The Miami night was thick with humidity as Calleigh stepped into the dimly lit warehouse. The faint odor of saltwater and rust lingered in the air. She pulled on her gloves and crouched next to the body. A man in his late thirties, face hidden by the shadows, had been shot once in the chest. The thing that caught her eye, however, was the odd placement of his arm. It was stretched out, as if he had been trying to reach for something before he collapsed.

"Was he running?" Calleigh muttered to herself, examining the scene. The man’s shoes didn’t match the scuff marks near the doorway, suggesting he had been chased—or had tried to escape.

Ryan, standing just behind her, knelt down and pointed to a blood stain that was smeared across the floor. "Could be he stumbled after being shot."

Calleigh’s eyes narrowed as she examined the smear. It wasn’t like a typical drag mark, it was a pattern. Almost as if he had… stopped, turned, and then fallen. But where had he been trying to go?

"There's something off about this," she said, standing and moving further into the warehouse. The dim light revealed broken crates, one of them overturned. She crouched, her flashlight catching a glimmer in the debris. A small metal box, slightly dented, but still intact.

With a slight frown, she picked it up. Inside was a tangle of wires, a small, high-tech device, and a card with a name she didn’t recognize.

“This wasn’t a random hit,”

Calleigh muttered, staring at the device.

“This was someone trying to send a message.”

Her instincts told her the victim hadn’t just been an unlucky bystander—he was involved in something far deeper. Now, it was her job to figure out what.