He swallowed hard before continuing, “We found an ID on her.”

  The officer hesitated, then exhaled sharply.

  “Abigail Foster. Age 37.”

  Unrecognizable? Evelyn’s face paled as the word echoed in her mind. She cleared her throat, steadying herself, then asked, “Anything else?”

  “I was the first on scene, but not much to say beyond what you gonna s-see (ahem)…The person who found the body is over there,” he said, gesturing toward the far end of the alley.

  “Thank you.” Evelyn waved him away as his presence deepened her growing anxiety.

  She approached the medical unit, where two examiners crouched over the body.

  But halfway there, she stopped to take a deep breath, then pushed herself forward.

  As she got close enough, the heavy metallic tang of blood filled her nose, making her resolve waver.

  Instinctively, she shut one eye, squinting through the other, trying to brace herself for what y in front of her.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Evelyn’s breath hitched, a shudder rolling through her soul as her gaze nded on the victim.

  The victim’s face was a grotesque, swollen mess, beaten beyond recognition, and strands of hair stuck to the torn skin, matted with blood.

  Her chest was empty where her heart should have been; her hands were bound with her own intestines, twisted tightly like a rope.

  The gash on her throat had a zig-zag-like shape, and beneath her, a dark pool of blood glistened faintly in the dim morning light, its shimmer caught in Evelyn’s now wide-open eyes.

  Evelyn’s stomach churned. She spped a hand over her mouth, stumbling a step back. The bile rising in her throat became unbearable. She darted to the side, bracing against the wall as she retched.

  “Evelyn!”

  A familiar voice cut through the haze as a gentle hand touched her shoulder.

  She gnced up, vision blurry, to see Sarah Collins, the forensic pathologist, crouched beside her, holding her hair back as she struggled to breathe.

  “It’s okay,” Sarah whispered in her ear. “First time seeing something like this?”

  Evelyn nodded weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Sarah smirked, poking her lightly on the cheek. “You’re too innocent for this line of work, Carter. Sure you didn’t pick the wrong job?”

  Evelyn managed a weak ugh as she replied curtly, “What do we know so far?” then forced herself to straighten, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. Her mind raced to focus, even as her body trembled with the weight of what she’d just witnessed.

  Sarah sighed, standing up. “My guess? She was killed around midnight. The throat was cut—messy work. The rest...” Her tone darkened. “That was rage. Her face was struck multiple times, probably with a bat. Don’t know how many blows before...” Her voice trailed off as Evelyn approached a toppled trash can. Sarah slipped her hands into the pockets of her b coat and followed her friend.

  Evelyn steadied her breathing as her eyes scanned the area. Her gaze locked on blood sptters on the wall, about four meters ahead of the body. She pointed toward it. “So, you’re saying she was hit at least once, then tried to run?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Anything else? Fingernails?”

  “Chipped,” Sarah said, then turned to rejoin her team.

  Evelyn lingered for a moment before calling out, “Is Eric here yet?”

  “Who?”

  “My partner.”

  “Oh. He’s around somewhere.”

  Nodding sharply, Evelyn began moving through the scene, taking in every detail. As she left the alley, a whistle broke through the air.

  She followed the sound to find Eric leaning casually against a mppost, cigarette in hand, about to take a drag.

  Evelyn strode up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to hers. She inhaled slowly, eyes locked on his. “I’m not a dog.”

  Eric smirked, raising an eyebrow. “For someone who cims not to know love, you sure do kiss.” He said, stretching out his hand. “Mind giving it back?”

  “No.” She took another slow drag, blowing the smoke between them. Her eyes dared him to keep pushing. “What’ve you got so far?”

  Eric sighed, already fishing out another cigarette. As he lit it, he said, “The guy who found the body? Frankie Dell. Homeless—cims it’s temporary. Says he came into the alley to take a piss and found her. For now, he’s a suspect. If this turns out to be rape, we might already have our guy.”

  “Surveilnce?” Evelyn asked.

  “The only camera in range... that one.” He flicked his chin toward a café a few blocks ahead, where a wooden sign above the entrance read Amber Beans.

  “Did you ask them for foot…”

  “Of course,” he said, cutting her off with a smirk. “But here’s the kicker—I asked everyone in the area if they heard screams. Nothing. Patrol already went door-to-door, same story. No one heard a damn thing. Strange, huh?” He took a long drag. “Judging by the way the killer removed her organs, I’d bet this is their first time. Let’s hope forensics can solve the case by themselves.”

  Evelyn clicked her tongue and flicked the cigarette away, crushing it under her feet.

  Meanwhile, in Zone G—an outskirt district to the northwest—its poor status was painfully evident. The air reeked, a result of local neglect as residents dumped garbage in the streets for collection. Stray dogs rummaged through the trash, spreading it further until the roads were yered with filth. Yet, ironically, it was one of the safest zones in the city. Crime was low, though starvation often cimed lives instead.

  Every corner had a hand stretched out—pleading for money, food, anything.

  The walls were pstered with graffiti, cursing the country, cursing the new ws, writing verses of the holy book that promised hell upon the rich who ignored their pleas for the sake of unnecessary items, and philosophical musings. One line, scrawled in rge, uneven letters, caught the light: “The only blessing of being worthless is not attracting evil.”

  In a cramped apartment of a slum tower, the very one where the line was scrawled, music bred as Johan danced between the table and kitchen counter, preparing a simple breakfast of tea, bread, and scrambled eggs. His spirits were high after nding a client the other day, and he sang along with the music.

  (Thud)

  A loud knock came from the floor below, followed by muffled shouts. “Shut up! It’s seven in the morning!” Johan assumed. His eyes widened briefly before he turned the volume down with a sheepish grin. Once he finished eating, he grabbed his keys and headed toward his car.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, Johan gnced around the gloomy streets and muttered to himself, “This zone is so damn depressing.” With a sigh, he started the engine and drove off.

  The scenery gradually shifted as he entered Amber Heights. The cracked, uneven roads gave way to smooth, well-paved streets. Johan rolled down the window, letting the fresh air flood the car. He inhaled deeply and smiled. “Now that’s oxygen.”

  Then he passed by David and Abigail’s house, slowing down as a thought crossed his mind: Did they manage to work things out?

  His gaze lingered on their door when something caught his eye—a bck car with tinted windows parked nearby, its lights still on. Curious, he leaned closer, squinting for a better look. That’s when he noticed the small siren affixed to the side.

  “Detectives?”

  Shaking his head, he leaned back into his seat and resumed his speed, leaving the scene behind as he headed toward his office in Havencrest.

  Meanwhile, inside the car,

  “What are we waiting for?” Evelyn asked, shifting impatiently in her seat.

  Eric smirked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh, I thought you weren’t ready.”

  She turned to him, narrowing her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line; silently screaming, Really?

  Without waiting for her reply, he pushed the door open. Both detectives stepped out and headed toward the house.

  Evelyn rang the doorbell as her partner began knocking aggressively on the door.

  “Chill,” she said, pcing a hand on his shoulder.

  As Eric’s lips parted to speak, the door creaked open, revealing David and the sharp scent of alcohol that followed.

  His eyes were heavy, barely open, and clean bandages wrapped around his hands. “Who are you?“ he asked.