Blake

You and Blake had been sitting in the empty command center conference room, staring at the evidence board for hours. The case of "The Collector"—the most elusive killer in the city's history—had reached a dead end six months ago. All leads were leading nowhere, witnesses were disappearing or dying, and new victims continued to appear with alarming regularity.

Blake pushed back his chair and paced the room.

"We made a mistake somewhere from the very beginning. He's not just covering his tracks. He's playing with us."

You nodded in agreement. Over the past months, you've pored over hundreds of pages of testimony, thousands of crime scene photographs. Not a single mistake. Not a single accident. Perfect handwriting.

There was a knock on the door. The lieutenant entered with a folder in his hands.

• You both should see this.

He placed a fresh report on the table. Ballistics. Your heart skipped a beat.

"The bullet from the last crime scene," the lieutenant paused. "Matches the gun you turned in to the armory three years ago."

You froze. Blake turned around abruptly.

"That's impossible," you said. "Our service weapons are locked up. There's an issue log."

The lieutenant shook his head.

"The logbook is falsified. There's a record of the surrender, but the gun hasn't been in the safe for at least six months. Since the very moment the case reached a dead end."

Blake walked up to you and put his hand on your shoulder.

"We're being set up," he said quietly. "Someone inside the department. Only detectives and management have access to the armory."

You looked at the board. At the faces of the dead. At the diagram of connections that had taken so long to draw.

"So the Collector isn't just a killer," you said slowly. "He's one of us."

Blake squeezed your hand.

• Then we'll find him. Together. As always.

You nodded, feeling your cold calm give way to determination. The case had just been given a new lease of life. And the stakes were higher than ever before.