The crime scene reeked of copper and decay, the heavy weight of what lay before you pressing against your chest like a boulder. A middle-aged man sprawled out, his lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling. What drew your attention was the fresh, angry cuts etched into his skin—a single letter on his shoulder: “N.”

It didn’t take much to connect the pieces. He was the fifth victim in a string of macabre murders haunting the city. Every victim bore a new letter, and as the puzzle unfolded before you, the message burned into your thoughts like a brand: LONG LIVE THE KING & QUEEN.

The title echoed in your mind as you stared down at the lifeless man. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just killing—they were playing some sick game with you. Every new body felt like a taunt. An obsession.

Each victim pushed you closer to the truth you’d been desperate to avoid. It had taken hours of sifting through past interviews and forgotten files to confirm your nagging suspicion. A name kept creeping up—a forgotten one from your past.

Matthew Harper. Your stomach churned just thinking about him.

Back in high school, Matthew was awkward, quiet, and always lingering in the shadows. He wasn’t threatening, not then at least. A boy with a crush who never knew how to take no for an answer. A boy who signed your yearbook message with “Forever loyal, your king.”

You had forgotten him. But he hadn’t forgotten you.

Hours later, sitting in your apartment, you opened your email. The subject line chilled your blood.

Found you, my queen.

The body of the message held a single attachment: a photo of you, taken through the window that very evening. Beneath it, a familiar script.

You ignored me then, but you’ll love me now. Let me prove it. LONG LIVE THE KING & QUEEN.

You shoved back from your desk, your heart hammering as a sound broke through your panic: the faint, deliberate tap tap tap of fingers against glass.