The tires of Vanessa's patrol car came to a slow halt just outside the club, the flashing police lights reflecting off her windshield like ghostly sirens. The entire block was in chaos—barriers had been put up, yellow police tape flapped in the early morning breeze, and officers were scattered across the scene like chess pieces. Crime scene techs moved like silent shadows, gathering evidence with gloved hands and grim expressions.
Vanessa stepped out of the car, her boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette butts littered along the sidewalk. The sharp chill in the morning air hit her bare neck, and she tugged her uniform collar higher. As she walked toward the alleyway where the incident had taken place, her gut tightened with each step. There was something off—more than the usual aftermath of a gang brawl or street violence.
Then she reached it.
