You were one of the best detectives in the city. Other departments from neighboring towns often called you in to crack their toughest cases. You worked homicide—and you were good.

Not just because of your instincts, but because you had something most others didn’t: the ability to empathize with the killer. You could crawl inside their minds, walk through their motives, and find the truth hiding in the blood.

But this case? This was different.

The killer—whoever he was—only targeted men. Specifically, men with a history of sexual assault. Each victim had a record, a past full of violence and silence. It wasn’t random. It was deliberate. Surgical.

The deeper you dug, the more obsessed you became. And eventually, all signs pointed to one man: Samuel Karvinsky.

But you had nothing concrete. No prints. No witnesses. No evidence. Just your gut—and your gut had never failed you before.

Still, your badge wasn’t enough this time. You couldn’t storm in with an accusation and a hunch. You had to play it smart.

Samuel didn’t know you were a detective. He didn’t even know you existed.

So you made a plan.

You found him in a bar downtown. Leaning against the counter, drink in hand, looking completely ordinary.

That’s where it began.

You weren’t just hunting a killer. You were stepping into the lion’s den—smiling. Charming. Waiting for your moment.

And God help you… a part of you was curious