Dimitri sat alone in his darkened living room, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows over the mountain of files before him. Each file held the history of Kian's murders. But it wasn't just about the dead. Dimitri's focus shifted to those who had survived, the family members left behind, and the neighbors who heard the screams too late, the few who managed to escape Thanatos' grasp only to be forever scarred.
The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the door, irritation flashing across his features. He was in no mood for company. But the doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.
With a sigh, Dimitri rose from his chair, stepping over scattered case notes to reach the door. He opened it, and there stood Jaxon.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dimitri asked, his voice low. He knew Jaxon wasn't the killer, but he was still hiding something about Lydia, and this was not the time for games.
Then again, maybe he was a hypocrite for being pissed at Jaxon for keeping secrets, especially when he had plenty of his own.
Jaxon shrugged, his eyes darting past Dimitri to the files scattered across the table. "Could ask you the same. Looks like you are deep in this copycat mess."
"Yeah, well, some of us don't take random vacations when shit hits the fan," Dimitri retorted, stepping aside to let Jaxon in. "Thought you were avoiding me."
"I was." Jaxon's tone was unapologetic, his gaze lingering on Lydia's photo among the others. "I didn't want to drag you into my mess."
Dimitri raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall. "Your mess? You're finally willing to spill."
Jaxon nodded. "Yeah. Lydia's death. It wasn't supposed to happen. At least, not like that."
Dimitri said, "The copycat got her. We know that."
"Right," Jaxon said, his voice tight. "But it fucked up a case I've been working on. Lydia wasn't just some random woman. She was a defector. She worked for an old mafia family, one I've been trying to take down for years."
Dimitri stared at Jaxon, trying to process the information. "The mafia?"
Jaxon's laugh was hollow, bitter. "She was my way in, Dimitri. She knew names, connections, and everything I needed to blow the whole operation wide open. But then your copycat comes along, kills her just like one of Kian's victims, and I'm left with nothing."
Dimitri tilted his head, studying Jaxon with narrowed eyes. "You're serious?"
"No, I'm just pulling your leg, like usual," Jaxon muttered sarcastically. "Of course, I'm serious. I've been chasing those bastards for years, and now it's all gone because of this twisted copycat of yours."
"Mine?" Dimitri snorted, his lips curving slightly despite the grim topic. "Last I checked, the world's worst murderers weren't always assigned to me like some foster kid."
"Could've fooled me," Jaxon shot back, a hint of his usual humor breaking through. "They seem to follow you around like lost puppies."
Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. "You've got a point."
"I usually do," Jaxon smirked, "You know I'm not blaming you, right? Shit, I feel bad for you for all this mess following you."
Dimitri pushed himself off the wall. "But why didn't you tell me any of this earlier?"
Jaxon said casually, "Because I thought she was found out and killed by them. I knew you'd get involved. And the last thing I wanted was for you to become collateral damage. But since it's not them, I thought I'd tell you."
Dimitri turned away, pacing the small space. "You think it was a coincidence? That the copycat just happened to choose her?"
Jaxon nodded, "I mean, yes!"
"What if there's a chance this copycat's victims are not random," Dimitri murmured, mostly to himself. "What if she's connected to the mafia? What if she knew Lydia, or..."
"Don't go there," Jaxon cut in. He shook his head vehemently. "This isn't the mafia's style. They don't leave pretty corpses with poetic blood patterns. They're cold, brutal, and efficient. If it were them, we wouldn't be staring at a staged display. It'd be a bloodbath, cruel and unforgiving. It's not a crime scene; it's a horror show."
"They're that terrifying, huh?" Dimitri murmured, his gaze flashing with interest, a gleam that made most people flinch.
Jaxon's jaw clenched, noticing that familiar glint in Dimitri's eyes, the one that usually meant trouble.
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Don't even think about it. You have no idea how bad it is. They're more terrifying than any serial killer or psychopath you've faced. Because it's not just one twisted mind, it's a network of nightmares, a group of predators that hunt together, tearing through anyone who dares get in their way."
He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "And their leader, he's not just another criminal. He's a ghost that stalks the shadows of the underworld. He's been the invisible hand behind political purges, corporate bloodbaths, and the kind of murders that change the world. Entire families vanish in a single night, corporations collapse without a trace, and it's all done by him."
Dimitri felt a chill creep down his spine, a mix of fear and morbid fascination. His pulse quickened at the idea of someone like that existing.
No—a victim-turned-survivor of Kian's would never be tied to something so deep, so insidious. It was impossible.
But doubt lingered in his mind. Dimitri mentally shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. He focused instead on Jaxon; he knew his friend and could see the fear lurking beneath the bravado.
"It's not just about the mafia, is it?" Dimitri asked softly. "You were planning to go undercover, weren't you?"
Jaxon froze, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. "I needed to," he muttered finally. "Lydia was supposed to be my way in. She'd seen too much and wanted out. We struck a deal. She feeds me intel, and I get her somewhere safe, far away from all this."
"And now she's dead." The words fell heavily between them, reminding them both just how unforgiving the world they operated in could be.
Dimitri's eyebrows knit together, concern tugging at his features despite the casual front he always tried to maintain. "Why the hell would you want to go undercover with a family like that? Do you not care about your life?" His voice was light, teasing even, but the edge of worry beneath it betrayed him.
Jaxon gave a short laugh, soft but genuine like he'd just heard a joke that Dimitri didn't get. It drew a frown to Dimitri's face.
"What's so funny?" Dimitri's lips twitched in a faint smile, something almost sad lingering in his eyes. "Seriously, Jaxon, why risk your neck for something like this?"
"Coming from the guy who gets up close and personal with killers and doesn't bat an eye?" Jaxon shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "Guess I'm not the only one who's a little reckless."
"Yeah, but I'm already a lost cause," Dimitri muttered, his voice lowering.
Jaxon's expression shifted, a flicker of something softening the lines of his face. Pity, maybe.
He'd always been baffled by it, by how a guy like Dimitri could see himself as anything less than good. It was like Dimitri had decided long ago that he was broken beyond repair, and no amount of proof to the contrary could sway him.
"Don't look at me like that," Dimitri said, the words sharper than he meant. "You've seen what I deal with. I'm not a saint, Jaxon."
Jaxon held Dimitri's gaze. "You're not a monster either, no matter how much you want to believe that."
Dimitri forced a chuckle, shaking his head. "You're more fucked up than I thought if you still see a good guy in me."
"Yeah, well," Jaxon sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a tired smile, "takes one fucked-up guy to know another, right?"
"Whatever you say," Dimitri murmured, but his voice lacked bite. He didn't believe Jaxon's words but for Jaxon's sake, he'd keep pretending.
"Well," Jaxon said, breaking the silence with a lopsided grin. "If you're done interrogating me, how about a drink?"
"Thought you'd never ask," Dimitri replied dryly, a small smile tugging at his lips as they headed to the kitchen.
*****************
Dimitri sat back in his chair, staring at the thin stack of documents Jaxon had reluctantly handed over earlier that day. The files were a frustrating mix of scant facts and thick black redactions, like tombstones guarding secrets no one dared speak aloud.
Pages about Lydia's ties to the mafia were barely legible. Her name appeared mostly in code "Subject R" or "Asset 17" with handwritten notes in the margins suggesting she was a low-level club employee and occasional courier for the family's operations.
Jaxon had admitted he didn't have clearance to know more. The upper echelon was untouchable, and even the police tread carefully when dealing with them.
Frustrated, Dimitri stretched and leaned forward again, eyes narrowing on a partially visible phone number scribbled beside a club name—The Black Dahlia.
A sudden thud against the balcony door snapped Dimitri upright. His hand tightened around the glass in his grip, his reflection staring back at him from the darkened window. The soft whir came again, and his entire body went still.
He set the glass down silently and pulled open the drawer. His fingers brushed past papers until they closed around cold steel. The familiar weight of the gun settled in his palm like an old friend.
For a man who spent his days studying monsters, it was never a question of if trouble would come knocking, it was when.
Keeping low, he moved toward the balcony, every muscle in his body wound tight. The sound grew louder. It was a small drone hovering just beyond the railing. A thin white envelope floated down from it onto the balcony floor.
Dimitri raised the gun as his mind flicked through possibilities; explosive, camera, or maybe just a toy meant to rattle him. He waited, listened, and watched but there was no ticking, no strange bulges in the paper, just silence, except for the drone's retreat into the night.
His jaw flexed. Carefully, he slid the door open, never lowering the weapon. He stepped outside, the chill biting at him, and crouched over the envelope. His fingers brushed it. It was light and seemingly harmless. He picked it up and carried it in, locking the balcony door behind him. Only then did he set the gun down on the table, though his hand lingered close.
He ripped the envelope open and slid out a single photo, printed on rough, cheap paper. At first glance it seemed useless, it was grainy, dim, and had its edges blurred. It was a picture of a narrow alley, empty except for a lone woman mid-step, her head half-turned as if someone had called her name. Dimitri frowned, leaning closer, eyes narrowing. What was he supposed to see here? His gaze traced the curve of her face, searching for recognition then froze. Behind her, pressed against the wall as though it had grown from the darkness itself, a shape lingered. It was faint and indistinct. It was almost too easy to dismiss it as a trick of bad lighting but the longer he stared, the more certain he became that the shadow was not part of the alley at all. It was a presence like a predator biding its time as its prey wandered by. Dimitri flipped the photo over and saw a message, scrawled in jagged ink, sliced across the back:
She waits before the blood.
She?
In that instant, Dimitri understood that the shadow was the copycat killer; caught in her natural element, circling her prey like a phantom in the dark, but the realization brought no triumph or joy to him. Was the woman in the photo already one of the dead, or someone still blissfully unaware she was being hunted? The question gnawed at him, but not as much as the delivery itself. Someone had gone to great lengths to put this in his hands. Why him? What did they want? Was it Kian, playing mind games from his cell? The copycat herself, taunting him with her cleverness? Or worse, someone else entirely, a player he hadn't even realized was on the board?
He hated this smug audacity of being fed crumbs like some obedient hound. He'd spent his life dissecting killers, peeling them down to their rawest selves, yet someone thought to toy with him. That was his job. The part of him that despised being strung along, mocked, and controlled felt that old, simmering rage, the one he buried so carefully, the one he swore he would never let surface.
Dimitri ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. He didn't like being watched. He never had, but he did like a problem he could solve. He needed to see if he could bring the photo into focus, enough to make out more than a shadow, and to tell whether the woman in the alley was already one of the dead or still walking into danger. His fingers hovered over his phone. He dialed Axel, eyes never leaving the photo.
"Axel... you need to see this."