The detective office was filled with the low murmur of voices, papers rustling, and the steady ticking of Alexander Bluestone's golden pocket watch. The air was thick with tension as Roselia Dukeforth, Darmian Shakesforth, and Madison Oakwell pored over the details of the newest case.
Eight murders. Eight days. All near Anfield Stadium.
Darmian ran a hand through his blond hair, his brows furrowed. "It doesn't make sense. No pattern. No connection between the victims."
Madison tapped her fingers on the desk, her emerald-green eyes scanning the reports. "If there's a serial killer, they should have some kind of motive. But this… it's like they're picking people at random."
Rose leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Are we dealing with Grim Reaper? Or is this someone else?"
A soft chuckle broke through the discussion.
All three turned their heads toward Alexander.
He sat calmly in his chair, spinning his pocket watch between his fingers, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His sapphire-blue eyes gleamed with a sharp knowingness.
"I already found the loophole."
The room fell into silence.
Darmian's face twisted in disbelief. "Already?!"
Madison frowned. "You're joking."
Rose's golden-brown eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Alexander simply leaned back, his smirk deepening. "You'll understand soon enough."
The others exchanged glances, frustration growing. But Alexander? He was completely at ease.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.
"Bluestone."
Alexander's grin widened. "Mark Alberton. I need you at Anfield Stadium."
A pause. Then, the Commissioner's voice came through, laced with amusement. "For the case?"
Alexander let out a low chuckle. "For a football match. Merseyside Derby."
Another pause. Then a small laugh. "You don't even like football."
Alexander glanced at his team, his smirk never fading. "Maybe. But I'm willing to make it interesting."
Mark sighed. "Alright, I'll bite. What's the bet?"
Alexander's eyes darkened with thrill.
"Whoever shoots the murderer first gets a treat from the other."
Silence.
Then—Mark let out a short laugh. "Deal."
Alexander ended the call, setting his phone down. He turned back to his team, his coldly confident smirk still in place.
Rose studied him, unable to ignore the sharp, unshaken certainty in his voice.
She had known him for a short time, but already—she realized something.
Alexander Bluestone never gambled.
If he made a bet…
It meant he had already won.