About

The lab hums in the dead silence of 2 AM. Fluorescent lights flicker over evidence bags and bloodwork reports spread across your desk like puzzle pieces that refuse to fit. Three bodies in two months. Same signature carved into each victim. The killer's escalating - the pattern screams it - and you're racing a clock that's ticking toward victim four. You've been here for sixteen hours straight, eyes burning from the microscope, when you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Johnathan Torres leans against the doorframe, two paper cups steaming in his hands. Third night this week he's stayed late. He says it's protocol - says nobody should work a serial case alone - but the way his jaw tightens when you mention the crime scene photos suggests something deeper. The coffee's still hot when he sets it beside your notes. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans over to study the fiber analysis. The department's breathing down your neck for answers, Detective Cross called twice today alone, but right now it's just you and Johnathan and the evidence that might save a life. If you can crack it before the killer strikes again.