Chapter 6 — “The Signs”

  Night fell, and the forensics lab became an echoing space filled with the high-pitched hum of fluorescent lights and the low, consistent thrum of the refrigerators. A sharp whiff of disinfectant, a hint of coffee, and the faint, metallic bite of gun oil all mingled in the thick air.

  Detectives Alexi Shard and Martin Lang faced a gleaming stainless-steel table, with two technicians standing behind them. The team had cleared a space for them and laid out their findings with careful precision.

  Dr. Gretchen Vale, the precinct’s senior lab analyst, adjusted her glasses and tapped a pen against the sealed evidence tray. “We’ve got everything from the Canal Street scene here, detectives — the weapons, the bullets, the blood samples, and that pendant you brought in.”

  Shard folded her arms and nodded. “Start with the gun.”

  Vale lifted the sidearm, her gloved hands steady as always. “Nine millimeter. Serial number filed off, but it’s a cheap street piece — nothing special. We recovered two slugs. Both fired from this weapon. The rifling marks are clear and clean, and there’s standard powder residue. So, mechanically, everything checks out.”

  A frown creased Alexi’s face as she looked at the forensic table, its cold, reflective surface gleaming under the intense light. “And yet the bodies looked mauled,” she said. “What do you think happened here, Gretchen?” she asked, the question hanging between them like an unanswered echo.

  “Neither of these rounds hit any of the three victims,” Vale responded. “Ballistics confirmed one bullet struck a metal surface inside the car, which our team removed from the wall. There was minimal human contact, insufficient for testing. They also collected the other round from the floor, covered in blood, but it didn’t match any of the victims.”

  Alexi paused. “Then the target of those rounds didn’t stick around.”

  Vale shrugged. “The evidence suggests the gun didn’t belong to the killer, but to one of our victims. The dead were at one end of the car, the slugs recovered from the other.”

  Alexi and Lang exchanged a puzzled glance. The room fell still, as if holding its breath for what was to come.

  Shard picked up the sealed bag containing the flattened slug lifted from the floor. “So, what about the blood?”

  Vale hesitated before replying. “That’s where things get, shall we say, very odd.”

  She turned to her monitor. On it, magnified plasma samples glowed under ultraviolet (UV) light.

  “Some blood matches the victim’s,” Vale began. “All originating from the areas surrounding their bodies. They also collected a sample from the floor, where you found the slug. We were able to establish a partial profile from that spot. The results indicate it’s from a female subject. The unusual aspect is the hemoglobin bonds.”

  “Explain,” Alexi said as she moved in to look at the monitor.

  “They’re abnormally strong,” Vale continued, “meaning they hold oxygen more tightly than usual, and they respond differently to light, appearing almost bioluminescent or glowing under UV. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  Shard leaned in closer. “You’re saying it’s not human blood?”

  “I’m saying it’s mostly human, but there are irregularities,” Vale replied. “Enzyme levels, chemicals that speed up reactions in the body, are way off the charts. There’s a second compound in the plasma as well that seems to act as a binding agent, similar to synthetic adrenaline but produced naturally. It appears that whoever bled there has some hybrid physiology, meaning their bodily systems are mixed or enhanced. They’re designed to heal fast.”

  Vale opened a file, the crisp paper rustling, and glanced at the test results before moving on. “The chemical structure of hemoglobin is quite remarkable; it contains extra iron molecules, which explains its higher affinity for oxygen, leading to increased stamina or energy retention. It’s almost as if this blood was designed to support a much more vigorous organism.”

  Alexi’s pulse quickened. “And the DNA?”

  “Still processing,” Vale said, “but what we’ve run through CODIS so far yields no matches, no medical records, no identity. Whoever she is, she’s a ghost.”

  Alexi’s hand hovered over the table. She tapped her finger next to the pendant. “What about this?”

  The silver teardrop locket rested on the polished surface, shimmering like ice as it caught the light. Alexi had already gotten some answers from Elias Harrow, but direct scientific evidence might uncover what he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her. She didn’t want to share her knowledge, at least not yet.

  There was something in the way the man hesitated when talking about the pendant that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. Alexi had a gut feeling, a connection hidden just beneath her awareness, linking the pendant’s markings to stories told by her father—tales of the past and the myths they created.

  “The symbols aren’t in any current database,” Vale said. “I checked them against at least twenty known cultural alphabets, but I found nothing. The front design combines two emblems: a crescent moon and a wolf’s paw. The etching seems more ritualistic than decorative.”

  “What about the inscription on the back?” Lang asked.

  “We translated it from Latin.” Vale paused, appearing thoughtful. She handed Alexi a printed copy of the translation.

  Te memini, etiam inter astra — I remember you, even among the stars.

  Alexi read it twice. “Romantic,” she said dryly.

  “Interestingly,” Vale continued, “some symbols resemble an ancient, possibly esoteric, language, maybe from a lost civilization. That’s just a hypothesis. If true, this pendant could be much older and more meaningful than it looks. It seems the lettering predates anything we currently have on file.”

  “In that case, it may be an heirloom,” Alexi replied, “a sentimental piece handed down from generation to generation. It’s definitely old-fashioned.”

  “Very,” Vale said. “Which brings me to the pendant’s metal. It’s not pure silver but a mixture of metals I’ve never seen before. No corrosion, no tarnish. When we ran a density scan to measure how tightly packed the atoms are, it reflected like crystal, not metal.”

  Lang put the paper down. “So it’s not from around here.”

  Vale gave a gentle smirk. “Detective, I doubt it’s from anywhere close by.”

  The intercom buzzed, startling all three.

  “Detective Shard,” a young officer’s voice said, “we have IDs on the three victims.”

  Alexi pressed the button. “Go ahead.”

  “Names are Raymond Knox, Luis Ortega, and Tyler Cruz, all with known gang affiliations. They’ve been in and out of lockup for years, mostly for weapons charges, robbery, and narcotics. Looks like they were freelancing when they bought it.”

  “Connected to anyone bigger?”

  “Possible. Cruz had ties to a crew out of Hell’s Kitchen. We’re still digging.”

  Alexi glared intensely at the pendant. “You mentioned female blood,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand found the cool, smooth edge of the table, her fingers closing around it. “Was it possible she was their intended victim? Or were they hers? Either way, she’s the key now, and we’ll need to find her if we want answers.”

  Vale tilted her head, arms crossed. “If she were the victim, it obviously didn’t end well for them.”

  Alexi’s fingers traced the pendant’s engraved crescent and paw print as she examined its surface under the sterile lab light. The familiar current tingled through her hand as it pulsed, glowed, and captivated her gaze. The phrase ‘I remember you’ whispered through her thoughts.

  “Gretchen, can you do me a favor?”

  Dr. Vale shot her a curious look. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Hold this,” Shard said as she handed her the pendant.

  Vale took the locket and glanced at Alexi, raising a brow.

  “You feeling anything?” Alexi asked.

  A corner of Gretchen’s lips twitched as she hesitated before making eye contact with Shard. “No. Should I?” she asked. “Am I missing something?”

  Alexi shook her head, muttering in frustration and embarrassment. “No. Sorry. I just—” Her words trailed off as she took it back and slid it into the sleeve.

  Lang crossed his arms. “Anything from the autopsies?”

  Vale turned, and an assistant handed her a manila envelope. She opened it and spread out several pictures of the men who had died. Their pale skin was a stark canvas for the intricate, multi-colored tattoos that adorned each of them. Calmed by death’s embrace, their features looked almost serene.

  “The wounds to all three were clean, as if surgical,” she began. “Each gash, smooth. No jagged edges on any of the incisions. Whatever caused them was sharp, razor-sharp.”

  “What could cause injuries like these?” Lang asked. “They resemble claw marks.”

  “Well, we also found puncture wounds on one victim’s back and chest. Another victim had his hand nearly severed. And, finally,” Vale said, gesturing toward one picture, “there seem to be bite marks on the neck of the guy with crushed cervical vertebrae. I have no way to explain the cause of these deaths.”

  “Best guess, then,” Alexi said.

  She paused. “Considering the evidence, which is purely speculative, these wounds suggest predatory animal attacks, such as those from a large feline, bear, or even a wolf. However, it’s puzzling how a creature could leave injuries like this and then vanish without a trace in an urban environment.”

  Shard’s eyes examined each of the photos with care, her hands spreading them wider over the cold metal table. After a few minutes, she stepped back and shook her head.

  “All of this, and still no answers,” she said, running her fingers through the hair at her temples.

  Vale shrugged. “All I can confirm is that we have three deceased male victims, female blood with a very unusual chemical composition, who doesn’t look like a woman but resembles Bigfoot fleeing the scene.”

  Lang and Shard exchanged glances.

  “Okay,” Alexi said, turning to Vale. “Bag everything up and keep it between us for now. I’ll handle the follow-up.”

  “You got it, detective. This one’s bigger than a mugging gone bad.”

  Alexi’s gaze fixated on the pendant nestled within the evidence pouch, its facets catching the light as if awakened by her stare. Several people had already warned her about this case.

  You’re looking for something that doesn’t want to be found.

  Alexi took a deep breath. I think, she said to herself, I’m going to find it anyway.

  Her thoughts churned with possibilities as the overhead lights flickered, casting fleeting shadows across the scattered evidence. She pressed her palms against the icy surface of the table as a wall clock’s steady ticking pulsed in rhythm with her heart.

  A moment later, she turned to face Lang. “Let’s go, partner. We have a lot of work to do.”

  ———————————————————————————————————————

  The sky above New York City bled into hues of orange and purple as the sun began its descent. Long, golden beams of light streamed through the tall windows of Captain Bressler’s office. The city’s nightlife was stirring, bathed in the glow of neon signs that cut through the encroaching darkness. Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of stale coffee and aged paper, hinting at an office that had endured countless late nights without adequate daylight.

  Bressler stood by the window, his hands nestled in his pockets, while a full cup of coffee, now an hour cold, sat on his desk, untouched. His reflection, older and heavier than he remembered, looked back at him through the glass. Behind him, Detective Alexi Shard stood in the doorway, file in hand.

  “You wanted an update, Captain?”

  He turned and motioned to her. “Come in, Shard. Close the door. Have a seat.”

  She did as asked, the manila folder landing with a soft thud on his desk. Her expression was tight and professional, but he sensed a restlessness beneath it, as if she were already holding something back.

  “So,” Bressler said, lowering himself into his chair. “Tell me we’ve got something that isn’t just another dead end.”

  Alexi exhaled. “I wish I could.” She opened the folder, flipping through photos and reports. “We’ve hit a wall. The lab has run the same samples three times, and all we have are inconsistencies and unanswered questions. The lab found blood that fluoresces under UV light but not under chemical analysis, and trace metals that shouldn’t be in human samples.”

  Bressler nodded without saying a word.

  “And the surveillance footage,” she continued, her tone growing sharper. “We finally enhanced it. Whatever tore through those kids in the subway wasn’t human. The frames are blurry, but the shape, the gait...” she paused. “It’s wrong.”

  He leaned back, a deep crease forming between his brows. “You’re telling me we’re chasing ghosts.”

  “What I’m saying is, we’re chasing something we don’t understand. And I think someone does.”

  “Go on.”

  She took a moment, her lips parting as if to taste the air, before finally saying it. “A name keeps popping up in the side chatter. I heard it from one of the forensics guys. From Harrow, and even from a Night Crimes consultant who swore me to confidentiality.”

  Bressler sighed. “Whose name?”

  “Maxximillian DeSilva.”

  Bressler’s gaze sharpened, but he waited before replying. Pushing his coffee aside, the aroma of roasted beans still lingering, he folded his hands. “That name shouldn’t be in any report.”

  “It’s not. I made sure of it.” She leaned forward slightly. “But Elias Harrow told me you knew him. From a case years ago.”

  “Harrow talks too damn much.”

  “So it’s true?”

  “Let’s just say that DeSilva is old business. Not someone you pick up the phone for.”

  “I think we need to talk to him,” she said. “Officially.”

  A soft chuckle escaped him. “You don’t call a man like him in for an interview, Detective. You ask for a meeting. And you do it at his place, his time, his terms.”

  “I’m aware of the man and how to proceed,” she stated with detached calm. “And I’m asking if you’ll set it up.”

  He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You have no idea what you’re walking into. DeSilva doesn’t engage in small talk, and he dislikes being questioned. If he decides you’re wasting his time, you’ll find out.”

  She held his gaze. “If he’s connected to this case, I need to hear it from him.”

  Adopting a gentler, fatherly tone, Bressler shifted his approach. “Alexi, listen to me. I’ve dealt with him once. Just once. It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. He’s not the sort of person who’d end up on the wrong side of an investigation. He’s the kind of man you pray remains on the other side of the city, far from you.”

  “That’s the problem, Captain,” she breathed. “I don’t think he’s staying on anyone’s side anymore.”

  Bressler studied her for a long moment, the silence heavy, before letting out a weary sigh and rubbing his forehead. “Damn it.” He turned his chair toward the window, staring out at the fading light. “Fine. You’ll get your meeting. But be very mindful as you move forward. Watch your tone, don’t push, and leave once he’s done speaking.”

  She stood. “Thank you, sir.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “If he agrees to see you, you’ll understand why I tried to talk you out of it.”

  Alexi grabbed her file and left the office, her heels clicking down the hall. The hum of people working drowned out the sound.

  Bressler waited until the door shut fully before unlocking a side drawer in his desk. He reached in, his fingers brushing against the rough, cracked leather of an old address book, its corners softened and frayed from years of neglect. Flipping towards the back, he found a page with a number scribbled in black ink, but no name.

  He gazed at it, lost in thought for what felt like an eternity, before his hand finally moved towards the phone.

  The line clicked once, then twice.

  A calm female voice answered. “Yes?”

  Bressler cleared his throat. “It’s been a while.”

  “I wondered when you’d call again. What can I do for you, Captain?”

  Bressler’s hand trembled slightly as he hesitated. “A meeting. For one of my detectives.”

  A brief silence. “That’s not an easy request,” she said. Her voice remained calm, but held a distinct tone of surprise.

  “I’m aware, but it’s important.”

  The woman chuckled. “Nothing with Maxx DeSilva ever comes easy... or cheap. But I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  “I would appreciate it,” Bressler said. “And make sure he knows she’s not like the others. She’s clean. She doesn’t understand the world he moves in.”

  “Then she’s already in danger.”

  “I know,” he said, the reply barely audible as he hung up and placed the phone back on the desk’s worn surface.

  He reached into his desk drawer, the musty scent of aged paper and the faint, metallic tang of old typewriter ink rising as he sifted through the disorganized papers until he found what he was looking for: DeSilva — 2004, its label faded and barely legible.

  With a gentle pull, he removed the file, laid it flat on the desk, and flipped it open. He paused and then firmly closed it.

  “God help you, Alexi,” he muttered. “You have no idea what you’ve just stepped into.”

  ———————————————————————————————————————

  The next morning, the aroma of fresh coffee filled Detective Alexi Shard’s office as she set her mug down, only for a uniformed officer to appear in the doorway.

  “Detective,” he began, “Captain Bressler wants you to come to his office. Says it’s urgent.”

  Alexi frowned. “Did he say what it’s about?”

  “No, ma’am. Just said you’d want to hear it.”

  She placed the case file she had been reviewing on her desk and walked down the hall.

  Bressler stood behind his desk with his arms crossed, glaring at a slip of paper as if it had insulted him personally. He looked up the moment she entered.

  “You’re really going to like this,” he said.

  “That’s a great opener,” she replied. “What now?”

  He offered the paper, its edges slightly crinkled, and her brow lifted.

  DeSilva International requests that Detective Alexandria Shard be made available for transport at 2:00 p.m. Pickup will be arranged via private aircraft.

  “Huh,” Alexi said softly. “Private aircraft?”

  Bressler snorted. “A Helicopter. His helicopter. He’s sending it to pick you up.”

  “I—what? Why?”

  “That’s how Maxx DeSilva works. He decides when and how you can get on board.”

  Her pulse quickened. “He wants me to come to his office?”

  “Yes. Today.” Bressler leaned forward, voice lowered. “Shard, I told you how this works. You’re stepping into his world now. His pace, his rules.”

  Alexi crossed her arms. “Given the circumstances, I’d rather step into his than have him step into mine. Did they notify Lang? He’s gonna love this.”

  Bressler shook his head, “No. One stipulation was that you come alone. You’ll be on your own. No backup on this one.”

  “I’m already starting to get a bad feeling about this,” she remarked, sarcasm in her tone.

  Bressler’s face softened, as if he were her father attempting to protect his child from a persistent error.

  “I called in a big marker to get you this meeting, Alexi, so don’t waste it. Be polite. Stay neutral. No posturing. And for God’s sake, don’t press him too much. He’ll see it as an insult.”

  “I know how to conduct an interview, Captain. I’m not going there to threaten him.”

  “That’s right. You’re going there to question him,” Bressler countered. “That alone is enough to challenge the man.”

  She hesitated, then nodded once. “Understood.”

  He gestured to the paper. “They’ll have a chopper waiting at the NYPD aviation pad. Don’t be late.”

  She folded the note and tucked it into her jacket. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”

  Bressler exhaled, long and weary. “Alexi, whatever assumptions you have about men like him, proceed with caution. He’s not a suspect, and you can’t easily categorize him in your reports. He’s—different.”

  She offered a thin, confident smile. “I can handle different.”

  “I know you can,” Bressler muttered, “but he’s a special kind of different.”

  Shard turned to leave.

  “Oh, and just one more thing,” Bressler added, his tone tinged with embarrassment. “You should probably change.”

  “Change?” Alexi shot him a confused look. “Change what?”

  He nodded at her. “Your clothes. You know, look a little more…businesslike.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “You want me to dress up for the man?”

  “You certainly don’t dress casually when meeting someone as important as Maxx DeSilva,” he remarked while turning in his chair. She noticed the wide, uncontrollable smile that appeared on his face, despite his efforts to conceal it.

  “Fine. I’ll change if it’s that important,” Alexi declared, the force of her voice matching the slam of the door as she walked out.

  NYPD Aviation Pad — 2:00 p.m.

  The afternoon sun glinted off the wet tarmac as Alexi stepped onto the rooftop heliport, a stiff wind pulling at her coat. One sleek, black helicopter was waiting, polished and silent except for its slow-turning blades. The DeSilva crest—a crescent moon and single fang—was stenciled near the nose in gunmetal gray.

  Her gaze fell on the jacket she had to dig out of her closet; its custom fit constricted her more than her everyday work attire. Beneath the outfit, a quiet tension she’s grown accustomed to as someone who sensed things they couldn’t yet explain surged through her.

  She adjusted the hem of her straight black dress, its fabric skimming over her calves before ending above her gleaming, low-heeled shoes. She silently cursed her captain, the source of her irritation and discomfort.

  A pilot in a custom flight suit approached.

  “Detective Shard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome. Mr. DeSilva asked that we bring you directly to headquarters. Please follow me.”

  He escorted her to the door, and she climbed into the cabin, her eyes widening as she took in the luxurious interior. It was unlike any corporate helicopter she had seen before. The combination of dark leather seats, gentle lighting, and soundproof walls created a refined atmosphere. A discreet screen next to a small bar displayed her name and destination:

  Detective Alexandria Shard — DeSilva International Headquarters in Armonk, NY

  With a soft thud, the door sealed shut, and moments later, the helicopter began its smooth ascent.

  From above, the city looked like a shimmering maze of steel and lights. Skyscrapers reached up like jagged teeth as the East River flowed through the city. Alexi’s gaze followed the shrinking boroughs, their details lost in the expanse of the gray morning sky.

  The pilot’s commanding voice crackled over the speakers. “We’ll be arriving in approximately fifteen to twenty minutes, Detective.”

  “That fast?”

  “Armonk is only 35 miles from the heliport, ma'am. Please make yourself comfortable and enjoy the flight.”

  As the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan faded from sight, the urban landscape gradually transformed into rolling hills of lush greenery. Beneath them, the scenery of Westchester County began to unfold, a panorama of sprawling forests, winding roads, and serene growth.

  Then she saw it.

  The complex was enormous and concealed among dense woods, resembling a dark glass shard. It had three wings extending from a central courtyard, with a reflective pool at the entrance that vividly reflected the sky. Its modern, angular, and understated architecture indicated wealth and authority.

  From above, the building resembled a black lake surrounded by forest, with its reflective sides mirroring the treetops so precisely that they blended in seamlessly. Her breath hitched as she took in the immense scale of the surroundings. This wasn’t just an office. It was an empire.

  As the helicopter touched down, Alexi inhaled deeply, found her balance, and braced herself for what was to come. The ground crew signaled for her to disembark, and she stepped out cautiously, her instincts sharpening.

  Two security personnel in tailored black jackets approached and guided her to the private elevator’s large glass doors. Inside, the DeSilva coat of arms adorned its back wall: a crescent moon, two downward-pointing fangs, and beneath, a small, stylized drop of crimson. Alexi found herself captivated by the seal’s flawless symmetry, a beautiful symbol that simultaneously unnerved her.

  The elevator hummed as it descended, and Alexi’s breath caught as the doors opened. A vast atrium lay beyond, bathed in natural light streaming through the glass ceiling. In the courtyard’s center stood a massive white oak, its trunk embraced by a reflecting pool. An earthy, woody, slightly sweet scent permeated the surrounding air, with notes of mossy lichen and rich soil, reminiscent of a forest floor.

  With only the soft click of her shoes breaking the silence, she followed her security escorts down a long hallway to the far end, where a young woman stood waiting. As they drew closer, she stepped forward and offered a welcoming smile.

  “Detective Shard?” she said, a refined British accent coloring her voice. “Welcome to DeSilva International. I’m Barbara Thompson, Mr. DeSilva’s executive secretary.”

  What struck Alexi immediately was the woman’s composure — a certain calm that didn’t come from any corporate training. Tall and poised in a fitted charcoal suit with auburn hair meticulously arranged in a neat professional twist, she exuded an aura of quiet authority.

  “Ms. Thompson,” Alexi said, offering a hand. “Thank you for arranging this meeting.”

  Barbara’s handshake was firm and professional, accompanied by a faint but genuine smile. Behind a slender pair of gunmetal-framed glasses, her piercing green eyes shone with a keen intensity.

  “Certainly, Mr. DeSilva is looking forward to meeting with you.” Barbara gestured with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Please come with me.”

  They proceeded through the executive wing, their footsteps echoing softly as they walked side by side. Framed etchings of the DeSilva coat of arms, illustrating various historical styles, lined the walls. Others showed only the crescent and fang. In the center, one piece showcased the full crest, which included a subtle crimson drop.

  “Is the red mark part of the company’s branding?” Alexi asked.

  Barbara glanced at the crest, then back at Alexi. “In a manner of speaking,” she replied. “The company imagery reflects Mr. DeSilva’s heritage. He is very proud of his lineage.”

  Very clever answer, Alexi mused, recognizing it as a diplomatic and refined way of saying ‘no comment,’ or more directly, ‘it’s none of your damn business.’

  They soon arrived at a pair of imposing double doors, constructed from dark wood and accented with brushed iron, each intricately carved with the same raised symbol of a crescent moon and a fang. Barbara walked over and pressed her palm against a panel on the wall. The doors opened with a soft hydraulic hiss.

  “Mr. DeSilva will see you now,” she said, smoothing the front of her suit. “He prefers to conduct these meetings in private. Please follow me.”

  Alexi nodded.

  Barbara led the way, then stepped aside and motioned Alexi forward.

  “Detective Shard,” she said, “welcome to Mr. DeSilva’s private office.”

  Alexi stepped inside, and the world’s temperature changed. It didn’t resemble a typical corporate office; it looked more like a museum.

  The atmosphere was distinctly different, a welcome change from the sterile, modern corporate floors surrounding it. The room felt ancient, older than the building itself. Amber sconces, each crafted into the likeness of a crescent moon, bathed the room’s stone walls in a warm, golden glow. The ceiling was a dark expanse, punctuated by arched wooden beams that seemed to groan with age.

  A large window offered a view of the forest canopy below, allowing in pale autumn sunlight that reflected off the polished floor. There, with one hand behind his back, gazing out at the treeline, stood Maxximillian DeSilva. He turned as she entered, and Alexi’s breath slipped.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a posture that radiated both rigid authority and serene composure. His waistcoat, as dark as night, hugged his frame perfectly, a stark contrast to the immaculate white shirt beneath. With the addition of sharp black slacks, he resembled a man from another era trying to adapt to contemporary times.

  “You must be Detective Shard,” Maxx said, his voice low and steady. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I—yes,” she stammered. “I mean—thank you. For agreeing.” God, why am I tripping over myself?

  He moved closer, his eyes, a mysterious shade of dark gray and silver, studied her with calm curiosity.

  As he drew near, her sensitivity roared awake. A tingling sensation spread through her fingers as her pulse quickened. The hairs at the nape of her neck rose as if brushed by cold breath. She swallowed hard.

  Alexi’s eyes scanned the room frantically, searching for a stable point of focus to ward off the rising panic. Behind him, a table held framed photographs, offering her a temporary visual escape. She stared a moment too long, and Maxx noticed.

  “That’s my family,” he said, following her gaze, a subtle, proud undertone to his voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Alexi murmured, feeling her cheeks heat. “I shouldn’t stare. It’s just unusual, seeing someone so…”

  She paused, mortified. She had no idea how to finish that sentence.

  “Human?” he suggested.

  Alexi blinked. “I—yes. No. I mean—” Her words tangled. Here we go again.

  A soft breath escaped him. “It’s quite all right, Detective.” He motioned toward a seat near the low central table. “Please, sit. Take your time.”

  Alexi steadied herself, taking a slow breath. The weight of Maxx DeSilva’s presence lessened, enough for her to think clearly again, but not enough to ignore his unsettling pull. She moved to the chair he pointed to, her legs finally cooperating.

  Maxx remained standing a moment longer before taking the seat across from her. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

  “I understand you have some questions regarding the subway murders,” he said, his voice calm and grounded as he held her gaze. “And, I suspect, about things you’ve seen that others pretend they don’t. How may I be of service, Detective Shard?”

  “Yes. As you’re probably aware, I’m the lead investigator on that case,” she said, reaching into her inner coat pocket. “I brought something I’d like you to take a look at. Hopefully, you can shed some light on what it is and where it might have come from.”

  She laid the plastic evidence pouch on the table between them. The silver teardrop pendant inside gleamed, catching the faint light; its carved crescent moon and wolf’s paw visible even through the protective plastic. Alexi watched Maxx intently, hoping for any flicker of recognition that would validate her hunch and confirm a lead.

  He looked at it for a long moment, his face unreadable, his posture steady. No tension in his jaw or flicker in his eyes. Just a slow, silent assessment. If he recognized it, he didn’t show it.

  “Where did you find it?” he asked, his voice low and measured.

  “At the subway crime scene. Beside the bodies. It was lying on the floor near a blood smear.”

  “Was it damaged?”

  “No,” she said. “Not that we could tell. The cord attached was severed.” She studied his face. “Does it mean something to you?”

  “I recognize the craftsmanship.”

  “Yours?” she pressed.

  He offered no response. Instead, Maxx sat back, loosened his tie, and ran his fingers over the prominent patches of silver at his temples. His body language remained casual and unforced, betraying no tension.

  “Detective Shard,” he said finally, “you are here because you seek answers. But some answers lie outside the boundaries of your reality.”

  Alexi steadied herself. “I’m just following the evidence.”

  “And what has the evidence told you so far?”

  She exhaled. “Three young men were mutilated in a confined space with enough force to bend steel. There were claw-like marks on the walls that didn’t match any known animal. The blood sample from the scene reacts to ultraviolet light. That pendant was left behind—intentionally or not—and it’s older than anything we’ve cataloged so far. Every lead points me in one direction.”

  Maxx raised an eyebrow. “And that direction is?”

  She met his gaze. “Something not human.”

  “I would be careful, Detective. Believing in monsters invites them.”

  Alexi leaned forward. “The subway killings were brutal. No identifiable weapon, no DNA, no footprints, no fibers. I’ve never seen a crime scene like it.”

  “And you think this pendant connects me to it somehow?”

  “I think that people in the occult community keep pointing me in your direction. And I think they do that because they expect you to know things the rest of us don’t.”

  “Rumors are not evidence.”

  “Then help me understand why so many of them point to you.”

  His eyes met hers, and his voice softened when he finally answered. “They point to me, Detective Shard, because this city has a very long memory. And people love to whisper about things in the shadows they don’t understand.”

  Alexi swallowed. “Do you know who or what lives in these shadows?”

  “There’s a cost to knowing certain things, detective. I know myself, and I recognize danger when it’s near.”

  They stared at each other across the table, the pendant between them like a silent witness.

  Finally, Maxx stood. “I’m afraid that’s all the time I have today, detective. I’ve told you what I can.”

  “But I still have questions.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll pursue them,” he said in an even tone. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t relentless. That is a strength. But understand this — there are beasts in this city older than its foundations. If you continue this investigation, you may meet them.”

  “That sounds like a threat,” she snapped.

  “No, not a threat. Just a bit of advice.”

  Alexi stood, gathered her files, and scooped up the pendant. “That’s it then? No names? No suspects? No insight into where something like this might hide? You didn’t tell me much.”

  “Actually, I’ve told you quite a bit. You have more insight than you realize, detective. And I trust you’ll follow it carefully.”

  Their eyes locked. Something inside urged her to act, but something deeper held her back. It was then she realized she was alone with a man whose presence radiated a power she had never felt before.

  Just then, Barbara materialized in the doorway, her arrival perfectly timed as if she had been eavesdropping from the hall. “Detective Shard,” she offered, “allow me to escort you to the helipad.”

  Alexi hesitated, glancing back at Maxx, searching his face for something readable. She found nothing.

  “Thank you for your time,” she said stiffly.

  Maxx inclined his head.

  Only when she reached the door did he speak again.

  “Detective.”

  She paused and turned.

  “If you find whoever dropped that pendant, I would show caution.”

  “And why is that?”

  Maxx’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Because they are not your enemy,” he said. “And killing them would be a mistake.”

  As Barbara guided Alexi out, the detective felt her pulse thudding in her throat, her instincts still buzzing with that same strange static. She didn’t know what Maxx was. She didn’t believe in monsters. But she knew he was not a man to be underestimated.

  ——————————————————————————————————-

  The door closed behind Detective Shard with a final click. Maxx stood listening as her footsteps disappeared down the hall. A humming sound signaled the elevator’s activation, and then the helipad’s rotors began to whir in the distance. Only then did he allow his eyes to drift to the empty spot on the table where the pendant had rested moments earlier.

  She’d taken it, as she should.

  The room seemed different, as if something ancient had briefly pulsed through it before falling silent again. He turned toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back, the forest below swaying in the evening breeze.

  A gentle knock.

  “Enter.”

  Barbara eased her way inside and closed the door. She stood straight and precise, yet Maxx noticed the almost imperceptible tightness in her shoulders. Barbara gazed at him intensely, as if dissecting him with her eyes. She was uncannily intuitive, having worked alongside him long enough to detect and decipher the subtle shifts beneath his calm exterior, much like the distant rumble of an approaching storm. Her knowledge of his obsession with things connected to his past would undoubtedly suggest he wouldn’t deny himself something so personal.

  “The pendant. You didn’t want it back?” she asked.

  His eyes stayed fixed on the treeline. “It’s no longer mine.”

  “She asked some sharp questions. You handled her well.”

  “She handled herself well. Most mortals would lose their composure in this office. She didn’t.”

  “She was flustered.”

  “Only for a moment.” He paused. “She’s a Sensitive.”

  Barbara inhaled. “I suspected as much.”

  “She doesn’t realize what she is, and that could be a problem. Her instincts are working, but she hasn’t learned to interpret them yet. That’s what makes her unpredictable.”

  “And unpredictability is dangerous,” Barbara said.

  “Especially now,” his tone sharpened. “She sensed the pendant’s resonance, and mine as well. Not consciously, but enough to make her suspicious.”

  Barbara crossed the room toward the table. “Do you believe she’ll pursue the pendant further?”

  “She has no choice. If it were me, I would. The case demands it. And people like her, who are sensitive, curious, and stubborn, will never walk away from a mystery.”

  Barbara’s voice lowered. “And what does that mean for us?”

  “It means that the human investigation is now aligned with forces they’re not prepared to confront.”

  She approached the table. “Do you want me to start digging through old corporate records? Cross-check acquisitions, auctions, private collections? Someone could have sold it, pawned it, passed it down—”

  “No,” Maxx said firmly. “It will return to our orbit when the time is right. For now, it remains evidence in a human investigation. Let it stay there.”

  After a moment, Barbara asked, “Do you think she suspects anything about you?”

  “Yes and no,” Maxx said in a smooth tone. “She fears me without understanding why. That’s instinct, not knowledge. And instinct alone cannot expose our world.”

  “Should we increase security?”

  “Yes,” Maxx said. “Be discreet. No alarms. No visible shifts. But tighten everything. Someone is moving through this city with power they can’t control.”

  Barbara prepared to leave, but stopped at the door. “Detective Shard handled the meeting better than I expected,” she said, smiling. “She reminds me of myself when I first started here.”

  Maxx didn’t return the gesture, but didn’t deny the comparison.

  “You approve of her?” Barbara asked.

  “I respect her. But recognize the danger she presents.”

  “And if she gets too close?”

  He turned back toward the window. “Then, we decide how far she’s allowed to go.”

  With a respectful nod of her head, Barbara made her exit, pulling the door closed after her.

  “Whoever touched that pendant,” he murmured, “show yourself.”

  Maxx stared intently at the thick glass pane, watching as the wind changed direction. It brought the subtle scent of rain and hinted audibly at a brewing storm in the distance.

  A faint shimmer rippled through the mirrored surface, coalescing into the ethereal form of a young woman. Her eyes, the color of twilight, met his with a mixture of recognition and sorrow.

  “Sachi,” he said, reaching out and placing his palm against the window.

  “I remember you, even among the stars,” she whispered, her voice like the delicate rustling of dry leaves. A faint smile graced her lips before her likeness faded, replaced by the sudden brilliance of a lightning flash.

  Maxx lowered his head, brought a hand up to rest across his brow, and leaned hard against the glass. “I failed you, my love,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “But I’ll take back the symbol of my devotion that was lost. I swear it.”

  He stood up straight, his determination rising as a stern resolve replaced his pain. What began as a regretful quest now took on a strong sense of redemption.