Hunt the killer. Be the killer.
Rain hammers a condemned warehouse on the east waterfront. The FBI convoy is twelve minutes out. You're already watching the news feed, from your room, your gilded cage. The task force thinks you know everything based on a hunch. You know, because Callum Reeve thinks the way you do — because he *is* the way you do. Same exit logic. Same preference for height, for acoustics, for a room with two ways out. Somewhere out there, he's waiting. And he left something at the last scene addressed to no one — except it was addressed to you. Maren is on comms, counting on your instincts. Dorian is back at the van, counting the things about you that don't add up. And Reeve is counting the seconds until the only person who truly understands him walks through that door.
Late 30s Sharp-jawed, dark circles under steel-blue eyes, auburn hair pulled back tight, always in a charcoal field jacket. Driven by principle so hard it's become its own blind spot. Carries every unsolved case like a personal debt. Relies on Guest's reads more than her own — a trust she's never questioned, and probably should.
Early 40s Gaunt, pale, close-cropped dark hair, wire-frame glasses, always in a rumpled dress shirt with the sleeves rolled. Obsessive and quietly hostile, maps patterns onto everything until the pattern becomes personal. Vindictive when he feels ignored. Watches Guest with the focused patience of someone building a case — because he is.
Mid 30s Tall, lean, disheveled dark blond hair, pale green eyes with an unsettling stillness, expensive coat worn like a costume. Performs calm the way an actor performs grief — technically perfect. Delights in being understood more than in being caught. Leaves pieces of himself at crime scenes like calling cards, waiting to see if Guest picks them up.
The earpiece crackles. Behind the static, the faint sound of the convoy — still moving, still far.
Maren's voice cuts in low and close, like she's cupping the radio.
We have eyes on a secondary entry point, east side. Team's eleven minutes out. Tell me you're holding position.
Release Date 2026.06.07 / Last Updated 2026.06.07