The breakthrough came at 3:12 a.m. Hayes sat buried in case files, eyes burning. None of the victims had identities. No records. No footprints in any system.

  Ghosts.

  A tech analyst burst into the room. “We found something. It's security footage from the grocery street.”

  The footage showed the woman sprinting past. Shadows behind her. And a man.

  Calm. Hands in pockets. Walking like the storm belonged to him.

  He didn't have claws, no red eyes, no wings. But the footage felt wrong, like the world bent around him.

  “Run a facial scan,” Hayes ordered.

  Results arrived instantly.

  Name: Jackson

  Last Name: Unknown

  Birth Records: None

  Identity: None

  Global Residence Count: 42

  Mansions in Bali, California, Dubai, Norway.

  “Which address do you want?” the analyst asked.

  “What do you mean which?”

  “He owns everything. Everywhere.”

  “Does he have anything in GrayHaven?”

  “No listed property.”

  “Then where is he now?”

  The analyst zoomed into the satellite.

  “There. 21st Street. Heading toward Brooklyn Lane.”

  Hayes grabbed her jacket. “Track his plate. Move!”.

  Jackson knew she was behind him.

  He didn’t run.

  He played.

  The Porsche glided through the wet streets like it was born there. Hayes floored the accelerator, called for backup, and tried to cut him off.

  But he was too fast. Too precise.

  Drifting past civilians with inches to spare.

  Laughing—she could feel it.

  At the bridge, the light turned red.

  He didn’t slow.

  He shot through the intersection, missing an old woman by the width of a breath. Hayes slammed her brakes to avoid hitting her. The moment she stopped...

  he was gone.

  Again.

  They picked up his signal twenty minutes later.

  A mansion on the edge of GrayHaven. Massive. Silent. Expensive in a way that shouldn’t exist in a city like this.

  Her partner, Dean, whistled low. “Yeah… he lives here.”

  Hayes glared at the building. “Who builds a mansion this big outside of town? This is him.”

  They approached the door and knocked. Hard.

  “GHPD,” she called. “Open up. We need to ask you some questions.”

  No answer.

  But his car, the sleek, unmistakable Porsche, sat cooling in the driveway.

  She knocked again.

  The door finally opened.

  A man stood in the doorway. Calm. Polite. Almost amused.

  “Detective,” he said softly. “How can I help you?”

  The man standing there wasn’t the one from the footage.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Different face.

  Different build.

  Different energy entirely.

  Hayes froze. “Sorry, we were tracking someone. He came this way. That’s his car.”

  The man glanced at the Porsche. “That car hasn’t left this property in twenty-four hours. Maybe you’ve got the wrong house.”

  “There’s no way,” Hayes replied. “Nothing else this size exists on this side of town.”

  He sighed. “Alright then, come on in.”

  Inside, a full-blown party raged—music, strangers, drinks everywhere.

  Hayes scanned the crowd. “So everyone here can vouch for each other?”

  Isaac nodded. “Pretty much.”

  A guy drifted past with two girls. “Detectives, what a pleasure for you to join our party. The name's Kyle!”

  Dean raised an eyebrow. “Join your party?”

  Another woman approached, whiskey in hand. “Oh, detectives!” she said. “Let me guess, one of my brothers screwed something up? I told them not to go wandering around. We just got into town.” She offered a drink. “Scotch? ’23 it's divine!.”

  Hayes rubbed her forehead. “Who actually lives here?”

  The girl with the Scotch, Jessie, answered. “Well, there's me. Kyle. This uptight specimen is Isaac. And then there’s the other one.”

  Hayes frowned. “And the ‘other one’ is...?”

  A voice called out from the stairs.

  "Jackson."

  He descended casually, like he owned the place—and maybe he did.

  Hayes stepped forward. “You were in town today?”

  “Yep. That’s my car.”

  “We need to talk. You’re coming with us.”

  “Why? Let’s talk here,” he said, gesturing around as if offering VIP seats.

  “You almost caused a widespread panic, do you have any idea how reckless you were?” she asked. “Speeding. Reckless driving. Endangerment. You almost hit an elderly woman.”

  “Almost,” he corrected. “Keyword being: almost”

  Jessie groaned. “Seriously? You leave the house for 5 mins and you've already started a police chase. Seriously?”

  Dean stepped closer. “Where were you last night, between 2 and 3 a.m.?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Hard to say. Denise, Rachel, Connie… someone.”

  “Not a joke,” Dean barked.

  Jackson’s smile faded. “I don’t like your tone.”

  Isaac appeared immediately. “Where were you, Jackson?”

  Jackson smirked. “Took a walk. Down on 23rd street.”

  “On 23rd Street?” Dean pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notice anything suspicious?” Hayes asked.

  “I think I heard a scream!” Jackson replied.

  Hayes narrowed her eyes. “You heard a scream on 23rd Street.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you didn’t think to report it?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Not my business.”

  Isaac and Kyle snorted.

  “Alright, that's it! You’re under arrest.”

  Isaac muttered, “Yeah…you definitely asked for that one.”

  At the station, they shoved Jackson into a chair.

  “How much trouble?” Cannon asked.

  “Obstruction,” Hayes replied.

  Jackson laughed. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  Dean still held the expensive scotch Jessie gave him.

  Jackson nodded toward it. “One sip? For courage?”

  “Sit down.”

  Jackson sat dramatically, like posing for a magazine cover.

  They cuffed him to the table.

  Hayes dropped a file down. “Where were you at 2 a.m.?”

  “You’re interrogating an innocent man,” Jackson said. “Shame. I was having a great night.”

  He smirked at Dean. “And why’s your partner looking at me like he wants something?”

  Dean nearly exploded. “TALK!”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “You don’t have lawyer privileges.”

  “Who made that rule? You? Adorable.”

  Dean stormed out.

  Hayes leaned in. Jackson finally took her seriously.

  “I know your tactic,” she said. “You want us exhausted so you walk free. Not happening.”

  “You’re intimidating,” he admitted, rubbing the crimson ring on his finger as if out of habit... or memory. “Respect.”

  “Talk.”

  “Fine. Between you and me… I did see something..”

  He described the woman on 23rd Street. The scream. The shadows. And the camera that caught him while he walked past.

  Hayes frowned. “How did you know a camera caught you? I didn’t tell you.”

  He pointed at the ceiling. “I was trained to spot surveillance.”

  “Military?”

  “Something like that.”

  She checked the footage. His car was parked exactly where he said he left it.

  “So why did you run earlier?” she asked.

  “You flashed blue lights. That’s basically a challenge.”

  Hayes pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two thousand fine.”

  “Cool.”

  “Leave,” she ordered. “Before I lose my patience.”

  “You dragged me from my mansion, cuffed me to an uncomfortable chair, and now you’re kicking me out. You're all so confusing.”

  He tapped her desk. “I’m your best witness, actually. I should join the investigation.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Cannon burst in. “Hayes, boardroom. Now.”

  Jackson grinned. “Someone’s in trouble.”

  “Grow up,” Hayes muttered.

  She left him.

  Jackson immediately rolled to her computer.

  Typed: The Order of Valkyrie.

  No results.

  He wiped the screen just as Hayes walked back in.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Looking for the key to the cuffs. You left me like this.”

  She unlocked him. “Get out.”

  “Always a pleasure. Hey... If anything, you should be more worried about the guys with the wing crests on their chest.”

  She paused. “What crest?”

  “Some bird-wing symbol. Ugly as hell. They should be fined for fashion crimes. The shady woman was wearing it.”

  Hayes froze at the detail he'd mentioned earlier.

  A winged crest. She’d seen that before.

  This case was bigger than Jackson.

  And she knew it.

  Later, Hayes sifted through evidence again. Every victim shared the same symbol carved into their chest. A winged crest.

  Not random.

  She called Dean. “Keep an eye on Jackson. He knows more.”

  Dean tailed Jackson to a hair salon. But Jackson vanished through a back alley without being seen.

  “I… I lost him,” Dean whispered into the phone.

  “What do you mean you lost him?!”

  Dean swallowed. “That guy is impossible to track.”

  “Whatever… Did you notice something about the victims?” Hayes asked.

  “What about them?” Dean responded.

  “They all had the same badge. Every single one of them had a winged shape crest on their chest”.

  “What does that mean? Are they some sort of organization?”

  Before Hayes could respond, Dean felt a sting at his neck.

  Darkness swallowed him.

  Hayes heard the thud through his earpiece.

  “Dean? Dean, talk to me!”

  Silence.

  Dean’s body was dragged into the shadows by someone wearing the winged crest.

  Hayes stared at the screen, voice breaking.

  “Dean… Dean… Dean!”

  Outside, the city moved on, unaware of what was to come.