The night was thick with fog, the cityscape muted beneath a veil of mist. Streetlights flickered like ghosts as Damien stood by the window of his apartment, his eyes scanning the skyline. He could almost feel the tension in the air, the weight of a storm building, just as it had before every kill in the past.
It was only a matter of time before the mimic would strike again.
A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. He didn't need to check who it was.
Cole.
Damien turned, his face a mask of calm as his son entered the room. The usual silence between them settled over the space. Damien's eyes lingered on Cole's face, looking for cracks, signs of deviation. But Cole was still the same—controlled, cold. Yet Damien sensed a subtle shift in him. Something was stirring beneath that well-maintained facade.
"You haven't been out in the field," Damien said, his voice low.
Cole glanced at him, not meeting his eyes. "I've been busy. More paperwork."
Damien studied him for a long moment. "I hope that's all you've been doing."
A faint twitch passed across Cole's lips. "Of course."
Damien could tell that wasn't the full truth. His son was slipping, and the thought gnawed at him. He needed Cole sharp. He needed him to stay focused, to follow in his footsteps. But something had changed since the last murder. Something had made Cole pull away.
"Jonas is asking too many questions," Cole muttered after a pause, as if sensing Damien's growing frustration.
Damien didn't flinch. "Let him ask. If he's asking, it means he's still guessing. Don't let him pull you in."
"I'm not letting him do anything."
Damien walked over to him, placing a hand on Cole's shoulder. "Good. Keep it that way." He squeezed slightly, ensuring his grip was firm enough for Cole to feel the warning in his touch. "Remember who you are. The second you let him get inside your head, you lose everything. Don't give him that power."
Cole nodded stiffly, though Damien could tell his son wasn't entirely convinced.
The next day, the familiar ring of the phone broke the silence of Damien's office. He picked it up with a practiced ease, his thoughts already drifting to the next move in the game.
"Detective Kline," a voice crackled over the line. "We've got another one."
Damien's heart stilled. He knew the drill.
"Where?" he asked.
"Around the corner from the last one. Same method. Same message."
Damien didn't hesitate. "I'll be there in twenty."
The scene was eerily familiar. The victim was a woman, her body arranged carefully in the center of the living room. The slit throat, the carefully placed card—an ace of spades again. The poison in her system.
But this time, there was a twist. The words on the wall were different. Written in the same blood as the victim's, the message read:
"You can't hide forever, Damien."
Damien's stomach tightened, his blood running cold at the implication. He'd been right to feel the storm coming. The mimic was no longer playing games. He was getting personal.
Jonas was already crouched over the body, examining the scene with his usual meticulousness. "You see this?" he asked, pointing at the card. "It's the same as the others."
Damien nodded, keeping his voice steady. "Same signature. Same method."
Jonas glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "You don't think…" He trailed off, clearly considering the possibility.
Damien's eyes flicked to the words on the wall again. You can't hide forever. The message had been directed at him, but it wasn't a message Jonas was ready to interpret.
"I think we're dealing with someone who knows a little too much," Damien said, his voice tight. "We need to find out who."
Jonas stood up and looked around the room, his brow furrowed. "We need to track down her contacts. Friends. Family. Anyone who might have a reason to hurt her."
Damien nodded again, but his mind was elsewhere. This wasn't just another victim. This was a challenge.
That night, Damien returned home, his thoughts swirling. The words on the wall replayed in his mind, echoing like a warning. Whoever this killer was, they weren't just mimicking him anymore. They were taunting him. They knew too much.
Cole was waiting in the living room, his back to the door as he stared out the window. Damien walked over silently, his footsteps drowned by the sound of the rain.
"You heard?" Damien asked softly.
Cole nodded. "Yeah. The message. I know what it means."
Damien paused. "Do you?"
Cole turned slowly, locking eyes with his father. "He's coming for you. He wants to take your place."
Damien's heart skipped a beat, the words hitting harder than he expected. "And what do you think about that?"
Cole's expression remained unreadable, his face blank. "He won't succeed."
Damien felt the weight of those words. They were a promise. Or maybe a warning. He couldn't tell which. But he had to be sure. He couldn't afford to let Cole slip further.
"Good," Damien said, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We'll make sure of that."
Jonas was in his office the next morning when the phone rang again.
"Detective Kline."
"This is Officer Miller. We've got something. The victim's best friend came in. She saw something."
Jonas perked up. "What did she see?"
"She says she saw a man leaving the apartment. Tall, thin, dark hair. She didn't get a good look at his face, but she swears it was the same guy who killed her friend."
Jonas's pulse quickened. This was the first real lead they had. "Get me the address. I'll be there in ten."
As Damien reviewed the report later that evening, he couldn't shake the growing unease. The mimic wasn't just playing at his game anymore. He was learning. Evolving. And that meant only one thing: the storm was coming for him.
But Damien wasn't afraid. He'd spent his life hiding in plain sight, burying the past beneath layers of lies. He'd killed before and gotten away with it. But the mimic… the mimic wasn't just taking what he'd built. He was after everything Damien had.
And that was a mistake.
In the dark hours of the night, Damien stood before his mirror, watching his reflection. The man who stared back at him was unrecognizable to most—but Damien knew him too well.
He was still the same man who had carved out his legacy, who had killed for power, for control.
And the mimic?
The mimic was about to learn what it meant to challenge him.
Damien wasn't the kind of man who was ever really afraid.
And the storm wasn't going to break him.
Not this time.
But as Damien turned away from the mirror, he heard a knock at the door.
A soft, almost tentative sound.
It was Cole.
"Father," he said, his voice low. "We need to talk."