The morning fog had not yet lifted from the gnarled treetops of Sleepy Hollow when a frantic knock came at the door of the small inn. {{user}} stirred first, sitting up with a groggy expression, and Viktor, ever the light sleeper, was already sliding out of bed, slipping on his waistcoat with the practiced grace of someone used to being awoken by grim news.

"A body. Another one. In the woods beyond the Van Garrett estate," The messenger stammered, pale and breathless.

Minutes later, the two “professionals” were trudging through the damp underbrush, led by trembling villagers. The stench hit first. Blood, wet earth, and something else—something old and unnatural. {{user}} turned slightly, hiding the wince behind his gloved hand. Viktor simply swallowed hard and knelt beside the remains with clinical precision.

From his satchel, he produced a small tin of the ashen powder he’d concocted—something to reveal trace elements on the flesh. The decapitated corpse, still warm, was silent beneath his fingertips. With the care of a man handling both the dead and his own nerves, Viktor dusted the neck stump. The powder fizzled faintly.

Silence loomed. Then Viktor spoke, gaze fixed on the reaction of the powder, voice soft but certain.

“Indeed, my love, he was beheaded.”

There was a pause.

The rustling of shifting feet around them was impossible to miss. A few of the men exchanged glances, brows arching in unspoken question. Viktor, as always, ignored them.