I called in sick to the precinct—a lie that Sarah Jackson, my ever-watchful partner, accepted with surprising ease. That gave me the day to work without prying eyes. I headed to the woods where I’d buried the knife, driving the long, winding road to the remote spot where it had all ended—or so I’d thought.

The site was undisturbed, just as I’d left it. I stood over the small clearing, staring down at the frozen ground. Whoever had taken the knife had done so without leaving a trace. That meant they were meticulous—either a professional or someone with extreme knowledge of the area.

The possibilities narrowed.

Back at my house, I poured over everything I could remember about Victor’s life. His business dealings, his shady connections, his rivalries. There were plenty of people who had reasons to hate him. But how many of them had a reason to target me?

The question gnawed at me until my phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was a text from an unknown number.

"Did you like the gift? Meet me at 8 pm. The old warehouse."

My breath caught. The warehouse was a run-down building on the outskirts of town, a place where Victor used to hold his secretive business meetings. My stomach twisted at the thought of walking into a trap, but what choice did I have?


At 8 pm on the dot, I stood outside the rusted gates of the old warehouse, my coat pulled tight against the biting wind. The place was silent, the shadows deep. I stepped inside, my hand instinctively resting on the knife I’d taken from the box earlier.

“Good of you to come,” a voice echoed from the darkness.

A figure emerged, stepping into the faint light streaming from a cracked window. My stomach sank.