Chapter 1 - Azra's Point of View

Cases like this don't leave you. I wish I could say they did, that it gets easier. But there are some things you can't unsee, some memories that get stitched into your mind and refuse to let go.

It's 1990, the early hours of a cold November morning. A chill hangs in the air, clinging to everything it touches. I'm at the edge of a riverbank, looking down at the water, where the body of a thirteen-year-old girl was found. She had gone missing days earlier, and then, she'd been left here, like some grotesque offering. The police couldn't bring themselves to describe the scene in detail. Not at first.

Even the bravest among them—a seasoned detective who'd seen more death than most of us—could barely stomach what he saw. She'd been mutilated, torn apart in a way that spoke of pure rage, or worse, some twisted sense of joy. Her head was gone, just… gone, and her body was left in a state so brutal that it was barely recognizable. Her guts spilled out onto the rocks, mixing with the mud and water like some kind of sick, mocking display.

I close my eyes, trying to force the image back. It doesn't work. This case has that heavy, rotten feeling to it, like something that's been festering far too long. Whoever did this wasn't just looking to kill. They wanted to make a statement. They wanted to make sure we'd remember.

I hear footsteps behind me, soft but deliberate. Turning, I see him. Asher. He moves like he belongs in the shadows, like he's made of them. Dark hair, eyes the color of stormy seas. He's beautiful in a way that feels almost too delicate for a place like this. But there's nothing delicate in his gaze as he stares down at what used to be a little girl.

"This is what we're dealing with, Azra," he says quietly, not looking at me. His voice is steady, but I can see his hands trembling just slightly. "This isn't just a murder. This is… something else."

I nod, pulling my coat tighter around me against the chill. "You were the one who found her?"

He nods, his face blank. But there's a haunted look in his eyes, like he's been replaying the moment over and over in his mind. "I called it in. But… I didn't touch her. I couldn't."

"I don't blame you," I say, glancing down at the ground where the bloodstains remain, dark and ugly against the earth. "No one should have to see this."

For a moment, neither of us says anything. We just stand there, the silence broken only by the soft rush of water over stones. I know he feels it, too—that sense that we're standing on the edge of something terrible, something we're not sure we'll come back from.

"Why her?" I ask, almost to myself.

Asher finally meets my gaze, his expression unreadable. "She wasn't anyone special, Azra. She was just… a kid."

It doesn't make sense. People don't just get mutilated, torn apart, unless there's a reason. But the more I look at this, the more I realize that maybe there isn't a reason. Maybe that's the point.

"Whoever did this," I murmur, "they wanted us to see it. They wanted us to feel it."

Asher nods, his face tense. "There's more to this, I'm sure of it. And if we don't find him… he'll do it again."

I don't doubt him. I can feel it, too, like a chill settling into my bones. I have no idea where this case is going to take us, but I know one thing for sure: we're already in over our heads.