered, shaking his head. "I didn't think I'd be stuck with you during free time as well."
"Oh, come on, Logan! Think of it as a tactical refueling," she teased, her gold necklaces clinking as she slid into the passenger seat. "Besides, you look like you haven't eaten anything but Unhappy meals and spite in years."
They slid into the front seats of Logan's black muscle car. The interior smelled of old leather and gasoline. Olivia, mindful of safety, pulled the seatbelt across her olive-green blazer, the mechanism locking with a sharp, satisfying click.
Logan didn't bother with his belt. He reached out to activate the car stereo, twisting the volume knob.
A heavy, distorted guitar riff blasted from the speakers, shaking the frame of the car.
A playful groan escaped Olivia's lips as she covered her ears theatrically. "Seriously? Can I change the music? Or at least lower it to a level that doesn't cause hearing loss?"
With a smirk, Logan responded, glancing at her over the dashboard lights. "Hey, driver picks the music. Besides, it's one of my favorite songs playing. 'Bloodbath and Beyond'."
Rolling her eyes, Olivia retorted with an amused smile, the gold cuffs in her hair swaying as she settled back. "Alright, fine. But next time, it's my turn. And we are listening to something with an actual melody."
"Don't count on it," Logan muttered.
With the aggression of the rock music filling the cabin, he stomped on the gas. The tires spun on the wet asphalt, catching traction with a screech, and they sped away into the night, leaving the flashing blue lights far behind.
They parked near the town center of Inkdale, the silence of the morning settling around them like a heavy blanket. To the east, the sky was just beginning to bleed a pale, bruised purple. The first hint of a sunrise that seemed reluctant to show its face after the night's violence.
They stepped onto the cobblestone sidewalk, the sharp, rhythmic clack of their footsteps echoing in the empty air. They were parked in front of a recently opened fast-food joint.
As they approached, they noticed its emptiness, which was to be expected given the hour and its recent opening. Logan reached the glass door first. He held it open for Olivia, his expression one of habitual, weary chivalry.
The moment the door opened, the enticing, heavy aroma of freshly cooked french fries and sizzling meat wafted through the air. It hit Olivia like a physical blow.
"God! I'm starving! Like, literally," she almost howled, clutching her stomach over her olive-green blazer. "My stomach is eating itself."
Logan sighed, ushering her inside. "We're here, and you'll get your food. Keep it down."
Olivia turned to him with a curious, skeptical smile, her gold earrings swinging. "I don't understand how you're not hungry? We didn't get to have breakfast."
"I told you on the road. I ate before going to the crime scene," Logan reminded her, his face impassive.
"Alright, then tell me..." Olivia stepped in front of Logan, physically blocking his path to the counter. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. "What did you eat?"
Logan rolled his eyes. He hated having to invent the mundane details of a human life he didn't lead.
"Blood orange juice and..." He paused for a fraction of a second, searching his memory for normal breakfast items. "A sandwich. Rare roast beef."
"Okay," Olivia said slowly, seemingly accepting that. "But if you really ate, you'll have to order something too, right?" She stepped aside, gesturing to the menu board. "I don't like when someone stares at me while I eat. It creeps me out."
"Fine," Logan acquiesced, moving past her.
"So, I guess I'll have to place the order?" Olivia asked, following Logan as his predator's eyes scanned the available tables.
"Yeah. I need to conserve my 'talking' energy for the case," he explained. He walked past the comfortable booths and selected a small, hard table tucked away in the far corner.
"Unbelievable," Olivia muttered. "And what should I order for you, Your Highness?"
"Black coffee," Logan said, sitting down and staring out the window at the rising sun. "And a burger. With a lot of meat."
She nodded and proceeded to the counter to place their order, her heels clicking rhythmically on the linoleum floor. The cashier, a young girl with tired eyes, greeted her with a polite smile and quickly relayed the order to the kitchen.
After a few minutes, the cashier returned with a red plastic tray, placing it on the counter. Olivia handed over the cash.
"Have a good day," she said to the cashier, who nodded appreciatively.
Olivia hurried back to the secluded corner table where Logan was waiting, staring out the window at the empty street.
"Time to eat!" Olivia beamed with a proud smile, settling into the chair opposite him. She slid a black coffee and a foil-wrapped bundle toward him.
"Yeah, I'm impressed with how quickly it came this time," Logan remarked, observing Olivia unwrapping her breakfast burger. It was loaded with eggs, bacon, and cheese, a cholesterol bomb of happiness.
"Well, maybe it's because it's eight in the morning and there's hardly anyone here," Olivia replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. She revealed the mouthwatering contents of her meal, the steam rising in a savory cloud.
"I suppose," Logan conceded.
He rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket before unwrapping his own burger.
Olivia raised her burger to her lips, taking a satisfying, unladylike bite of the savory creation. The explosion of flavors danced on her taste buds, momentarily transporting her from the crime scene, the frozen hand, and the smell of death to a world of culinary delight. She chewed, swallowed, and then fixed Logan with a look that was suddenly very sharp.
"You have no idea about the other alchemical sign, do you?" she whispered, leaning over the table. "You just lied to the detective to buy us time."
"Hm... It was necessary," he muttered, taking a bite. "To make sure we wouldn't be kicked out before we got access to their files."
He chewed slowly, swallowing the food before taking a long sip of the bitter black coffee. He set the cup down with a definitive clack.
"Besides," Logan added, his voice dropping to a low, final tone. "It doesn't matter if I lied. Because after this meal, you can go investigate on your own and leave me alone."
Olivia froze, her burger halfway to her mouth. She blinked, processing the sudden shift.
"What?" she asked, her voice flat. "Excuse me?"
Logan took another slow, deliberate bite of his burger, ignoring the incredulous look on her face.
"You heard me," he said, his voice calm and final. "I told you I work alone."
He swallowed, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.
"And that concludes our partnership. You wanted to play detective, you got to see the bodies. You got your story. Now go home, Winchester. Before you see something that might ruin your sunshine vibe."
"Excuse me?" Olivia slammed her burger down, the foil wrapper crinkling sharply. Her gold bracelets clattered against the table, drawing a tired glance from the cashier. "First of all, I didn't come here for a 'story.' I came here because two kids are dead. Second, you don't get to unilaterally dissolve a partnership just because you're socially emotionally constipated."
Logan narrowed his eyes. "We aren't partners. You're a liability."
"I'm a liability?" Olivia laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "Who smoothed things over when you were measuring sizes with Detective Broody? Who actually knows how to talk to human beings without manipulating them?"
Logan took a slow, deliberate sip of his black coffee, his eyes cold and final.
But before he could say anything, the atmosphere in the dinner shifted.
The sharp, deliberate click-clack of high heels reverberated against the polished linoleum tiles. Itbwas a mesmerizing rhythm, slow and confident, announcing an arrival that demanded attention.
Startled, Olivia turned in her chair. Logan didn't turn, but his hand slowly moved away from his coffee cup, resting near his jacket pocket.
Suddenly, a voice, dripping with sensuality and mystery, danced into their ears. A sound like velvet smoke curling around the cheap plastic tables.
"So, you two must be the private investigators."