The wind shrieked in the deserted streets, ice forming at the rims of shattered streetlights. Leo tightened his jacket, his breath escaping in crisp white clouds. "Damn car," he grumbled, not glancing back—he was aware that Alex was trailing him. He always was.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked in silence—easy, familiar. After a moment, Leo glanced over at Alex. "You're quieter than usual," he stated bluntly. "Are your hands giving you trouble again?"
He didn't slow his pace, but his tone softened—just enough for only Alex to recognize it wasn't purely professional.
"The crime scene is three blocks ahead. A body was discovered in an alley behind the old theater." He hesitated. "Just... be careful."
And even though he phrased it like an order to any partner, there was an underlying message—one that was meant solely for one person: Stay safe.
As was typical, Alex remained silent.
The crime scene was cordoned off with yellow tape. The officers were present, discussing the case.
At the scene of the crime, Leo caught sight of an unusual red eye-like emblem on the wall next to the deceased individual.
Leo's gaze fixed on the strange red eye symbol, its precision suggesting it was more than just simple graffiti. "It seems our perpetrator intended to leave behind a signature."
As he stepped over the crime scene tape, he knelt beside the corpse. The victim was a well-dressed middle-aged man showing signs of a struggle. Leo carefully inspected the body, his mind racing through various theories.
"To be honest, it seems like a cult symbol," Alex remarked while examining it.
Leo agreed, rising from next to the corpse. "You have a sharp eye," he said with approval, the first hint of genuine commendation in his tone. "It does resemble some symbols from cults that I've encountered before."
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the mark. "The person responsible for this isn't just an ordinary murderer. They're conveying a message... but to whom?"
"Perhaps to us?"
Leo shot him a sidelong glance, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You really think they're toying with us?" There was a mix of irritation and something more in his voice.
He exhaled deeply, raking his fingers through his hair. "Regardless, we have to uncover the truth. Can you capture images of the symbol? We'll compare it to any existing cult symbols."
Alex retrieved his phone and snapped several clear photos of the red eye emblem, his actions steady despite the bandages wrapped around his hands.
Leo observed for a moment, then shifted his focus back to the scene. "No evidence of forced entry in this alley," he murmured, examining the area. "He was either drawn here... or was familiar with his murderer."
A chilling breeze swept through, causing the crime scene tape to flutter like agitated spirits.
"Let's review nearby cameras before the situation deteriorates," Leo advised, already moving toward the street. "And Alex—"
He paused just long enough for their eyes to meet.
"Stay vigilant. If this does involve us... they're already aware of our arrival."
The wind howled once more, carrying a hint of something sinister. Leo's jaw clenched.
"Let's go," he said, his voice low. "And Alex—don't fall too far behind."
He didn't say it as a command. He said it because he recalled the last time—blood on the snow, white hair drenched in red, and Alex not breathing for two minutes.
Some promises don't need to be reiterated.
They simply remain honored.
They trekked toward the nearest shop with cameras, shoulders pressed together against the cold.
The store owner glanced up as they neared, her eyes tired yet expectant. "Cops," she remarked.
Leo displayed his badge. "We're seeking camera footage from last night, between two and five AM."
The woman nodded, bringing up the shop's security feed on an aged monitor. The screen flickered on, revealing a grainy nighttime view of the street.
Leo leaned in, his eyes scrutinizing the footage for any anomalies.
"There," he almost whispered, indicating a figure slipping down the darkened alley.
More than one figure, actually. But their faces were concealed. One of them drew the symbol.
Leo's eyes narrowed as he observed the figures, each dressed in dark clothing with masks hiding their features.
"Can we enhance this?" he inquired, keeping his focus on the screen.
The woman complied, adjusting the footage settings with a few clicks of the mouse. The previously blurry image sharpened, though the masks still remained distorted.
Yet he could distinguish the individual who drew the symbol; the movement was unmistakably skilled.
"Seems like a highly trained group," he grunted. "Professional."
"Could be a cult, like I mentioned earlier," Alex remarked.
Leo nodded, the tightness in his shoulders increasing as he replayed the footage. "You may be correct," he conceded, running a hand through his hair.
The way they moved, the precision of their actions... Everything felt too calculated, too organized.
"We need to investigate local cults or groups that use similar symbols," he murmured, glancing at Alex. "You have a talent for uncovering connections. See what you can unearth."
Alex nodded, his gaze already lost in thought as he considered the possibilities.
Leo's eyes lingered on him for a moment. He couldn't deny that Alex was indispensable in analyzing patterns and integrating a broader perspective. His mind functioned like a machine, processing data and delivering conclusions.
However, he also had a habit of immersing himself in work during investigations.
"And Alex," Leo said, his voice rough with concern, "don't forget to eat and rest. Your brain requires fuel to function."
"Hm."
Alex muttered softly, already perusing cult databases on his phone, the screen's glow illuminating his sharp red eyes. The cold didn't seem to faze him—just another ordeal he endured without complaint.
Leo observed him for a moment, then averted his gaze before his worry was too evident.
"I found something," Alex announced abruptly, his tone calm but weighted. "The 'Crimson Eye.' A cult that was disbanded twenty years ago. Allegedly dissolved after... a fire."
Leo froze.
A fire.
He didn't have to verbalize it. They both recalled that evening—the smoke, the cries, the one body that was never discovered.
His tone was quiet now. "They aren't obsolete."
"They've returned."