At The Hospital
"Rousseau!"
Lila stepped through the sliding doors of the morgue, her black motorcycle helmet still tucked under her arm. The cold, antiseptic air greeted her like an old friend-sharp, unforgiving, and honest.
One of her colleagues, René, looked up from behind his cluttered desk, where he was munching on a poorly assembled sandwich. "Rough night or did your face get into a street brawl without the rest of you?"
Lila gave a dry smirk, brushing past him. "You should see the other guy. He looks worse"
"I would have loved to, but they usually come in zipped up."
She tossed the helmet onto the locker bench and peeled off her leather jacket, revealing bruises blossoming like violent art across her collarbone and upper arms. The gash on her side had stopped bleeding, thanks to the hasty stitch job she'd done with shaking hands and a whiskey bottle last night.
René winced. "You're gonna scare the newbies with that face."
"Good."
He gapes at her " You know you actually look approachable, no one would know you are so uncaring."
" I never said I was and maybe they'll stop asking me to explain where the femoral artery is."
She didn't wait for more banter. Her boots echoed across the linoleum as she headed for the autopsy suite. The moment the double doors swung shut behind her, the teasing air evaporated, replaced by the sterile silence of her real world—the dead.
A pale body lay on the steel table under fluorescent lights, waiting.
Male, late twenties, built like he'd spent more time on a street corner than in a gym. A toe tag fluttered from his left foot, reading Dupont, Thierry. Found by Seine Docks.
Lila pulled on her gloves, snapping them tight against her wrists. She could already tell there was something wrong.
"Morning, sunshine," she muttered to the corpse.
She reached for the voice recorder.
"Case file 234-8. Subject: Male, age estimated 27. Found near Port de Grenelle. Initial visuals suggests signs of struggle . Cause of death: unknown. Beginning Y incision.
With practiced calm, she picked up the scalpel and sliced through skin and tissue. The blade moved like a paintbrush in her hand-efficient, clinical. She peeled back the layers, exposing muscle and bone. No flinching. No hesitation.
"No significant fat deposits. Muscular build. Several contusions—two on the left ribcage, one on the temple"
She paused.
There was a thin red line circling his neck. Not deep enough to be a garrote. No rope burn. Something thinner. Cleaner.
She moved in closer.
"Ligature marks around the throat, but inconsistent with common strangulation patterns. Could be wire....or fishing line?"
The moment she opened the chest cavity, she smelled it.
Burned flesh.
Lila's face hardened.
"Pericardium intact. Trachea shows soot possible inhalation"
She paused again, inspecting the lungs. Charred.
"Cause of death: smoke inhalation. But the exterior shows no fire trauma... Interesting."
There was something else. Something lodged deep under the sternum. She gently reached in with forceps and extracted it—a small metal tag. Flat. Blackened at the edges, but with a faint engraving.
Corvus.
Her heartbeat picked up. She knew that name.
That name was affiliated with the Shadows.
Her fingers gripped the tag too tightly for a second. She made herself release it.
"Foreign object retrieved from thoracic cavity. Metal, engraved. Possible signature. Marking: 'Corvus'. Submitting for further analysis".
She sealed up the body like nothing happened, wiping sweat from her brow even though the room was kept just above freezing. Her gloves were slick.
Her mind wasn't on the corpse anymore. It was on the meaning of that single, blackened tag. The Shadows were never sloppy. They didn't leave calling cards. Not unless they wanted her to find it.
She stepped away from the table, removed her gloves, and stared down at the steel tray that now held that single word-Corvus.
Like a warning.
Or an invitation.
Later that afternoon...
Lila stood under the cold lights of the pathology lab, the hum of the fluorescent bulbs buzzing faintly above her. The stainless steel table before her gleamed with sterile promise, and the body that lay on it—young male, early thirties—was already prepped for examination. She adjusted her gloves and sighed.
"You look like you went a few rounds with a cement wall" her colleague, Dr. Noura Bisset, joked as she leaned against the counter, jotting notes into a chart. "Don't tell me that's a new skincare routine."
Lila smirked without looking up. "You should see the cement"
Noura snorted. "I say this with love—one day those bruises will catch up to your pretty face."
"I'll pencil in regret for Friday," Lila muttered, stepping toward the table.
She focused, her world narrowing to her work. With her scalpel in hand, she made a steady incision across the chest cavity. Not too deep, not too shallow—she was precise, methodical, and clinical, as always. This was her peace.
As she peeled back the layers, she noticed a faint tattoo on the left ribcage. Odd placement. It was faded and only partially visible due to scarring, but she recognized the jagged edges—it looked eerily similar to the crescent symbol she'd seen scratched onto the lady's arm earlier today. The same symbol that was linked to the Shadows.
Her pulse ticked up. Coincidence?
"Noura." she called out, her voice tight but controlled, "what do we know about this one?"
Noura walked over, flipping through the tablet. "No ID. Found dumped behind Le Miroir Club this morning. Broken wrist, bruised knuckles. Definitely a fight before he died. Weird part? No defensive wounds. Almost like he didn't fight back."
" When did he come in?"
" A while after the drowned one."
Lila frowned " Which one?"
" You were out for lunch then. Renè took care of it"
Lila nodded as she leaned closer, brushing the dried blood aside with a gloved hand. There was something tucked into the lining of his jacket—overlooked in the preliminary check. She used forceps to pull it free.
A folded piece of paper.
Again.
Blood-specked, but intact.
She unfolded it. A name. A date. And a location.
Her name.
Her eyes narrowed. The breath in her lungs thickened like smoke. This wasn't just another body.
"Bag the tattooed skin section," she instructed. "And keep this between us for now."
"You got it," Noura said, instantly catching the change in Lila's tone. She didn't ask questions.
Lila removed her gloves and tossed them in the bin. Her gaze lingered on the paper.
The message was clear. They were watching.
She would find out who sent it—and why.
But first, she had a job to finish.
Lila picked up the scalpel again, steadier than before. This time, her mind wasn't just on the body.
It was on the war she didn't ask for—but was now neck-deep in.
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