VYRE CITY – POLICE HQ – BASEMENT ARCHIVES – 4:02 A.M.
The lights flickered. Dust hung in the air like ghosts too tired to leave. Rows of steel cabinets stretched into darkness. Old files. Dead cases. The kind no one liked to talk about.
Detective Rafe Calder stood alone in the center of it all, flipping through a thick case folder in his hands. His coat hung off one shoulder. Cigarette between his lips, barely lit.
His fingers stopped on a faded photograph—blood smeared across a beige carpet. Balloons in the background. Party hats. Little shoes.
"...This is insane," Calder muttered.
He sat on the edge of a rusted table, the file spread open like it could explain itself if he stared long enough. His eyes moved across the old headlines clipped inside:
"Family of Five Slaughtered in Apartment 6B — Birthday Party Turns Into Bloodbath"
"No Trace of Oldest Son, Bruce Bloom"
"Vyre PD Closes Case Due to Lack of Evidence"
He flipped another page. Autopsy photos. The mother, Linda Bloom. Three daughters, aged three to nine. All shot execution-style. Lined up in the living room. Someone had even put the toddler's pacifier back in her mouth.
But no sign of the boy. Bruce. The oldest. The one turning ten that day.
The birthday candles had burned all the way down.
No blood trail. No body. Just gone.
Calder pulled out the evidence sheet. There'd been signs of a sixth plate at the table. A slice of cake, untouched. A fork with fingerprints too smudged to ID.
He rubbed his temples, then lit another cigarette.
"You're either dead, or you've been watching," he whispered. "And now you're back."
He reached over, grabbed another file from the stack—Hector Voss. And next to it—Yara Lane. Both murdered in the last two weeks. Both had nothing in common on paper.
Except for one thing.
Mayor Diana Halbrook's name came up in both investigations.
And now this—blood on the wall. A direct threat with her name carved in it.
Calder slammed the folder shut.
This wasn't random.
Someone was making a point. And if he was right… that someone had started twenty years ago.
He pulled the old crime scene photo of the Bloom family again. Looked into the boy's face from an old birthday Polaroid.
Bruce Bloom. Brown eyes. Shaggy hair. Half a smile. Like he knew something even back then.
"I need to talk to her," Calder said under his breath.
---
CITY HALL – MAYOR'S OFFICE – 6:00 A.M.
The skyline outside was still grey. Rain never stopped in Vyre. It just changed speed.
Mayor Halbrook stood by the window, arms folded, blazer tight around her shoulders. Her phone buzzed on the desk, ignored.
Behind her, Calder waited, dripping rain onto her carpet.
"You want to tell me what you know about Bruce Bloom?" he asked, voice low.
Diana didn't move.
"You were a junior D.A. back then. That case passed through your office before it got buried."
She turned slowly. Her face was calm. But her eyes were sharp. Tired, but alert. Like she hadn't slept in days.
"I know what you're thinking," she said. "But you're wrong. I tried to keep that case open. No one wanted to hear it."
"You think he's alive?"
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then—
"Yes."
Calder stepped closer. "So you do know something."
"I think someone kept him hidden. Protected. Maybe trained. I've seen too many disappearances, too many names erased—quietly. It's all connected, Rafe. The tech breach. Hector. Yara. That message."
She walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and slid over a photo. Black and white. Taken from a distance.
A man in a hood. Face shadowed. Walking alone through the industrial district.
"I didn't show this to the press," she said. "I've seen him three times in the last month. Always watching. Never close. But I know it's him."
Calder looked at the photo.
"You think that's Bruce?"
"I think… he's not just a victim anymore," she said. "And he's not playing vigilante. He's sending a message to someone. I just don't know who."
Calder stared at the photo.
And for the first time in years, he felt it—that slow, sinking feeling in his gut.
This wasn't just a killer on the loose.
Few minutes later
The heavy door clicked shut behind Calder. Silence settled over the room like a weight.
Diana Halbrook stood still for a moment, one hand resting on her desk, the other holding her phone. Her knuckles were white.
Then she raised the phone again, jaw tight.
"Hello, James," she said, voice cold. "I think someone's targeting us."
She didn't wait for a response.
"They got to Hector. Yara. I think it's the boy—Bruce Bloom. He survived. Somehow. This is what I kept warning you people about. I told you—no loose ends."
She paced behind the desk, heels tapping against the polished floor.
"You didn't even check if the kid was dead. Didn't sweep the apartment properly. Just assumed he was gone. And now look—we're on his damn hit list."
She paused, breathing heavy.
"We don't know who's next. It could be you, could be me. But one thing's clear—he saw everything that night. He remembers. So find him. And get rid of him before this spirals."
She hung up. Hard.
For a second, she just stood there, staring at her reflection in the window—cold morning light cutting across her face, slicing it in half like a mirror cracking.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Not after all these years.
Not after everything she'd built.
Not because of some kid.
She picked up her phone again. This time, she dialed a number buried deep in her contacts. No name. Just a symbol.
It rang once.
Then silence.
A voice answered on the other end—distorted, metallic. "Mayor Halbrook."
"I have a job," Diana said. "Urgent. Quiet. And permanent."
"Target?"
"His name is Bruce Bloom. Around thirty now. Last seen in Vyre, moving in the shadows. Possibly trained, maybe military, or something like it. But he's not working alone. He's using our names. Hunting us. This is a clean-up. No drama. Just make him disappear."
There was a pause.
Then the voice said, "We'll need more details. Photo. Movement. Pattern. We'll handle it."
Diana's eyes narrowed.
"I want him gone before the weekend. He's already two steps ahead, and I don't like playing catch-up."
Another pause.
Then: "Understood."
She ended the call. Tossed the phone on her desk like it burned her hand.
Outside, the storm was picking up again. Vyre never slept. And tonight, it felt like the whole city was waiting for something to explode.
Diana walked to her private bar. Poured herself a shot of something expensive, dark, and bitter.
She stared into the glass for a moment. Then muttered, almost to herself:
"You think you're smart, Bruce. But I've buried smarter people than you."
She downed the drink. No flinch. No breath.
Then she pulled her jacket tight, walked out the office, heels sharp against the marble floor.
Because if the game had started again…
She was going to play it her way.
And this time, no one was walking away.