Jane's Apartment – The Trail of Roses
The scent was the first thing she noticed.
A delicate, sickly-sweet fragrance. Roses.
Jane Michaels stirred, her body stiff from exhaustion. Sleep had come in restless fragments, her mind still replaying the whisper outside her window, the red rose on her car.
Then she saw it.
Her front door.
Open.
Barely an inch, but enough to make her stomach drop.
She sat up sharply, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. She reached for her gun on the nightstand, creeping out of bed.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
Then she saw the petals.
A slow, deliberate trail of deep red roses, leading from her doorway to the kitchen.
Her breath came in short bursts as she moved forward, her fingers tightening around her gun. Every step was careful, measured. Her mind raced with possibilities.
Had she locked the door? Had she checked it before bed?
Yes.
She was sure of it.
And yet—
Her kitchen counter.
A veil.
Not just any veil. An old, vintage piece, delicate lace and pearls intertwined like something plucked from a bygone era.
Next to it, a single folded note.
Jane swallowed hard before reaching for it.
Her hands were steady, but inside, she felt like she was unraveling.
She unfolded the note.
"I'm saving you for last, Detective."
Her fingers curled around the paper.
A deep, slow rage replaced the cold fear in her veins.
This wasn't just taunting anymore.
This was possession.
Ridgeview Precinct – No Fingerprints, No Clues
The crime scene techs had gone over her apartment twice.
Nothing.
No prints. No forced entry. No smudges on the doorknob.
It was as if the intruder had never been there at all.
Jane sat at her desk, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Marcus Hayes stood beside her, his brow furrowed as he flipped through the report.
"Nothing," he muttered. "No fibers, no hairs, no prints. Whoever this is, they're good."
Jane exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples.
"Too good," she said. "This isn't just some lunatic getting lucky. He planned this. He knew how to get in, how to get out. He left the note, the veil—he wanted me to see it."
Marcus nodded grimly. "And now he wants you to feel it."
Chief Walter Garrison strode into the bullpen, his expression tight. "What's the status?"
Marcus handed him the folder. "No prints. No trace evidence. Nothing."
Garrison swore under his breath. "Damn it. He's getting bolder."
Jane's fingers tapped against the desk. "This isn't escalation anymore. It's a message. He's always been meticulous, but now? Now he's toying with me."
Garrison folded his arms. "Then we stop playing. We put him on the defensive."
Jane's eyes darkened. "How?"
Garrison glanced over his shoulder.
"That's why I assigned Harris to your detail."
A Clash of Authority – Officer Kyle Harris
Officer Kyle Harris had been with Ridgeview PD for five years. Young, sharp, ambitious. A by-the-book cop with a tendency to ruffle feathers.
He sat across from Jane in the precinct's briefing room, arms resting casually on the table.
"So let me get this straight," Harris said, his voice edged with skepticism. "A suspect breaks into your apartment, leaves you a lovely little scavenger hunt, but somehow—no prints? No forced entry?"
Jane's eyes narrowed. "You think I imagined it?"
Harris shrugged. "I think stress can do funny things to people."
Marcus stiffened. "Watch it, Harris."
"I'm just saying," Harris continued. "We've got no evidence anyone was actually there. No surveillance footage, no neighbors reporting anything suspicious. And now, we're dedicating resources to babysitting a detective? Feels a little premature."
Jane's jaw clenched. "A man left a goddamn veil in my kitchen. You think I planted it myself?"
Harris smirked, leaning back. "I think paranoia makes people see threats everywhere. And from what I hear, this case has already gotten under your skin."
Before Jane could speak, Garrison's voice cut through the room.
"Enough."
The Chief leveled a glare at Harris. "You don't question my officers like that. Jane has earned her place in this department, and she damn well doesn't need to justify herself to you."
Harris lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Understood, Chief. Just doing my due diligence."
Jane's fingers curled into fists beneath the table.
Harris wasn't just being an ass—he was testing her.
And the worst part?
Somewhere, deep down, she hated that part of her understood why.
Because a whisper of doubt had already slithered into her own mind.
How had the killer gotten inside? How had he left no trace?
And why, despite everything, did she feel like she was already caught in his trap?
Jane's Apartment – The Weight of Silence
By the time Jane returned home that evening, exhaustion clung to her bones.
She hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the knob.
Locked.
She exhaled slowly and entered, scanning the room. The veil was gone, taken as evidence. But the space still felt different. Violated.
She double-checked the locks, secured the windows, and set her gun on the nightstand.
Then she sank onto the couch, rubbing her temples.
The killer had been inside these walls. Walked through her home.
Watched her.
A shiver crawled down her spine.
The air was heavy. Stifling.
She closed her eyes, just for a moment.
Then—
A whisper.
Not outside.
Not through the window.
Inside.
Right behind her.
Jane spun, gun in hand, heart hammering against her ribs.
But there was no one there.
Only silence.
And the feeling—deep, crawling, inevitable—that she was no longer just hunting the killer.
She was being hunted, too.