The world around him shimmered like candlelight over black water.
Brendon sat under a metal canopy, the rusted edges framing a pale night sky. The cold of the concrete bench beneath him had long settled into his bones, but he didn't seem to mind. Across from him, Drew leaned against a cracked pillar, cigarette dangling from his lip, eyes darting at a scrawled map of Soth London's industrial sector laid out on a crate between them.
The warehouse lights were off. No one else around. Just the hum of distant neon and the purr of distant freight cars on the track behind them.
Drew: "This one's it, Brend. After this, we're out. No more crawling through windows or ducking scanners. Just us, sun, and enough cash to disappear."
Brendon didn't respond right away.
Drew leaned closer, flicking ash onto the floor.
Drew: "Umm... is... everything okay, mate?"
Brendon looked at him — not like a man looking at a friend, but like a man looking at a fork in the road. One direction led to freedom, maybe. The other... maybe to peace.
Brendon: "You ever think about what comes after the running stops?"
Drew laughed dryly.
Drew: "After? I start living. Real food, maybe a beach house if I'm feeling poetic. You? You could have that too. Just one more night, Brend."
Brendon: "...Yeah."
But his voice was hollow.
His gaze lingered on the map, the red circles, the security notations. He could see the whole path — in and out, precise and clean. But he also saw Drew's optimism like a match too close to gasoline. Fragile. Dangerous.
Brendon: "Or… we could end this now. Talk to the others. Tell them to walk away."
Drew's smile faded. Slowly.
Drew: "Are you f*cking serious?"
Brendon: "I'm tired, Drew. Not of you. Not of the crew. Just... tired of being hunted. Of watching my back every night like my spine's wired for alarms. What if we just turned ourselves in? Made a deal?"
Drew was quiet for a long beat.
Then he stood up and crushed the cigarette under his boot.
Drew: "You are... just joking... right?"
Brendon lowered his eyes.
Brendon: "Maybe I am."
Then came a crack — loud, splitting the dream at its seams.
---
Brendon jolted upright, breath ragged, coat tangled around his shoulders like a second skin.
The sheriff's office was dark except for the silver fingers of dawn spilling in through the blinds. His desk was cluttered, but undisturbed — yet he was not alone.
Jason stood in the doorway, eyes wide, chest heaving.
Jason: "Sheriff… I… You need to come. Now. Chief's order."
Brendon blinked the dream from his mind and stood slowly, voice gravelly.
Brendon: "What is it?"
Jason swallowed, visibly rattled.
Jason: "It's not something I can explain. You just… need to see it."
---
The morning mist hung low over Ridgecliff like a breath held too long.
They drove in silence, the cruiser slicing through the pale light with its quiet hum. Brendon could see the lines under Jason's eyes, the tautness in his jaw. Whatever this was, it had cracked the new recruit's usual stone-faced composure.
As they turned onto the old gravel trail that led into Ashwood Pines, Brendon's memories stirred.
Places like these once used by kids for bonfires and dares back in London. The deeper parts had always been cloaked in myth — people said the trees whispered, though most chalked that up to the wind and overactive imaginations.
But now, those whispers felt like warnings.
Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze, stretched between tree trunks like webbing. Flashlights cut through the haze. A few marked units were already there. Sofie stood near the edge of the clearing with a tablet, her face pale. Officers moved unease and disgust.
Judith Kay stood at the center, arms crossed, speaking to a forensics tech. Her posture straightened when she saw Brendon approaching.
Judith: "Took you long enough."
Brendon: "I was just taking a nap. Blame the couch for that."
Jason trailed behind, silent now, as if he wanted no part in what came next.
Brendon stepped under the tape.
Brendon: "What are we looking at?"
Judith nodded once to the left. Brendon followed her gesture — and stopped.
There, in a shallow pit scraped into the soft earth, lay scattered human remains.
A ribcage. A femur. A few fingers — curled as if in pain. All partially burned. Charred meat clung to the edges. The skull, resting just beyond the others, was half-cracked, the jaw missing. Scorch marks crept out from the bones like black veins in the soil.
The ground smelled of ash and blood and old copper.
Brendon exhaled slowly.
Brendon: "Any ID?"
Judith shook her head.
Judith: "Nothing on site. No wallet, no driving license, no clothing remnants. Whoever did this stripped the body first. Then set it on fire — not a full burn, though. Partial. Like they wanted someone to find it."
She crouched near the skull, careful not to disturb the scene.
Judith: "What's worse is the arrangement."
Brendon furrowed his brow.
Brendon: "Arrangement?"
Judith pointed. "Look at the positioning — the ribs angled outward like wings. The leg bones aligned neatly beside the torso, they aren't randomly scattered."
Brendon stepped closer and saw it now. The way the remains had been set — not dumped, but posed. Deliberate.
Brendon: "Any initial ideas?"
Judith: "I think some psycho did this. Or maybe someone brainwashed by cultist ideology."
Scott Wright approached then, notebook in hand, his gloves stained with soil.
Scott: "We have finished taking the samples. Bone degradation suggests this wasn't recent. Maybe four to five days old. But the burn… that's only a day or two. Probably torched here."
He flipped his notes.
Scott: "No sign of struggle. Either the victim was unconscious… or already dead."
Brendon looked at the treeline, watching how the branches leaned inward like spectators.
Brendon: "Who found it?"
Jason, still lingering near the tape, answered quietly.
Jason: "Me. I… couldn't sleep. Went for a walk. Thought I saw smoke. When I got closer…"
He trailed off.
Brendon studied the younger officer's face. There was no lie there — just confusion and shock, buried under layers of pride.
Brendon: "You did the right thing, Ramirez."
Jason blinked, startled by the affirmation.
Brendon turned to Judith again.
Brendon: "Any footprints? Tire tracks? Any clues?"
Judith nodded to a nearby tech.
Judith: "We found partial boot prints about 20 meters east. Size ten. No matching treads in the database yet."
Scott: "Also," — he lowered his voice — "there's one more thing."
He gestured for Brendon to follow. A few feet away, lying in a shallow groove between roots, was a torn piece of black fabric.
Scott: "Scorched at the edges. Smells faintly of engine oil and ammonia. We're testing it now."
Brendon crouched beside it.
Brendon: "...Looks like something that is used in circus."
Scott: "That's what I thought."
A long silence passed.
Brendon: "Keep me updated. This does feel like a first kill."
Judith: "What do you mean by that?"
Brendon stood slowly, eyes still on the body.
Brendon: "Because the kill isn't clean. Yeah I admit this seems like a psycho's doing but if it was professional why didn't burn it first? And if he forgot that then why come back? Setting it in fire is the most dumb move. As you can see it has got our attention."
---
Back at the station, the air was still tense. The scent of Ashwood Pines clung to Brendon's jacket, and the image of the remains followed him like a second shadow.
He entered the office and shut the door behind him, leaning against it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folder from Ninja Fox — still sealed, untouched since his return.
He opened it now.
Inside were photographs. A list of names. A symbol burned into a piece of parchment — a twisted crow with a hollow eye and a crooked body.
And at the very bottom, written in jagged, hurried penmanship:
"A symbol to look out for."