Claire sat perched at her computer in the forensics lab, eyes locked on the screen. From time to time, they burned, reminding her to blink.
The symbols on the note had her entranced—each one a mystery waiting to be solved. She was determined to crack the code, whatever it was.
Google was her best friend tonight. She scoured the internet, searching for anything resembling the strange symbols before her.
No luck.
Hours must have passed. Her back ached from leaning into the screen. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair, stretching.
"These have to mean something," she muttered.
She pushed against the ground, sending her chair into a slow spin. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander.
What do we know? she thought. One murder. One weapon. One note. One location. One time.
Her chair slowed to a stop. She opened her eyes, staring at the knife resting on the nearby table. A small smile formed.
She had already dusted it for prints. Nothing.
"The blade didn't have blood on it, except near the handle," she murmured, standing and picking up the weapon. "Which means someone wiped it clean after the attack."
She turned the knife over in her hands, the cold steel glinting under the lab's light. A sudden thought froze her mid-motion.
"What if this blood… isn't from our victim?"
Setting the knife down, she moved to the workstation and began extracting a sample. A few hours, and we'll have some answers, she thought, satisfied.
As she finished setting up the process, she reached for the knife again—then paused.
Something at the bottom of the handle caught her eye.
Frowning, she bent down for a closer look. The subtle indentation was barely visible. She carried the knife back over to her computer and, carefully, she placed the knife under the electronic magnifier.
Her breath hitched.
Etched into the handle was a symbol.
Not just any symbol—one that resembled the markings on the note.
Her heart pounded as she snapped back to her computer, her search shifting. She dug through databases of ornate, cult-linked bladed weapons.
Minutes passed. Then—
Her stomach sank.
The screen filled with text. As she read, her expression darkened.
"Oh no..." Her lips parted in disbelief. "This is bad. Really bad."
Without hesitation, she grabbed her phone and pulled up James's number, her fingers trembling slightly as she hit call.
The line barely rang before a robotic voice answered:
"This call could not be completed as dialed."
Claire froze. She lowered the phone and ended the call, staring at the screen.
A sinking feeling gripped her chest.
"Shit, James. Where are you?"