The warehouse smelled of dust, paint, and something far worse. The scent of old blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The place was dimly lit, the weak daylight filtering through the high windows casting long shadows across the concrete floor.

Emery’s eyes fell on the dark stain in the center of the room—the place where the victim had died.

The details were already in the case file.

• Victim: Isaac Hale, 35. A well-known sculptor.
• Cause of death: Brutal torture before execution.
• Scene: Tied to a chair in his own workspace. No signs of forced entry.
• Family: Wife (Omega, 30, a teacher) and son (Alpha, 9). Both were out of town when it happened.

There were no witnesses. No obvious enemies. Just a dead man and a crime scene that spoke of calculated cruelty.

Callum crossed his arms. “Tell me what you see.”

Emery stepped forward, studying the space carefully. He took in the overturned chair, the scattered tools, the walls lined with half-finished sculptures. The air felt… wrong.

He walked closer to the scene, his gaze sharp.

“The victim was restrained,” Emery said, his voice steady. “That means the killer wanted time. They weren’t in a rush.”

Callum said nothing, just watching.

“The injuries suggest prolonged torture. This wasn’t just about killing him—it was about making him suffer.” He turned slightly, eyes sweeping over the ground. “No forced entry. That means the victim either let the killer in willingly or was ambushed by someone he knew.”

Emery knelt, inspecting the floor. Dried blood spattered outward from the chair, but something caught his eye—cleaner patches among the mess.

“The killer moved around him a lot,” he noted. “But some areas are wiped clean. Maybe they took something with them.” His gaze shifted to the nearest workbench. “The tools—there’s dust buildup on most of them, except for a few.” He pointed. “Those were used recently. Maybe even during the murder.”

Callum gave a slow nod, still unreadable.

Emery continued. “The chair—the restraints are leather, likely from his own studio. That means the killer used what was available rather than bringing their own. It suggests either an impulsive act or someone who knew what they’d find here.”

Then, he noticed something else. The wall behind the chair had faint indentations, barely noticeable under the dim lighting. His brows furrowed.

“He struggled,” Emery murmured, running his fingers lightly over the marks. “He fought hard.”

There was silence.

Then Callum moved, walking over to a metal table against the far wall. He tapped a finger against the edge. “Not bad.”

Then he pointed downward.

Emery followed his gaze. At first, he saw nothing. But then—

Faint scratches. Deep grooves in the concrete, right next to the table’s leg.

Something had been moved.

And not just anything. A heavy object.

Emery’s stomach clenched. “A missing sculpture.”

Callum smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Emery bit back his frustration. He should’ve caught that earlier.

“The missing piece—” he started.

“Could be important. Or just stolen,” Callum said. “But you didn’t even notice it.” His tone was lazy, mocking. “For someone who’s supposed to be a detective, that’s kind of pathetic.”

Emery clenched his jaw.

Callum clapped a hand on his shoulder, far too amused. “Better luck next time, Vanes.”

Emery forced a smile. “Next time, I’ll see it before you do.”

Callum just laughed.

The Unofficial Lunch Break

They drove in silence. Callum had refused to interview the victim’s family, shutting Emery down with a simple, “Follow me or quit the job.”

So here they were.

The diner was small, old-fashioned. The kind of place that smelled like burnt coffee and grease. Callum walked in like he owned the place, sliding into a booth without a word.

Emery sat across from him, still annoyed.

A waitress appeared.

“Bacon cheeseburger,” Callum said, not looking up. “No lettuce, no onions, no tomatoes. No sauce.”

The waitress blinked. “So… just meat, cheese, and bread?”

Callum grunted.

Emery raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re a picky eater.”

Callum ignored him.

Emery glanced at the menu before ordering. “I’ll have the special. And a side of fries.”

The waitress scribbled it down and left.

Callum leaned back, studying Emery. “You’re not what I expected.”

Emery tilted his head. “What did you expect?”

“A soft Omega trying to prove something.”

Emery smirked. “And now?”

Callum took a slow sip of water. “Still an idiot.”

Emery laughed. “Fair.”

The food arrived, and Emery ate without hesitation. Callum, on the other hand, inspected his burger like it was an active crime scene.

They were complete opposites.

And Callum still hadn’t accepted him as a partner.

As if to confirm it, Callum finally met Emery’s gaze. “I still don’t work with partners.”

Emery wiped his mouth, then leaned forward.

“You will.”

Callum raised an eyebrow.

Emery smiled. “Because I’ll make you say I was your best partner.”

Callum snorted. “We’ll see, rookie.”

But Emery wasn’t backing down.

He would prove himself. No matter what it took.

TBC....