The blinds in Director Adebayo’s office filtered the sunlight into thin golden bars that cut across the desk. Lena and Hayes sat quietly across from her, their chairs stiff and unforgiving, as the Director silently turned page after page of Lena’s freshly filed report. The only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of paper.

If Adebayo had any reaction to the bizarre account she was reading, she didn’t show it. Her face was an impenetrable mask, professional to the point of being unnerving. When she finally looked up, her dark eyes locked onto Lena’s.

“This suspect you’ve named ‘The Shroud,’” Adebayo began, her voice cool, “you’re telling me he wasn’t the original killer? Do you know that for certain, or is this an assumption?”

The question made Lena’s stomach twist, but she straightened her shoulders, refusing to shrink under the Director’s gaze. “There’s no conceivable way Shroud was the original killer. For one thing, he could see me, speak to me. And the mask he wore—it was outfitted with advanced tech, something that distorted his voice. I guarantee he wasn’t the original killer.”

The silence that followed stretched thin. Finally, Adebayo leaned back in her leather chair, smirk tugging faintly at her lips. She tossed the report onto the desk like it was yesterday’s newspaper.

“I figured you would say something like that. It’s unfortunate you couldn’t bring him in—or even learn his true identity—but…” She folded her arms and laced her fingers together. “You did well. Finding out how the victim died, proving there was indeed a witness… That alone moves the needle. But it does raise a troubling question.”

Her hand rose to her chin, cupping her jaw and tapping it as she thought aloud. “Why did the witness never come forward?”

Nina’s anguished cries echoed in Lena’s memory, sharp and painful. She swallowed hard. “She might have been too scared. Maybe she thought he’d come back and finish the job if she said anything to the police.”

“Ah.” Adebayo’s voice softened, just barely. “Yes. I suppose she couldn’t have known.” She let the thought linger, then exhaled and leaned back again. “It's unfortunate, but this case will just have to stay on the shelf until we can bring this… ‘Shroud’ into custody.”

Hayes sighed like he already knew where this was going. “That can’t be all you wanted to see us for though, right? Let me guess. Another case?” Adebayo’s lips curled. “Correct.”

The two agents exchanged a wary glance. Hayes, already looking exhausted, ran a hand down his face. “So soon? Boss, with all due respect, are you just eager to offload every dusty cold case file we have onto our newbie here? As her partner, I feel obligated to say this is—”

He cut himself off when Adebayo leaned back, elbows perched on her chair’s arms. She tapped her index fingers together, crimson nails catching the light—the gesture was subtle, but paired with the ice in her eyes, it was enough to make Hayes clamp his jaw shut. He coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“I’ll shut up now, ma’am,” he muttered like a scolded schoolboy.

Adebayo’s smile spread broad and satisfied. “Good.” Her eyes flicked to Lena, suddenly warm, almost maternal. “Now, Miss Cross, are you well enough for another assignment? I heard you collapsed after returning yesterday so if you need another day, it’s perfectly fine to say no.”

The switch in tone made Lena’s chest tighten with conflicted feelings. Hayes, on the other hand, groaned. “Unbelievable. You bully me and treat her like a prized pet? Seven years, Boss. Seven years of grunt work. Do you even value—”

Both women ignored him.

“I’m feeling up to it, Director,” Lena said firmly, offering a small but steady smile. “A full day of rest did wonders.”

“Good to hear.” Adebayo mirrored her smile before reaching into a bottom drawer. She produced a thick, dust-covered folder and dropped it onto the desk with a heavy thump. A plume of dust rose into the air, sending all three of them into a brief coughing fit.

“Man,” Hayes wheezed, waving his hand. “Where’d you dig that relic up, Boss?”

“Another branch gave it to us. A long time ago.” A wistful expression flickered across Adebayo’s face. “The previous Director must’ve had a soft spot for it.”

Lena leaned forward, determination sparking in her eyes. “Then I’ll do my best to solve it.”

She flipped open the file, skimming the brittle pages. A chill slid down her spine as the victims’ details leapt off the paper. Five women, ages nineteen to thirty. Their deaths shared no obvious thread. One suffocated in her apartment, bedsheets knotted around her throat. Another strangled in an alley, a coil of rope abandoned nearby. Others killed differently, each case brutal but distinct.

Her brow furrowed. “Wait… There doesn’t seem to be a pattern. How were they so sure all five were connected?”

Adebayo’s smirk returned, sharp as a knife. She laced her hands together and leaned forward. “Because of the evidence at the scenes. Samples were tested back in 2000. They didn’t match anyone at the time, but when compared to each other—” she snapped her fingers, “—perfect match.”

Lena’s eyes dropped back to the pages. Victims’ names lined the file in neat, damning print: Carolyn Myers. Angela Ruiz. Theresa Walker. Diana Cole. Jennifer Henley. And at the bottom of a yellowed newspaper clipping, the headline screamed the name that tied them all together.

The Butcher of Asheville.

Lena closed the file, her jaw set with quiet resolve. “I’ll do my best to bring these women the justice they deserve.”

To be continued…