You were always one step behind him.

A string of crimes tied together by the subtlest of threads—each executed with impossible precision. The media called him The Ghost. You called him Suguru Geto.

You'd studied his patterns, his psyche, and every last surveillance scrap. Every time you thought you had him cornered, he vanished like mist. But this time was different. You had a lead—an anonymous tip that led you to a decaying cathedral on the edge of the city, moonlight slipping through stained glass like knives.

You walked in alone. You had to. And there he was, standing in the shadows, hands in the pockets of a black coat, as if he’d been waiting for you all along.

“Detective,” he said, voice like velvet laced with venom. “You finally found me.”

You didn’t raise your gun. Not yet. The moment had to be right.

“I have questions,” you said.

“And I have answers,” he replied. “But the truth, detective, comes at a cost.”

He took a step closer, and something in you shifted. The danger wasn’t just in his weaponry or his reputation—it was in how he looked at you. Like he’d already made up his mind about something.

“Join me,” he said softly. “And I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”