The rain had begun before they arrived.
Blue and red lights bled through the misty downpour, dancing across slick pavement and hunched shoulders. The alley was cordoned off, police tape fluttering like a warning ribbon. Another night. Another body. Another scene that reeked of something too familiar for Damien to call coincidence.
He stepped out of the car, trench coat drawn tightly around him, and met Jonas at the edge of the perimeter. Jonas wore his exhaustion plainly — in the heaviness of his eyes, the stiffness of his posture. They were barely past the last murder, and now this.
"What've we got?" Damien asked, voice low but steady.
Jonas motioned toward the body ahead. "Male. Late twenties. Local bartender. Throat slit… and his tongue removed."
Damien flinched. Subtly. A twitch in his jaw. That detail—that exact mutilation—wasn't something anyone should replicate. Not unless they knew. Not unless they had access to something private, something buried.
He swallowed the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Any signs of forced entry?"
"No. It happened right here in the alley. Probably lured out during a smoke break. One of his coworkers said he was talking to someone on the phone earlier. No ID yet on the caller."
Damien crouched near the body. Blood had formed a halo around the man's head, diluted now by rainwater. The incision was precise. Clean. But not ritualistic. There was anger here. Maybe even urgency.
"Same shoe prints as last time," one of the forensic techs reported. "Similar size, maybe same brand. We're checking it now."
Jonas gave Damien a look. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Damien stood slowly. "That our killer's either evolving—or it's not the same killer at all."
"But the method matches," Jonas argued. "Same throat slit, same missing organ. That's not coincidence."
No. It wasn't. Because Damien had once killed a priest in almost the exact same way. Back when he was only seventeen. That murder had never been officially solved. No press leaks. No evidence made public. Only two people ever knew the details—Damien, and the man now lying dead in the rain.
Damien stared at the body longer than he should've.
Jonas tilted his head. "Something bothering you?"
"No," Damien replied too quickly. "Just… this one feels personal."
Jonas raised a brow. "Personal?"
"Like the killer knew him."
Jonas looked back at the scene, considering it. "We'll know more when we get into the victim's phone records."
As they walked back toward the car, Damien kept his silence. Because if this was Cole, his son was getting careless. And if it wasn't—someone else was out there, mimicking his legacy.
And that was far more dangerous.
Back at the precinct, the autopsy report from the previous murder came in. Damien sat in his office while the fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Outside his door, the bullpen buzzed quietly. It was past midnight, but no one was going home.
The report was exactly what he expected. Clean cuts. No signs of a struggle. The victim was drugged—just enough to make him compliant, not unconscious. That was Cole's signature.
But this new murder? No drugs. No hesitation.
He tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. A gnawing pressure built behind his eyes. Cole had promised—promised—he wouldn't kill again until Damien gave the signal. This was too soon. Too risky. Damien had worked too hard to build the perfect disguise.
He grabbed his phone and typed out a message on an encrypted app.
"What the hell did you do?"
Sent to: Cole
A minute passed. Then two.
No response.
Then:
"Nothing you didn't teach me."
Damien's lips parted slightly. Cold swept down his spine.
Another message came in.
"I didn't kill him. But someone wanted you to think I did."
Damien leaned back, heart pounding now—not in fear, but in calculation. If not Cole, then who?
Was there someone else following his old work? Someone studying him?
He flipped through the files Jonas had gathered on the previous case. Both victims had different professions. Different social circles. No direct connection. Except…
His eyes caught something. Both men had spent time at The Tern, a downtown lounge.
He picked up the phone.
"Jonas? I need you to meet me in the records room. Now."
Jonas arrived five minutes later, files in hand.
Damien was already buried in the visitor logs from The Tern. "Both victims were regulars here," he said without looking up.
"So what? A lot of people go to that place."
"Yeah. But the first victim was there the same night the second victim was working. A week ago."
Jonas flipped to one of his own pages. "You think they had an altercation? Some kind of shared enemy?"
"Maybe not them." Damien circled a name on the log. "But someone else was there that night too. Multiple times. Take a look."
Jonas read the name aloud: "Elliot Marlowe?"
Damien's breath hitched—but only slightly.
He hadn't heard that name in years. But it wasn't his Elliot. This was just coincidence. A common name.
Wasn't it?
Jonas kept reading. "This guy was there three times last week. Always late at night. Always alone."
"Pull up any security footage we can get," Damien said. "Let's see if we can get a face to go with the name."
Jonas nodded. "You think he's our guy?"
Damien hesitated. "I think someone wants to be seen."
That night, Damien drove home with his mind ablaze.
Cole wasn't the killer. But someone was picking up the threads of Damien's past. Someone was leaving blood trails that led to places he'd buried long ago.
And worst of all, they were getting closer. Not just to the truth—but to Jonas. To Cole. To everything.
He pulled into his driveway. Lights off. Rain falling in sheets now.
Inside, Cole was waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"You texted me," Cole said.
"I did."
"You don't believe me."
"I want to," Damien said. "But this murder… it's too familiar."
Cole stepped forward, his voice low. "I didn't do it. But whoever did—they know your style. They know your past."
"Which means they know about me," Damien finished.
"And maybe… about us."
Silence stretched between them. The walls hummed with old secrets.
Finally, Damien said, "We need to find them before Jonas does."
Cole nodded. "I'm ready."
And for the first time in years, Damien wasn't sure if that was a promise—or a threat.