It’s late evening in a dimly lit alley, the kind that city dwellers instinctively avoid once the sun sets. Rain drizzles down, creating small rivers that flow through the cracks in the pavement. The yellow crime scene tape flutters slightly in the breeze, marking the perimeter of the latest horror this city has witnessed.

Detective Lucas Hartman stands just outside the tape, his form still except for the occasional flicker of his sharp, green eyes. He surveys the scene, his gaze intense and unwavering. In the middle of the alley lies the chalk outline of a body—a woman, early thirties, just like the others. His jaw clenches, the muscle tightening as frustration mixes with determination.

The distant hum of city traffic barely penetrates the alley’s eerie quiet. Lucas pulls his coat tighter around him, the chill from the rain soaking into his clothes. The shadows around him seem to close in, yet he doesn’t flinch. He’s used to it by now. Crime scenes have become a second home, and tonight is no different. Except this time, he’s sure of something—something that has been gnawing at him for weeks.

Crouching down, he runs a hand over the ground near the chalk. No bloodstains. The rain washed away most of it, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not the blood that will give him answers. It’s the patterns, the way the killer operates. There’s always a trail, no matter how well they cover it up.

“You’re slipping,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible above the drizzle. He stands, his gaze narrowing as he scans the alley once more, as if expecting the killer to be lurking just out of sight. “And I’m closing in.”

He’s been chasing this killer for months now. Each crime scene, each victim, another piece of a twisted puzzle that he’s been trying to solve. Lucas knows he’s close. The killer’s methods are precise, almost too clean. But there are cracks—small mistakes, like tonight.

With one last look at the scene, Lucas turns and walks away, his mind already racing. He’s getting closer.