The precinct was quieter than usual. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, but something in the air felt wrong.
Nobody spoke much. Nobody trusted much.
Hale sat behind his desk, staring at the board on the wall, three faces, three smiles. Allison. Claire. Lydia. Each one pinned beside a thin red thread. None of the lines connected.
Ruiz dropped two cups of coffee beside him. "You look like hell."
"Feels about right," Hale said. "The chief called?"
"Yeah," Ruiz replied. "He's losing patience. Said if there's no lead by next week, he'll bring in federal assistance."
Hale exhaled through his teeth. "Meaning we're out."
Ruiz nodded once. "Meaning you're out."
The words hung between them. Hale rubbed his temples, the ache behind his eyes refusing to fade. "You think he's right?"
Ruiz sighed. "I think you need sleep. And maybe less whiskey."
Before Hale could answer, Sammie walked in. Calm, too calm. "Chief wants a progress report. And Hale...." he paused, folding his arms, "....he wants you to cooperate fully. No more working solo."
Hale's jaw flexed. "You following me now?"
"Just making sure you don't miss anything."
Ruiz's eyes shifted between them. "Don't start this again."
But the tension didn't move.
Threads Unraveling
Hours later, Hale stared at the board again, eyes moving between the photos and the evidence tags.
Every victim. Every time. The letters always came at intervals, three days apart.
The word time wasn't just taunting. It was mapping something.
He reached for his notepad, scribbling timestamps, aligning events, when a knock sounded.
"Detective Hale?"
He looked up. Dr. Paul stood in the doorway, holding a file. That same gentle, polite smile. That same red-and-gold watch catching the light.
"Thought I'd drop off the official autopsy details," Paul said. "And maybe check how you're holding up."
Hale gave a tired half-smile. "You always seem to show up when I need clarity."
"Coincidence, maybe," Paul said. "Or timing."
They shared a faint chuckle, one that faded too quickly.
Paul set the file down. "You'll figure this out, Hale. You always do."
When he left, Hale looked at the clock on the wall.....11:11 PM. The second hand twitched like it was nervous too.
Sammie's Shadow
Elsewhere in the parking lot, Sammie leaned against his car, watching the windows above. He was on the phone.
"Yeah," he murmured. "He's talking to the doctor again. Same guy. Same pattern."
A pause.
"No. No proof yet. But something's off. The killer contacts Hale, the doctor shows up, and we get another body. I'm not ignoring that."
He hung up, staring through the windshield at Hale's office light still glowing.
Pressure Rising
The next morning, Chief Marlon called Hale into his office. His tone was clipped, formal.
"You're losing control of your team, Hale. Ruiz covers for you, Sammie questions you, and the press is making you their headline."
"I'm doing my job."
"You're doing it alone. That's not the same thing."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"Then prove it," the Chief snapped. "Find me a suspect or I'll hand this to the Bureau. And you can hand me your badge."
Hale stood there, jaw locked. For the first time in years, he didn't argue.
Breaking Point
That night, Hale sat in his car outside the precinct. The rain came in soft sheets, streaking the windshield like blurred tears. He could see the reflection of the city lights on the wet street ...cold and endless.
Inside the car, silence pressed in tight.
Three girls. Three letters. One detective the killer wouldn't stop watching.
Hale's hands trembled slightly. For the first time, he wondered if he'd already lost.....if the killer was inside the case, the station, maybe even his own head.
The passenger door opened. Ruiz slipped in, soaked and silent.
"You didn't go home," Ruiz said quietly.
Hale shook his head. "Couldn't. Every time I close my eyes, I see them."
Ruiz's voice softened. "We'll find him. But not like this."
Hale looked at him. "You ever think maybe we're not supposed to?"
Ruiz frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Every clue he gives us… it leads nowhere. It's like he wants us chasing ghosts." Hale turned to the window, the city a blur of color and rain. "And maybe that's all we are now, ghosts in someone else's game."
Ruiz didn't answer. There was nothing left to say.
Outside, thunder rolled .... deep, distant, like a warning.
Inside, the clock on the dash blinked 12:00 AM.
And somewhere in the city, another watch ticked the same time.