The clouds hadn’t moved since morning. They hung heavy and low, pressing the light flat against the street. Aubrey stood beside the tape line, eyes tracing the slow drift above the warehouse roofs. The hum of generators and the low chatter of uniforms blurred together behind her.

  Thunder rolled somewhere far away. She blinked, lowered her gaze, and the reflection of blue lights rippled across a puddle near her boots.

  Aubrey leaned against the cold brick, her eyes tracing the narrow alley that cut behind the warehouse. The air smelled faintly of metal and wet dust, heavy and unmoving. A strip of yellow tape flapped against a rusted dumpster, the sound sharp against the low hum of generators.

  Her gaze caught on a cracked window halfway up the wall—one pane missing, the frame warped just enough that it didn’t quite sit right.

  Across the street, the side door of the hotel swung open. James stepped out, glanced toward the flashing lights, and hesitated before jogging over, his jacket flaring in the wind.

  James slowed to a stop beside her, his voice low. “Didn’t think I’d see you working across the street from my lobby today. One of the guests said there was a murder over here, so I came to look.”

  Aubrey didn’t look up from the alley. “You probably shouldn’t make a habit of that,” she said. “This isn’t exactly the safest part of town.”

  James gave a small, uneasy laugh. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

  Aubrey’s shoulders eased a little, the tension in her expression softening. “That dinner a couple of weeks ago was nice,” she said, her tone almost thoughtful. “I can’t believe you ordered that ridiculous volcano dessert.” She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “The whole restaurant went quiet when the sparks started going off—I swear everyone was looking at us.”

  A small giggle escaped before she could stop it, her cheeks coloring as she brought a hand to her mouth. “I was so embarrassed… but it was funny. Kind of perfect, actually.”

  James laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… it was great. And the play after? Even better.”

  Aubrey’s eyes widened, her face lighting up. “Oh my god, right? It was so good.” Her cheeks flushed again as she smiled.

  James hesitated, the laughter still lingering in his voice. “Would you… want to do it again sometime?” he asked, careful but hopeful.

  Aubrey glanced at him, her smile faint but teasing. She took a small breath before replying. “Maybe,” she said. “But only if you can tell me who lives above that shop.”

  She pointed across the street to the cracked window halfway up the wall—the one with the missing pane and warped frame she’d noticed earlier.

  James followed her gesture, squinting across the street. “Uh… what do you want with a resale clothes store?” he asked, half-smiling.

  Aubrey didn’t answer, still watching the cracked window.

  He scratched the back of his head, eyes narrowing a little. “I don’t really know who lives up there,” he said after a moment. “The place has been there forever, but nobody really goes in.”

  Aubrey tilted her head slightly, eyes still on the window. “Hmm,” she murmured under her breath.

  James hesitated, then smiled a little. “You know,” he said, “whatever you wear, you always look great.”

  That earned him a sidelong glance. He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh… I’ve never seen your hair like that before. It’s cute.”

  Aubrey turned toward him then, caught off guard by the compliment. A faint blush crept across her cheeks before she managed a small smile. “Thanks,” she said softly. “You’re not bad yourself.”

  James laughed under his breath, the sound easy and genuine.

  Aubrey glanced back toward the warehouse doors. “I should probably get inside,” she said, her tone settling back into something steadier.

  James nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” he said, taking a small step back. “Guess I’ll let you work.”

  He gave her a quick wave before turning toward the hotel. His footsteps splashed lightly through the thin puddles along the street, fading beneath the low rumble of thunder.

  Aubrey watched him go for a moment, then turned back toward the warehouse entrance.

  As Aubrey started toward the entrance, the side door swung open and Dorian stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck.

  He spotted her immediately, his expression puzzled. “Hey—do you own a Blu-ray?” he asked, pointing at her as he walked closer.

  Aubrey blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

  Dorian shook his head, stopping a few feet from her. “Brian said he still uses Blu-ray,” he said, incredulous. “What even is that? Then he tells me he’s got this binder full of CD pockets—” He lifted his hands in disbelief. “—and he burns movies onto DVDs and throws them in there.”

  He dropped his hands back to his sides, still wearing the same baffled look.

  Aubrey stared at him, brow furrowing. “Yeah,” she said flatly. “It’s called saving money.”

  Dorian blinked, then groaned. “Oh, great—you’re a freak too?”

  Aubrey blinked, caught off guard. “No, I don’t really watch movies,” she said, shaking her head. Then she tilted it slightly, her tone turning dry. “But don’t you pay, like, fifty bucks a month just to stare at a subscription?”

  Dorian let out a quick, sassy laugh. “Oh, okay—ha. I’ll remember that one when you ask me for my login.”

  He brushed past her with a smirk, heading toward the cruisers parked down the street where a few officers were already talking near the lights.

  Aubrey shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her mouth as she turned toward the warehouse. She pushed through the open door, the hinges groaning in protest.

  Inside, the air was colder, thick with dust and the faint smell of oil. Shards of broken glass crunched under her boots, scattered across the concrete in dull glints.

  Vince stood near the center of the room, whispering with Slater while Brian hovered beside a body slumped in a chair, his notepad open and half-filled.

  Aubrey walked closer, her footsteps echoing softly across the concrete. Vince was mid-conversation with Slater, gesturing toward the chair as he spoke. Slater stood with his hands on his hips, glancing over when he noticed her approach.

  He gave a short nod. Vince caught the movement, turned—and stopped mid-sentence when he saw her beside him.

  “Brooke,” he said, voice lowering a notch. “Didn’t think you’d make it out here this fast.”

  Aubrey stopped beside Vince, her hands sliding into her coat pockets. “Hey,” she said quietly, eyes scanning the room. “What happened here?”

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  Vince scratched at the side of his face, eyes still on the body. “Uh—victim’s mid-forties,” he said. “Strangled, from the look of it. We haven’t worked it long yet.”

  Aubrey gave a slight nod, letting the information settle without a word. She stepped around Vince and made her way toward Brian.

  The concrete floor was cold beneath her boots, the space around the body unnervingly still.

  Brian glanced up as she stopped beside him. “Check this out,” he said, stepping slightly to the side.

  He pointed toward the victim’s face. “They carved a damn X onto his lips.”

  Aubrey’s eyes widened slightly, the breath catching in her throat. She crouched beside the chair, leaning closer to get a better look.

  The carving was shallow but deliberate—two clean lines crossing over the man’s lips, the skin around them darkened and split.

  Aubrey leaned back slightly, eyes still fixed on the wound. “Well,” she said quietly, “he doesn’t look like the type that stole from a gang.”

  She stood, brushing her hands against her coat. “What’d you find on him?”

  Brian made a slight, dismissive sound. “Eh,” he said, glancing around the room. “In this part of town? Safe to assume everyone’s the everything type.”

  He gave a half-shrug, his expression caught somewhere between tired and unimpressed. “Car keys, wallet, cell phone… and a small pocket Bible.”

  Aubrey stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the floor beside the chair.

  Brian glanced at her. “You religious?”

  She shook her head lightly. “Not really.”

  Brian let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe God’ll give us a damn sign,” he muttered.

  Aubrey’s gaze shifted toward the small Bible on the table, her voice low but firm. “Maybe he already did, Brian.”

  She straightened, meeting his tired eyes. “Go outside and get some air.”

  Brian hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Good idea.”

  He stepped past her, heading for the exit. Vince and Slater were still talking near the far wall, their voices a low hum that barely carried across the room.

  Aubrey crouched beside the chair, her eyes tracing the outline of the man’s arm until they stopped on the small Bible lying just beside his hand. The cover was worn, corners bent, a faint smear of blood along the edge.

  She reached out carefully, flipping it open with the end of a pen.

  She thumbed through a few pages, scanning them out of habit. Nothing was tucked inside—no notes, no markings, no hidden clues: just the same small-print verses and yellowed paper.

  Aubrey exhaled softly and closed it, setting it back down beside the man’s hand.

  Aubrey rose to her feet, brushing her hands against her coat. She glanced toward where Slater and Vince were standing.

  “So nobody saw anyone come in here,” she said, her voice steady. “And it looks like this body’s been here at least a couple days.”

  She turned her eyes back to the body. “Strangled with something,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “A carved X over his lips. A Bible on the floor.”

  Her gaze lifted again, settling on Slater and Vince.

  Vince crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the table nearby. “Yeah, it’s gotta be gang-related,” he said, nodding toward the body. “Carving an X like that—it’s a mark. You see it sometimes when someone steps outta line or owes the wrong people. Could be a warning.”

  He shrugged, eyes scanning the scene again. “It’d make sense in this neighborhood.”

  Slater nodded, his tone certain. “Yeah, it’s pretty common around here,” he said. “Gangs mark their rivals or debtors—an X usually means someone crossed the wrong people.”

  He glanced back at the body, hands resting on his belt.

  Aubrey looked back at the body, her brow tightening slightly. “And he gets to keep his money and valuables?” she said, her tone calm but pointed.

  Slater and Vince exchanged a quick look before Slater spoke. “They usually leave the valuables,” he said. “Makes it clear it wasn’t about a robbery—just a warning. Fear travels farther when people know it wasn’t for cash.”

  Aubrey paused, glancing between the two men. “Did anyone talk to the people across the street?” she asked. “Someone might’ve seen movement in or out of here.”

  Vince rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Slater before speaking. “Zane talked to a lady across the street—Miss Calder. He showed her a photo, asked if she’d seen this guy.”

  Vince paused, his brow tightening. “She said yeah. Said he was the one who knocked on her door that night. Told her she had to leave—something about a city inspection.”

  Aubrey folded her arms, glancing back toward the body. “So the guy who’s dead next to me,” she said slowly, “told the lady across the street there was a city inspection at her building… that late at night?”

  Vince shifted his weight, trying not to sound defensive. “Yeah—well, Brooke,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the body. “It kind of leans that he was affiliated even more, right? I mean… you can see that, can’t you?”

  Aubrey looked back at the body, her brow furrowing. “Why would she just believe that?” she said quietly.

  Slater adjusted his stance, his voice firm but casual. “She’s an old lady, Archer,” he said. “She’s lucky she said yes. They probably would’ve hurt her if she didn’t.”

  Aubrey tilted her head slightly. “Well—how’d you get a photo of him this fast?”

  Slater shrugged. “Victim had a phone. No code.” He gave a faint smirk. “Driver’s license did him no justice, trust me.”

  Aubrey’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked back at the body. “This doesn’t make sense,” she said under her breath.

  Aubrey straightened, still focused on the thought turning over in her head. “I’ll work the block,” she said. “See if anyone’s got a doorbell cam that caught something.”

  Slater shook his head, his tone flat. “Nobody’s got that around here. You get side-eye just for having one.”

  Aubrey shook her head, exhaling hard through her nose. “So what the fuck are we doing right now?” she muttered, her voice low but sharp.

  The room went quiet for a moment, the hum of the overhead lights filling the space.

  Vince glanced around the warehouse, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s not much left to look at,” he said. “Not much evidence, especially in a place like this.”

  His eyes drifted over the cracked walls and scattered debris, as if the building itself had already swallowed anything useful.

  Vince sighed, checking his watch before looking back at her. “We just gotta do the paperwork,” he said. “Wait for the autopsy, see if we can work from there.”

  Aubrey looked between the two of them, her voice low. “Yeah—whatever.” She rubbed her eyes with both hands, the fatigue showing through. “Any prints?”

  Vince gave a small shrug. “Probably a million,” he said. “But in a place like this? No way we’re getting anything conclusive.”

  Aubrey let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, more breath than sound. Then she turned and stormed out the front door, the metal frame clattering behind her as it slammed shut.

  Outside, the air felt colder now. Aubrey exhaled, a cloud of breath catching in the dull light before fading away. She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed, eyes scanning the scene.

  Across the lot, squad cars idled in place while a few officers talked near the tape line. Reporters were already gathering by the corner, microphones in hand, shouting questions toward anyone in uniform.

  Then she spotted Jamie—hair pulled back, badge clipped to her belt, half arguing and half joking with an officer who clearly wasn’t letting her past the line.

  Aubrey couldn’t help it—she smiled faintly, shaking her head.

  Aubrey sat slouched in her chair, one arm resting on the desk, eyes fixed on the monitor’s pale glow. The quiet hum of the precinct filled the background — phones ringing, the shuffle of papers, the distant clack of a keyboard somewhere down the hall.

  On her screen, the search bar blinked above a single line of text:

  No record found — Arthur Archer.

  Her expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk. The cursor blinked again, steady, indifferent.

  Aubrey exhaled through her nose, leaning back until her chair creaked. For a moment she just stared — at the empty screen, the faint reflection of her own face — before turning her eyes toward the window, where clouds still pressed low over the city.

  Her coffee had gone cold beside her. She reached for it anyway, taking a slow sip that tasted like metal and distance.

  “Detective?”

  Aubrey turned slightly. Evie stood at her desk, a steaming cup in hand. “You asked for a fresh one an hour ago,” she said, setting it down gently beside the old one.

  Aubrey blinked, as if surfacing. “Thanks, Evie.”

  Evie gave a small smile before stepping away, leaving the faint scent of coffee in her wake.

  Aubrey stared at the two cups — one cold, one warm — and reached for the new one without another word.

  The cursor blinked once more, catching the reflection of her eyes — then faded, leaving her face in shadow.