Rain has a strange way of making Noctis look innocent.

It blurs the neon lights, washes the streets clean, and tricks people into believing this city can forget what happens after midnight.

It can't.

Noctis remembers everything.

My phone rang just as I was about to leave the office.

"Profiler Voss."

I glanced at the clock.

12:43 a.m.

No one called at this hour unless someone was dead.

"This better be important."

Detective Adrian Cole let out a tired sigh on the other end.

"I've got another one."

Another one.

Those two words were enough.

I grabbed my coat.

"I'll be there in twenty."

The abandoned opera house smelled of dust, old wood...

and blood.

Crime scene tape blocked the entrance while officers moved quietly between rows of worn velvet seats.

No one spoke louder than a whisper.

Fear had a way of lowering people's voices.

Adrian was waiting for me near the stage.

"You look terrible," I said.

"I was hoping you'd tell me I look handsome."

"You look sleep-deprived."

"That's close enough."

He stepped aside.

My eyes landed on the victim.

Male.

Around fifty.

Expensive Italian suit.

No visible defensive wounds.

He looked...

Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Almost as if the killer wanted him to be remembered this way.

I crouched beside the body.

There it was.

A single black chess piece.

Resting inside his right hand.

I didn't touch it.

I didn't have to.

The killer wanted us to notice it.

"Same as before?" I asked.

Adrian nodded.

"No fingerprints."

"No cameras."

"No witnesses."

I looked around the empty theater.

The stage.

The curtains.

The broken chandelier above us.

Nothing felt random.

Then I noticed something else.

The victim's watch.

It had stopped at exactly 11:17.

"Did the watch break during the attack?" I asked.

A forensic technician shook her head.

"It wasn't damaged."

I stared at it for another second.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Adrian crossed his arms.

"You already found something, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"You always say maybe."

"Because I'm usually right."

He rolled his eyes.

"I hate when you do that."

A faint smile escaped me.

It disappeared almost immediately.

Because this wasn't just another murder.

This was the fourth.

And whoever was behind it...

Wanted us to keep counting.

Back at headquarters, I pinned the latest crime scene photo onto the evidence board.

Four victims.

Four crime scenes.

Four chess pieces.

Different men.

Different lives.

Different mafia families.

One killer.

One pattern.

I uncapped a red marker.

Instead of circling the victim...

I circled the chess piece.

Not the body.

The message.

Someone knocked on my office door.

"Come in."

Director Marcus Hale stepped inside.

He looked unusually serious.

"We've got a problem."

"I noticed."

"No."

He closed the door behind him.

"You don't understand."

He placed a sealed file on my desk.

"I want you in the conference room."

"What for?"

His answer came after a long silence.

"Someone has taken an interest in your investigation."

Before I could ask who...

He walked out.

I looked down at the unopened file.

For the first time that night...

I hesitated.

Something told me that once I opened it...

There would be no turning back.

Sleep had become a luxury I couldn't afford.

The case files covered every inch of my desk, leaving just enough room for a cold cup of coffee and my laptop. The rain outside had finally stopped, but Noctis never really became quiet. Even before sunrise, the city hummed with sirens, distant traffic, and secrets.

I rubbed my eyes and looked back at the evidence board.

Four victims.

Four crime scenes.

Four chess pieces.

Four different mafia families.

The killer wanted us to see the differences.

Which meant the answer was probably hidden in what they all shared.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"You've been here all night, haven't you?"

I didn't have to turn around to know it was Adrian.

"I lost track of time."

"You say that every time."

He walked in carrying two paper cups and a brown paper bag.

"I brought coffee."

"You already know I have coffee."

"You also forget to drink it."

He picked up the mug sitting beside me.

The coffee inside had gone cold hours ago.

"I rest my case."

Despite everything, I smiled.

Adrian wasn't just a detective. We'd worked together long enough to understand each other's habits. He trusted my instincts, and I trusted his experience in the field.

Most of the time.

"What do you have?" he asked.

Instead of answering, I pointed toward the evidence board.

"If someone asked you what these men had in common, what would you say?"

He studied the photographs.

"They were all connected to the Five Families."

"Too obvious."

"They were all wealthy."

"No."

"They all wore expensive suits."

"Still no."

He sighed dramatically.

"I knew I shouldn't have come without breakfast."

I laughed quietly before walking toward the board.

"The killer isn't choosing people."

"He's choosing a pattern."

I picked up the photograph from the latest crime scene.

"Look at his hands."

Adrian leaned closer.

"What about them?"

"No wedding ring."

"So?"

I handed him another photograph.

"Neither did the second victim."

Then the third.

And the fourth.

Adrian frowned.

"That can't be a coincidence."

"No."

"It isn't."

He folded his arms.

"So our killer prefers unmarried mafia members?"

"I don't know."

I shook my head.

"But it's a detail."

"And details become patterns."

He nodded slowly.

"You always notice the things everyone else ignores."

"I notice the things killers hope we'll ignore."

Silence settled between us.

Sometimes the smallest clue changed everything.

Sometimes it meant nothing at all.

The difficult part was knowing the difference.

Three hours later...

The investigation room buzzed with quiet conversations.

Detectives moved between desks while phones rang almost nonstop.

Every murder had put more pressure on the Bureau.

The city wanted answers.

The police wanted arrests.

The media wanted headlines.

No one wanted another body.

Director Hale entered carrying a tablet.

"Listen up."

The room fell silent.

"We've received confirmation that the victim from last night attended a private charity gala two weeks before his death."

He looked around the room.

"I want the guest list."

Every detective immediately began taking notes.

I didn't.

A charity gala?

Why would that matter?

Unless...

"Director."

He looked at me.

"Did any of the previous victims attend the same event?"

His expression changed.

"We're checking."

"Check faster."

Adrian looked at me.

"You think that's our connection?"

"I think it's too early to guess."

"But if all four attended..."

"Then the killer didn't choose them because of who they were."

I finished the sentence.

"He chose them because of where they were."

Director Hale immediately turned toward another detective.

"Get me every photograph, security recording, and guest list from that gala."

The room erupted into activity.

For the first time...

The investigation had a direction.

By evening, my office was filled with stacks of documents.

Guest lists.

Security reports.

Photographs.

Receipts.

Almost five hundred people had attended.

Politicians.

Business executives.

Judges.

Socialites.

Even a few foreign diplomats.

Whoever organized the event had invited half the city's elite.

I flipped through photograph after photograph.

Faces blurred together.

Until one picture made me stop.

There they were.

Victim One.

Victim Two.

Victim Three.

Victim Four.

Standing in the same room.

Looking at something outside the frame.

Not smiling.

Watching.

"What were you looking at?"

I whispered.

A shadow passed across my office window.

I looked up instantly.

Nothing.

Just rainwater sliding down the glass.

I exhaled slowly.

Maybe I was imagining things.

Maybe not.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

For a moment, I considered letting it ring.

Instead...

I answered.

"This is Elena Voss."

Silence.

Then a calm voice spoke.

"You're looking in the wrong direction."

My grip tightened around the phone.

"Who is this?"

"You've found the gala."

My heartbeat quickened.

"How do you know that?"

Another pause.

"When you finally understand why those four men died..."

The voice remained steady.

"...pray you don't become the fifth."

The call ended.

I stared at the screen.

No number.

No caller ID.

Just an empty line.

Someone wasn't just watching the investigation anymore.

Someone...

Was watching me.

The security room was smaller than I expected.

Rows of monitors covered one wall, each displaying a different angle of the Grand Aster Hotel—the venue that had hosted the charity gala.

A technician slid a hard drive across the desk.

"This is everything we managed to recover."

"Everything?" I asked.

He hesitated.

"Almost."

I looked up.

"Define almost."

"Some files were corrupted."

"Were they corrupted..."

I paused.

"...or deleted?"

The technician avoided my eyes.

"We're still investigating."

I had heard that answer too many times.

Usually, it meant someone didn't want to admit the truth.

Adrian leaned against the doorway.

"Ready?"

"No."

I sat in front of the monitor anyway.

"Play the footage."

Hours disappeared.

Guests laughed.

Champagne glasses clinked together.

People smiled for cameras.

Business deals were made with handshakes that looked friendly and eyes that weren't.

The four victims appeared exactly where the guest list said they would.

Talking.

Laughing.

Moving through the ballroom.

Nothing unusual.

I replayed the footage.

Again.

And again.

By the sixth viewing, Adrian sighed.

"You've watched the same thirty seconds twelve times."

"I know."

"You expecting the killer to wave at the camera?"

"No."

I paused the video.

"I'm waiting for someone to disappear."

Adrian frowned.

"What?"

"Watch."

I rewound the footage.

A waiter crossed the ballroom carrying a silver tray.

He passed behind Victim One.

Five seconds later...

He was gone.

Not walking away.

Not turning a corner.

Gone.

Adrian straightened.

"Where did he go?"

"Exactly."

I switched to another camera angle.

The waiter never appeared.

Not once.

"It's like he vanished."

"No."

I zoomed in on the timestamp.

"The camera skipped."

Three seconds.

Three missing seconds.

Someone had edited the footage.

The technician looked confused.

"That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible."

I stood.

"Who had access to these recordings?"

He swallowed.

"Only hotel management."

"I want every employee who worked that night."

"We've already questioned them."

"I wasn't asking."

By evening, the list landed on my desk.

One hundred and twelve employees.

Servers.

Bartenders.

Security guards.

Managers.

I read every name.

One by one.

Until I reached the last page.

One employee had resigned the morning after the gala.

No notice.

No forwarding address.

No references.

Just...

Gone.

His name had already been crossed out in red ink.

I stared at it for a long moment.

"Who crossed this out?"

Adrian looked over my shoulder.

"I don't know."

Neither of us had touched the file before today.

Someone else had.

Someone inside the Bureau.

A chill ran down my spine.

Someone wasn't just following the investigation.

Someone was ahead of us.

My office phone rang.

This time...

The caller ID wasn't blocked.

It simply read:

UNKNOWN

I let it ring once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then answered.

"This is Elena Voss."

No one spoke.

Instead...

I heard soft piano music.

The same melody that had been playing in the ballroom footage.

My pulse quickened.

Then the line disconnected.

No voice.

No threat.

Just the music.

Adrian looked at me.

"What did they say?"

I slowly lowered the phone.

"Nothing."

I looked back at the employee list.

The name that had been crossed out...

Was gone.

The paper was blank.

As if it had never been printed there at all.

I blinked.

No...

Not gone.

Someone had torn that part of the page away.

While we were in the room.

I looked toward the office door.

It was still closed.

Neither of us had heard anyone enter.

Someone had been close enough to touch our evidence.

And we never noticed.