The following morning, Ravenwood buzzed with unease. News of the body in the warehouse had spread quickly. The townsfolk whispered in diners and grocery stores, each adding their own theories. Some said it was a robbery gone wrong; others whispered about cult activity.
Detective Alex Monroe sat across from Chief Harold Greene in his office. The chief was a large man with thinning hair and a voice that carried like thunder.
"So let me get this straight," Greene said, slamming the letter onto his desk. "You found this before the body turned up?"
Alex nodded. "The letter predicted it.
Midnight. And the time of death matches."
Chief Greene leaned back, exhaling smoke from his pipe. "You realize how insane that sounds? We don't chase riddles, Alex. We chase facts."
Sam Hargrove, Alex's partner, shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe it's some prankster trying to mess with him. You know how small towns are."
Alex stayed quiet, but inside, doubt gnawed at him. A prankster couldn't predict time of death so precisely. Someone was orchestrating this.
At The Ravenwood Gazette
Meanwhile, Lila Carter was already spinning the story for the morning edition of the Ravenwood Gazette. Her editor, Sophie Lang, a sharp-eyed woman with a competitive streak, hovered over her shoulder.
"You're sure your detective friend isn't just feeding you drama?" Sophie asked.
Lila frowned. "Alex doesn't play games. If he says something's off, it's off."
Sophie smirked. "Good. Because if this is big, I want the exclusive. Don't let personal history cloud your judgment."
Lila ignored her, but Sophie's words lingered. She did trust Alex—but in Ravenwood, trust had a way of twisting into betrayal.
The Kane Mansion
Later that day, Alex was called to the estate of Victor Kane, Ravenwood's wealthiest businessman. The mansion loomed over the town like a silent guardian. Kane, tall and silver-haired, greeted Alex with a handshake too firm to be friendly.
"I heard about last night," Victor said smoothly. "Tragic. But surely it was… an isolated incident?"
Alex studied him. "We're not ruling anything out."
Victor's daughter, Isabella "Izzy" Kane, entered the room—a rebellious spark in her eyes, dressed in ripped jeans despite the grandeur of her home. She gave Alex a quick nod.
"Careful, detective," she said under her breath as she passed. "Not everything in this house is what it seems."
Victor's jaw tightened. "Isabella. Enough."
Alex filed the moment away. The Kanes had money, influence—and secrets.
At St. Matthew's Church
That evening, Alex visited Father Thomas, the town priest, who often heard more confessions than sermons. The old man's eyes seemed clouded by both age and regret.
"Another life taken," Father Thomas murmured. "Evil always finds its way here."
Alex showed him the letter. The priest's hand trembled as he touched it. "This… this isn't the first."
"What do you mean?" Alex pressed.
Father Thomas's gaze hardened. "Some sins never stay buried, Detective. Be careful where you dig."
The Second Letter
That night, as Alex returned to his apartment, he found another envelope taped to his door. The same cream paper. The same lavender scent.
He ripped it open.
"Tomorrow, a fire will consume what you hold dear. And from the ashes, a truth will rise."
His pulse quickened. Fire. What could it mean? He glanced around the dim hallway—empty.
Then his phone rang. It was Olivia Price, the bar owner. Her voice was panicked.
"Alex… you better get down here. The old Holloway Library's on fire!"
Alex sprinted to the scene. Flames devoured the century-old building, townsfolk gathering in horror. Firefighters struggled to contain the blaze.
Among the smoke, Alex spotted Grace Holloway, the librarian, sobbing as she clutched a half-burned book.
"It wasn't an accident," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Someone wanted the records destroyed… the old records."
As Alex pulled her to safety, he noticed something on the ground—another scrap of the same cream paper, singed at the edges.
And in the crowd, standing too still, was Derek Vaughn, the stranger who had been at the warehouse the night before, watching silently as history went up in flames.