Dimitri sat on the worn leather couch, his eyes lazily skimming the pages of a book he'd already read twice. He was trying to live like a normal person—wake up, eat, read, and maybe even catch up on some mindless television. But normalcy, for him, was a faraway dream, slipping further every time he glanced at the calendar pinned to his fridge.
Three days. Three days until the next interrogation with Kian.
The ringing of his phone shattered the fragile illusion of peace. Axel's name flashed on the screen.
"Axel?" Dimitri answered, expecting a casual update, maybe a bad joke. Instead, Axel's voice was heavy, low, and urgent.
"Dimitri, we've got a problem. A big one."
"Go on." Dimitri's fingers tightened around the phone, a cold dread settling into his stomach. Axel rarely sounded this grim.
"There's a body. Same MO as Kian's. Same precision. Same ritual."
The breath caught in Dimitri's throat. "A copycat?"
"That's what it looks like," Axel confirmed. "And there's more. The message... It was addressed to you."
Dimitri felt his blood run cold. "To me?"
His mind raced, piecing the horror together. Kian. This had to be connected to him. Even inside his cell, the man was pulling strings, manipulating the world outside.
"What else?" Dimitri asked, the question sharp, cutting through the tension.
"There's one more thing," Axel said, his voice growing quieter as if he wasn't sure how to break the news. "Kian knew. He sent a message. Through me."
Dimitri's pulse quickened. "How the hell does Kian already know about the murder?"
"I don't know," Axel admitted, "but the guard on duty slipped me a note on my way to the murder scene, and said it was from Kian. 'The game has begun. Tell Dimitri to keep up.'"
Dimitri's stomach twisted. Kian wasn't supposed to have any contact with the outside world. How could he possibly know about a copycat?
Images of Kian's past victims flashed through Dimitri's mind—the savagery of it all. The way each body was left in a careful position, their final moments orchestrated like a dreadful play. The victims weren't just killed. They were dismantled. Deconstructed, piece by agonizing piece, their terror lingering long after they were gone.
And now, someone else was mimicking that same terror.
Dimitri's gut told him this wasn't just about some sick fan idolizing Thanatos. This was deeper.
"The body's already been discovered, and the press is going to eat this alive. You need to get down here. Now."
Dimitri didn't need to be told twice. He was already grabbing his coat, his mind racing with the implications. In this game, Kian was five steps ahead, pulling strings that no one else could see.
As he rushed out the door, Dimitri couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to walk straight into a trap. The kind of trap only someone like Kian could set.
And this time, it wasn't just about catching a killer.
Writing Dimitri's name had made it personal.
Dimitri arrived at the crime scene just after dusk, the dimming light casting long shadows across the narrow street. The yellow glow of police lights reflected off the nearby houses, illuminating the growing crowd of reporters who had already gathered outside the perimeter. Cameras flashed; microphones pushed past the barricades as they tried to catch a glimpse of the scene inside. The news had leaked, just as Axel had feared, and the frenzy had begun.
Pushing past the sea of flashing lights and yelling reporters, Dimitri flashed his credentials to the officers manning the line. His breath felt sharp in his lungs as he approached the house.
The house itself was unassuming, tucked away in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Yet, as he stepped over the threshold, the scent of blood hit him like a wall. Thick. Metallic. There was a sinister silence within the home, the low murmur of detectives and forensics the only thing around breaking it.
Axel stood near the entrance, his face a storm of tension. He nodded at Dimitri but didn't speak. There wasn't much to say; the scene would do the talking.
As Dimitri walked into the room, The first thing he noticed was the body. A young woman in her mid-twenties was splayed out on the floor in the center of the living room. Her limbs were spread apart and arranged. Too accurately. The cuts on her body were surgical, no more, no less than needed to achieve the look of Thanatos' infamous signature. The artistry was undeniable.
It was as if Dimitri had stepped into a ghost of Kian's work, a replica of the horrors that had once terrorized the country. Every small detail had been replicated perfectly, even the ones that were never revealed to the public.
He knelt beside the body, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. Eyes wide open, frozen in terror, her mouth slightly agape. The killer had left her like this deliberately, ensuring that the final expression was one of pure horror, a common element in Kian's killings. But what struck Dimitri was the blood pattern—intricate, delicate swirls that circled her body. It mirrored a symbol Kian had used on his third victim. The public knew about the symbol but not the exact placement, nor that it was drawn using a combination of the victim's blood and something else.
Salt. The killer had used salt. Dimitri noticed the tiny, sparkling grains mixed with the blood; another detail that had been kept from the public. His stomach twisted, and yet...he felt it again.
His stomach twisted with revulsion, but despite his best efforts, he felt it again. The dark, sadistic excitement that always lurked in the recesses of his mind when he confronted these grisly scenes. Standing over the dead body, Dimitri was unsettled by the way his intrigue and fascination continued to bubble up, stubborn and relentless.
"Who are you?" he thought, scanning the room. This killer wasn't just imitating Thanatos; they were living his methods, understanding the parts of Kian's work that even the police had overlooked.
He stood, taking a step back to take in the full scene. The furniture had been moved around just enough to make space for the ritualistic display, but not in a way that would attract attention if seen from the outside. Smart.
He glanced at the floor and noticed something odd about the footprints leading away from the body. They were faint but discernible, likely from the killer moving after the blood had begun to pool. Dimitri crouched again, tracing the steps with his eyes. The stride was short, no longer than the width of two tiles. The killer wasn't tall. They were shorter than average. Around 5'6 at most.
He noticed more, small cuts on the victim's wrists and neck, expertly hidden beneath the deeper, more obvious wounds. There wasn't part of the kill but perhaps a test, as if the killer had been trying to get a feel for the blade before committing to the final strokes. Whoever this was, they were still learning, perfecting their art.
He looked around the room once more and finally saw the message scrawled in blood across the plaster. Agent Carver stood before it, his expression impassive as he scrutinized the writing.
"I know you're watching me, Dimitri. But are you watching him?"
The words sent a shiver down Dimitri's spine, though he did his best to hide the reaction. The letters were uneven, smeared in places where the blood had started to clot, but the message was unmistakable. This wasn't just a crime scene. This was an invitation. Dimitri hated himself for the thrill that ran through him at the thought of that, but it was there, crawling under his skin like a whisper he couldn't ignore.
Did this mean someone was here right after the killer left and before the body was discovered? Kian knew this murder was going to happen, so he had someone follow the murder and leave this message for him. Or was the killer, themselves the messenger?
Dimitri's head swirled around all these different questions.
His heart quickened, and his mind raced as he began piecing together what he could about this new player.
The height, the methodical nature of the crime, and the understanding of anatomy, pointed to someone in the medical field. Perhaps a nurse, or even a surgeon. They knew how to handle a body, and how to cut without wasting time. But they weren't as confident as Kian had been. There were hesitations and small errors that revealed impatience. This killer was close. Close to Kian. Close enough to learn the secrets the public didn't know.
Dimitri's fingers itched as he mentally filed away the case.
The excitement surged again, and Dimitri couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew what came next. He would have to return to Kian and face the man who was three steps ahead.
*************
A woman in a crisp pantsuit walked briskly down the dimly lit street, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She looked like she had just left the office, the weariness of a long day evident in the tight line of her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her briefcase swung lightly at her side.
The streets were quiet, too quiet, but she didn't seem to notice. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on getting home. Each step carried her closer, unaware of the eyes watching her from the shadows, the silent figure trailing her every move.
She heard faint footsteps behind her and froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned, her eyes scanning the empty street. Nothing but shadows and the distant hum of traffic. The cold air brushed her face, but the silence felt heavier now. Swallowing her unease, she quickened her pace, her heels clicking faster against the pavement. Fear prickled at the back of her neck, every sound sharper in the stillness. She didn't dare look back again, but the sensation of being watched clung to her, growing with every step.
Behind her, a figure moved, blending seamlessly with the shadows. They kept their distance, careful, deliberate. The dim streetlights barely touched them, as if the darkness itself was helping to hide their presence.
She glanced over her shoulder again, but they were too far back, too quiet for her to see or hear. When her pace faltered, they slowed. When she turned the corner, they followed, never making a sound.
The woman let out a shaky breath as she reached the door of her apartment building. Fumbling with her keys, she stole one last glance over her shoulder. The street behind her was empty, bathed in a silence that felt unnatural. She cursed herself for being paranoid and hurried inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
But they were already there.
The figure slipped through just before the door closed, moving silently behind her. She didn't hear them. Her footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway as she ascended the stairs.
Reaching her apartment, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, oblivious to the danger lurking behind her. As the door creaked closed, the last sliver of light from the hallway disappeared, plunging the apartment into darkness.
And then—nothing.