Ruben shifted Fionn higher against his shoulders as he bounded down the stairwell, the boy's slight frame jolting with each step. Corbin was a pace ahead, his boots slapping the carpet with hurried rhythm, every turn of the hall lit in dim bursts from the lights above.
The storm outside thrashed louder, windowpanes were prepared for it, but it still felt like the rain wanted to fly inside the building.
They hit the first floor, and a shrill cry pulled their attention to the corridor on the left. A stocky woman in a maid's uniform had been driven against the wall, her hands clenched so tightly on the vacuum handle that her knuckles had gone pale. Thick lipstick stood out starkly against her blanched face. Her arm shot forward, finger trembling as she pointed to a door at the far end of the hallway.
Corbin got there first. His head angled in, and for a beat, Ruben saw the life drain out of his face. Corbin immediately flung his hand back, palm out, the silent command to stop. Ruben slowed, his eyes flickering to the boy perched on his shoulders. He didn't need to see the horror beyond the threshold to guess what it was.
He eased Fionn down, steadying the boy on his feet, before turning to the maid. "Go," Ruben said, voice firm. "Find a woman named Sera Weber."
The woman bobbed her head, lips trembling, before she fled down the stairs, the wheels of her vacuum she probably didn't realize she was still holding on to, was clattering behind her.
Ruben then crouched slightly to meet Fionn's wide, gleaming eyes. "Stay out here. Don't move."
The boy's jaw trembled. "I want to know. I want to see…"
"No." Ruben cut him short. "Not yet. Wait here."
He pressed the boy gently back against the wall and stepped into the room.
The space was smaller than their own, a cramped guest chamber with a single bed pressed beneath the window. Thunder cracked overhead, and for a brief second, lightning illuminated the true reason for the maid's scream.
A body dangled from outside the window, suspended grotesquely, its weight pulling the neck at an angle no living man could bear.
Rain slicked over the pale shirt, spreading the bloodstains across the fabric in mottled crimson blooms. Two punctures were stark against the chest and abdomen, dark stains running down in uneven rivers.
Ruben walked forward, his senses sharpening, his mind shifting into something clinical. He met Corbin by the sill, both of them staring at the gruesome display. Corbin's voice was low. "It's strange. The frame doesn't open far enough. No way the body could've been pushed out from here. Not from any of these rooms."
Ruben's dragons shimmered into being at his side, scaled shapes manifesting from the air with silent obedience. They crawled to the latch, their claws working delicately to unscrew the safety hinges until the frame groaned wider. With careful precision, they hauled the body back inside, the dead weight sagging as they laid it across the bedspread.
Corbin's gaze darted to Ruben. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I want to look before the detective does," Ruben replied simply, his tone was even. He wasn't asking for permission.
He bent over the corpse, fingers pulling back the dress shirt that clung to the dead body in sticky layers. The entry wound at the chest was gaping, the puncture broad and long enough that it must have split the heart apart entirely.
He traced the edges with his eyes, noting the tearing of fabric, the shape of the rupture. Then his attention shifted to the abdomen wound, smaller, tighter, an incision that carved through the stomach wall.
His lips thinned. "Two weapons. One larger blade, the other that cut into his stomach would have been smaller. The chest strike ruptured the heart completely. The stomach wound… it was slower and it was the initial strike, it was cruel."
"Someone wanted him to suffer before his end." His eyes moved to the slashed eyeballs, jagged cuts tearing across the man's face. "They were done after the death. Maybe they were mad. Or maybe part of a signature."
"Hey look at this." Corbin said with some intrigue in his tone.
Ruben could see he was holding a picture frame in his hand, it was small and when he reached him and took a peek at it he was surprised.
It was a picture of the dead body of the man on the bed. The slashes were all in the same place, and the glare was found in the picture but it didn't show much, no reflection. The rug of the room the picture was taken in was the room where the man died.
Corbin's free fist curled. "Whoever we're dealing with is a twisted fuck. Hanging him like this, carving him up and taking this picture, like it's some theater display."
Ruben straightened, his expression iron. "I don't want Fionn seeing this." He looked at Corbin, voice quieter. "It's him isn't it? Cormac Ó Briain."
Corbin nodded once, slow and grim. "Yes."
The weight of it pressed between them, heavier than the thunder that rattled the windowpanes. Ruben opened his mouth to speak again, but the sound of footsteps cut him off. Quick steps rounding the corner.
"People are coming." Fionn's voice called from the hall, high-pitched with alarm.
Corbin hid the picture in his pocket. Crumpled and stuffed in.
The door burst open, and Sera Weber entered with the storm at her back. Her eyes landed on the boys first, sharp with suspicion, and then darted to the body sprawled across the bed. Her jaw hardened. "You moved the body?"
Ruben couldn't answer as Sera continued to speak her thoughts about their recklessness and endangerment.
"You are messing with the crime scene. That is a serious offence. And you were also supposed to wait in the hotel lounge."
A wail split the air. A sad loud cry is what saved the boys. Fionn had entered behind Sera at the doorway. His small hands clutching the frame as his gaze landed on the corpse. His father. His knees buckled as the sob tore loose, shaking his entire body.
Sera's anger evaporated in an instant. Her face softened, her tone gentled. "Out. Both of you. Go with the child."
They obeyed, stepping their way to the hall as she turned toward Fionn. But before Ruben could even call out to Fionn, the child bolted. His small figure tore down the corridor, vanishing around the corner before either could stop him.
Ruben lunged after, but Sera's hand caught Corbin's arm. "Wait."
Corbin's face snapped toward her, fury breaking across it. He tore her grip away with a slap of his hand, his voice sharp. "Don't touch me."
Behind him, Ruben paused just long enough to hear her clipped command. "Ten minutes. Be in the lounge. If you're not, I'll send someone to drag you there."
Ruben didn't argue. His eyes met Corbin's, a silent exchange, a quick nod passing between them. Then Ruben turned on his heel and strode after the boy.
***
Corbin stood in the narrow chamber, the rain was tapping the window like the impatient fingers of a child on a journey in a car. The body on the bed leached its foul perfume into the carpets and curtains, saturating the air with its dreadful smell.
Sera Weber remained at the foot of the mattress, her arms folded with a composure that sharpened the edges of her voice. "What you and your friend have done is unacceptable," she said. "Disturbing evidence, handling remains, acting as though you were investigators yourselves. There will be consequences."
Corbin leaned against the wall, his jaw tight. "We weren't doing it for sport. It was for the kid. Fionn. If you want truth," his finger twitched toward the corpse, " that man is Cormac Ó Briain. Chief justice of Eirath's Supreme Bench. He's one of the most important men of his country and he's lying there dead in this one and we're the only ones who know."
Her head tilted, her eyes flickering toward the stiffened corpse. For a rare instant, her mask slipped, surprise sharpened into her gaze, disbelief ghosting across her features before she clicked her tongue softly.
She drew closer, studying the bloodied shirt and carved face, then let out a long breath and nodded once. Her focus returned to Corbin. "All the more reason to handle this properly. You need to work with me, not against me."
A sardonic smile twitched at Corbin's mouth. "Work with you? I thought we weren't supposed to do that in this case. Unless you're trying to recruit me here."
Her expression hardened. "You already tampered with the crime scene before I arrived. That means if I'm to file a report with integrity, I need your account. You'll detail it."
Corbin exhaled, but his voice carried no tremor. "We entered the room. He was hanging outside the window like a discarded puppet."
Sera's eyes narrowed. "How did you do that? The frames are not wide enough."
Corbin's lip twitched, daring her. "He used his Ego."
She nodded once, no flicker of alarm in her expression. That calm irked him. His own voice came sharper. "You didn't even ask. Other people would've pressed on what exactly. Like for curiosity, or suspicion."
Sera's stare lingered, unblinking. Then, finally she spoke. "I already know about the two of you. I was contracted to investigate your background by the BPA not long ago."
The words knocked him still for a heartbeat. His frown deepened, but he forced himself to nod, as though it mattered less than it did. "Fine. After we hauled the body inside, Ruben got straight to the inspection. Tore open the shirt, studied the wounds. The puncture split the heart in two. The stomach wound was smaller and something else, and that he thinks the eyes were slashed after death."
Sera's lips thinned. "And what gave him the right to assume that role?"
"He was trying to understand the killer," Corbin answered simply, shrugging one shoulder. He left the picture out of his explanation though. "And then you walked in."
But Sera didn't move on. She stayed fixed on him, silence stretching like a wire between them. Corbin tilted his head. "What?"
Her voice came quiet but steady. "What about the photograph?"
The muscles in his jaw knotted. His scowl was sharp. "What are you, a mind reader?"
"No." Her eyes cut into him, storm-grey and unwavering. "I'm a detective. And I have an Ego. It's called Schism 1999. Whenever someone speaks in my presence, I see the truth behind their words. Thoughts hover above or below like subtitles, plain as day."
Corbin let out a long, wary sigh, dragging a hand over his face. "So you are a fucking mind reader. That's just perfect." He fished in his pocket, tugging the photograph with his rough fingers, and slapped it into her palm.
For the first time, her composure fractured. A ripple of shock ran across her features, and she held the photograph as though it were a live wire. Corbin caught it instantly. "What? What's wrong?"
She shot him a look that all but said Are you serious? Then she spoke. "This murder… it may have been done by The Stillman."
Corbin frowned. "Never heard of him."
Sera's tone dropped, carrying the weight of a name that haunted precinct halls. "The Stillman is a man with at least seventy-four murders tied to him. There is no pattern, no preference and no mercy. His signature is always the same. A photograph left at the scene, clearer and more meticulous than any investigator's documentation. He frames the dead like he's staging a play."
She held the photo up between them, her gaze fixed on it. "He doesn't kill for recognition. He kills in silence only leaving the photo as proof that he was there. He is intelligent, patient, and clinical. All that is known about him is that Brumália is his home."
Corbin stared, brows low, the words heavy in his ears. "Sounds like a myth."
"It's not." Her reply was cold. "This case is more dangerous than you understand."
Silence stretched again, the thunder outside muttering like a drum. Then she lowered the photograph, eyes on him once more. "When did you notice it?"
Corbin exhaled, rubbing his neck. "In the desk drawer. It was sticking out just enough. I almost missed it. Anyone could have."
She nodded, filing the detail away, her features tightening back into an unreadable calm. "Go. Head to the main lounge. I'll join you shortly to lay everything out."
Corbin pushed off the wall, shoulders heavy but his pace deliberate. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the stink of blood still clinging to his clothes as he walked down the hall.