Detective Isabella Vasquez stood over the lifeless body sprawled in a back alley of Montrose's East End. The neon lights of a nearby bar flickered, casting eerie shadows over the crime scene. Rain drizzled onto the pavement, mixing with the pool of blood beneath the victim. She let out a slow breath, pulling her coat tighter around her frame.
"Identification?" she asked, glancing at her partner, Detective Marcus Reed.
Marcus checked his tablet, shaking his head. "No wallet, no phone. Just a couple of bills and a cigarette pack. Could be a Grey."
Isabella's jaw tightened. If the victim was a Grey, they could work the case like any other homicide. If he was a Black, things got complicated.
A uniformed officer stepped closer. "We ran the prints. No matches in our system."
That wasn't necessarily good news. If it turned out the victim was affiliated with the Blacks, the department would have to cover it up, make it disappear. That was the unspoken rule of Montrose law enforcement. The Greys got police work. The Blacks got silence.
"We need to be sure," Isabella said, crouching beside the body. She lifted the victim's sleeve, searching for the telltale ink of the Blacks. No tattoos. That didn't mean he wasn't connected, but it gave her a window to investigate—at least for now.
"Let's move before someone decides this case isn't ours to handle," Marcus muttered. He was right. The Blacks had eyes everywhere, and if this was one of their own, they wouldn't wait for an official report to clean things up.
Isabella stood, taking in the darkened alley. She had joined the force to bring justice, to push back against the corruption eating Montrose from the inside. But the deeper she got, the more she realized justice here was a matter of survival.
One dead man. One blurred line between right and wrong.
And in Montrose City, blurred lines could spark a war.