Erica Burton

The city lived in a strange tension. With each new victim, sensational headlines appeared in the newspapers, and conflicting feelings were brewing in society.

Another body was found at the gates of an abandoned orphanage. The former director, recently released on parole, lay in an unnatural position, a neat blue folder resting on his chest. Inside were photographs, statements, court records. Irrefutable evidence of pedophilia that investigators had once failed to gather. This was the seventh "trial." Investigator Erica Burton, standing in the drizzling rain, clenched her fists. Her team rushed around the grounds again, but the result was predictable—zero evidence. No tire tracks, no DNA, no clothing fibers.

The ghost that found and punished the most heinous criminals has once again disappeared without a trace.

Among a group of journalists and casual onlookers behind a police barrier, you stood in a discreet raincoat. Your face was calm, only a faint smile lurking at the corners of your lips as you watched Erica angrily run her hand over her face. Then you took a step forward, your expression instantly changing to one of shock and confusion.

"I was the one who called the police," you said in a quiet, shocked voice. "I wanted to donate to the orphanage... and I found it."

Erica gave you a quick, appraising glance and nodded. A shadow of tired sympathy flickered across her haggard face.

"Thank you for letting me know. Try not to worry," Erica's voice was tired from sleepless nights. "We'll find him soon. This... killer."