The Whittier Police Department homicide division was running at full capacity. Inside the conference room, crime scene photos were pinned across the board, the table cluttered with reports, forensic scans, and evidence markers. The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the grotesque images spread before them. The board displaying:
Ryan Garrison, 17—chest torn open, his heart missing.
Emma Garrison, 15—her body twisted, head severed.
Sofia Garrison—crushed from the inside out, bones splintered like broken glass.
Detectives, forensic analysts, and crime scene specialists poured over the case details, their expressions grim. The weight of the crime scene loomed over them, more than just another case—this was one of their own.
At the head of the room, Detective Evelyn Holt stood, flipping through a case file, her sharp brown eyes scanning each line with clinical precision.
Across from her, Detective Aiden Vaughn leaned against the table, his arms crossed, his jaw tight as he studied the evidence.
And standing apart from the rest, Detective Garrison looked like a man seconds from breaking. His body was rigid, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists.
A door swung open.
Chief Gregory Halliday entered, his expression unreadable—but the moment he locked eyes with Garrison, the tension in the room turned lethal.
"Detective Garrison, you're off the case."
Silence.
Then—
BANG.
Garrison's fist slammed against the table, sending a stack of crime scene photos skidding across the surface.
"You can't be serious," he snarled, his voice shredded with grief and barely-contained fury. "That was my family, Halliday."
Halliday's expression didn't change. Decades in command had hardened him, but this? This was different.
"And that's exactly why you're off the case," he said. "You're too close. You'll compromise the investigation."
A bitter laugh ripped from Garrison's throat.
"Too close?" His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he was holding back something violent. "I'm the only one in this damn room who actually wants to find them."
A shift in the air.
A silent, uncomfortable truth.
Across the table, Detective Malik Carter—mid-40s, ex-gang unit, built like a damn tank—leaned forward, arms crossed. His presence anchored the moment.
"Garrison, I get it, man," he said, voice low, measured. "But protocol is protocol. If you stay on this case, you'll wreck yourself. And this department."
Garrison's gaze snapped to him like a blade.
"So what? I'm supposed to sit back while my daughter is missing?"
"You let us handle it," Malik said, steady, unshakable.
Garrison's jaw locked. His hands trembled at his sides.
A long, heavy pause.
Then, Halliday sighed and turned to Aiden.
"Anaheim PD is assigning Detective Vaughn to assist on the case as a favor to you," he said. "He'll work with Holt and the team."
Aiden met Garrison's gaze.
A flicker of hesitation—then something else. Understanding.
"You clear her name," Garrison said, low, controlled. "Find her."
Aiden nodded. "I will."
Garrison didn't linger.
He turned, shoved open the door, and walked out.
No one needed to ask what he was going to do next.
The door clicked shut, leaving the rest of the team rooted in silence.
Holt exhaled sharply, tossing her pen onto the table.
"Alright," she muttered, steeling herself before flipping open the latest forensic reports. "Let's go over everything again."
She tapped the first crime scene photo pinned to the board—Marisol's room, drenched in red. The bodies twisted unnaturally, the sheer violence of the scene overwhelming.
"Marisol was in the room," she continued. "Her DNA is there. But so far? No proof she did this."
Aiden studied the images, his gut twisting.
"There had to be someone else in there," he said, voice unreadable. "Someone strong enough to—"
His eyes landed on Sofia's crushed body.
He stopped mid-sentence.
Malik followed his gaze, his fingers tapping against the table in thought.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Malik said.
Aiden's jaw tensed. "This wasn't done with human strength."
Silence.
The weight of that statement settled over the room.
Across the table, Dr. Priya Sharma—lead forensic analyst—didn't look up from her report.
"If you two are suggesting a literal monster," she said dryly, "I'd love to see that in a court affidavit."
Aiden didn't blink. "I'm saying we keep our options open."
Priya sighed, pushing the report toward him.
"Then you better find something that proves she didn't do it," she said. "Because so far, all we have is her DNA in that room. And until we find another explanation—she's the only suspect."
Holt ran a hand through her hair, frustration mounting.
"Amber Alert," she said finally. "We need to put out an Amber Alert. Whether she did this or not, she's a missing minor, and she's in danger."
The table fell silent.
Then, Malik nodded.
"I'll call it in," he said, standing. "We'll make it official."
The conversation had barely settled when a police radio crackled to life.
"911 call from a civilian. Reports of multiple suspects seen jumping rooftops downtown. Possible burglary in progress."
Lisa "Red" Owens, the cyber forensics tech, snorted from her corner of the room.
"Kids playing parkour again?" she muttered. "Why do we care?"
Holt barely looked up.
"Let patrol handle it."
Then—
"Caller reports that the suspects' eyes were… glowing red."
The room went still.
Aiden froze.
A flicker of something cold, electric, primal shot through his spine.
The glowing red eyes.
For just a second, the world blurred.
His mind flickered back to Capone, standing in that neon-drenched casino, his crimson gaze flashing beneath the brim of his hat.
The Sentinel, looming over bodies, his blood-red irises cutting through the darkness.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Then—he shook it off.
No.
Not possible.
Not here.
Holt's voice brought him back.
"Aiden?"
He blinked.
"Yeah," he said. "One more pass through the evidence."
She watched him for a second, then nodded.
Aiden found Garrison in the hallway, halfway to the exit.
His back was rigid, his stride too focused, too determined.
"You told me to clear her name," Aiden said, moving to block his path. "I will. But what are you gonna do?"
Garrison's jaw tightened.
He looked at Aiden.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Then he walked past Aiden without another word.