The cell phone rings and vibrates, lost amidst the piles of documents, photos, and folders scattered across the worn wooden table. The surface was stained with coffee, dark circles overlapping each other, old reminders of sleepless nights and hasty decisions. The device vibrates to its limit, then falls silent. For a second, the room breathes again.

And then it plays again.

A low groan escapes the man sprawled on the sofa beside him. He turns his face against the cushion, annoyed, as if the sound had passed through his skull instead of echoing in the air. With an impatient movement, he pushes some papers off the table – photos slip, a folder falls to the floor – until he finally finds his cell phone.

He answers without looking at the screen.

“What?”

The voice on the other end is low, too professional for that time of day.

“Jax, we found another one.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and scratches slowly, an old habit that always came whenever his thoughts started racing too fast.

“Where?”

“Near the dam.”

Silence. Just a second. Enough for the word to settle in the chest like something heavy.

“I’m going.”

He ends the call before hearing any further details.

With a hoarse groan of exhaustion, Jax sits up on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees. He runs a hand over his face, dragging the sleepiness along with it, then gets up. His body protests; everything about him always seems a little too stiff, and as he stretches, he cracks his neck with a sharp movement.

He walks to the table, picks up the nearly empty pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He pauses for a moment, staring at the cup of cold coffee that’s been there for who knows how long. He grimaces, pushes the cup aside, and sticks the cigarette behind his ear.

Another body.

Another early morning.

Another mistake that someone was still going to try to explain.

Jax didn’t need details to know that that day wouldn’t end well either.

Leaving the room that used to serve as his break room, a space that smelled of stale coffee and accumulated fatigue, Jax walks to his own desk in search of his car keys. He stops halfway.

Almost all the police officers on the floor, from different teams, were standing motionless, their eyes glued to the television mounted high on a pillar. The image looked the same as it had since dawn. The same framing. The same voice.

The presenter appeared impeccable, with perfect makeup and a posture too firm for someone narrating the fears of others. She spoke with that rehearsed calm of someone trained not to sound alarmist, even when everything was already out of control.

“The government has adopted new protection measures throughout the city in response to the progress of the investigations into the serial killer known as ’The Reaper.’ More cameras are being installed in critical areas, patrols have been intensified, and in some regions, a temporary curfew has been established to ensure the safety of the population…”

The screen alternated between her face and images of empty streets, police cars passing by too slowly, sirens echoing in the distance. A city forcibly contained.

“The police are asking citizens to remain calm and cooperate with the authorities.”

Jax exhaled briefly through his nose. He brought his hand to the back of his neck and scratched slowly, his gaze fixed on the TV, his jaw clenched. Every word from that woman seemed to confirm what he already knew: things had gone too far hours ago.

“A serial killer is only classified as such when more than three murders occur,” Andy comments, breaking the silence. His arms are crossed, his feet resting too casually on the table. “The fourth body has just been found. How does this guy already have a name?”

“Come on, Andy…” another police officer replies, standing with his eyes glued to the screen. “It’s like you don’t know the media. These vultures are too fast.”

Andy tilts his head, still dissatisfied.

“Still… the police chief didn’t even organize a press conference to discuss the cases.”

Jax finally moves. He reaches for the keys on the table, the metal clinking softly.

“Then find out who leaked the information.” His voice is dry and impatient. “Some son of a bitch is talking. Find out who it is.”

He was already walking away when a voice called him.

“Are you going to the new scene?”

Jax doesn’t look back.

“Yeah…”

He reaches into his coat pocket, feeling the pack of cigarettes there. The temptation is automatic.

“Be alert, Jay. I might need you.”

Jay simply nods, hands in his pockets, his gaze still fixed on the television, as if expecting some kind of response from there.

Jax continues towards the exit.

The rising sun wasn’t yet strong enough to bring any warmth, but at least the rainy season was far from beginning. The police station, situated on a slope near a wooded park, was usually cooler than the rest of the city, and in the early morning hours, the wind could be cold, cutting enough to pierce through a shirt.

He crosses the nearly empty parking lot without slowing down.

Jax’s car occupied the parking spot closest to the entrance: an old pickup truck, its burgundy paint faded and marked by time. He never accepted using the standard police car – a sedan that, according to him, didn’t accommodate his height in a minimally decent way. Not that he was exactly too tall. He was 1.88m, although he insisted on rounding it up to 1.90m whenever he could, more out of stubbornness than precision. Deep down, the reason was simple: Jax liked space. And he liked comfort. The pickup truck gave him both without apology.

He opens the door, goes in, and slams it shut a little harder than necessary.

Inside, he cranks the still-manual window cranks, letting the cold air flood in. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lights one, and with the first drag, feels his body sag an inch. He holds the cigarette between his lips while he fastens his seatbelt, adjusts the rearview mirror, and attaches the magnetic siren to the roof of the car. He turns the device on, but keeps the sound off. He didn’t want to attract attention. Not yet.

The dam was on the other side of town, far enough away from any residential area and, most importantly, far from onlookers. Jax engages the gear and drives off without looking back.

Halfway there, he decided to take the dirt road that bordered the forests on the outskirts of town. It was a route without signs, without lighting, and officially discouraged. For Jax, this only meant less traffic. He would save at least an hour on the journey.

The car jolts as it enters the uneven road. He puts his hand to the back of his neck and scratches it, his gaze fixed ahead, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Ignoring traffic laws has always been a terrible habit. A terrible example of police force.

Jax never cared much about that.

He pressed harder on the accelerator, leaving the city behind as the forest began to close in around the road, too quiet for that time of day.

The forest blurred past the open windows, and faster than Jax expected, he was back on the main road. The rusty sign announced the dam a few kilometers away. He pressed the accelerator a little harder.

Ten minutes later, the pickup truck was already haphazardly parked, and Jax got out of the car, adjusting his corporation badge around his neck as he crossed the yellow tape stretched between two crooked cones.

“You’re a mess, man…”

“Still more handsome than you, Kai.”

Malakai let out a short laugh and handed over a cup of coffee. The steam rising from the air was almost comforting.

“They just brought some.” He makes a vague gesture with his head. “I saved one for you. You need it.”

Jax accepts the cup without thanking him. He takes a long, overly hot sip, but doesn’t complain. He never complained about coffee.

Malakai was already walking towards the forensics team.

“It was one of the dam workers who found the body.” He slowed his pace, turned sideways, and pointed with his chin. “Mike. He was finishing his shift when he saw it.”

Jax mirrored the gesture. A middle-aged man, pale and overly so, was talking to a police officer. His hands trembled slightly, his eyes fixed on some undefined point ahead, as if he were still seeing something that no one else could see.

“Hey, Kate!” Malakai calls. “Jax’s here.”

“Hey, Jax!” Kate approaches with a half-smile, but stops before any greeting. The dirt-stained gloves were explanation enough. “Nothing new. Same old modus operandi.”

She points over her shoulder.

“Naked body. Blood completely drained. No signs of attack other than a single clean cut on the chest.”

“Everything is in perfect order, except for the absence of blood…” Malakai finishes, his expression now serious. “No security cameras. No witnesses.”

“And not a trace of that son of a bitch…” Jax growled, rubbing the back of his neck and scratching hard. “Have they confirmed his identity yet?”

“Not yet.” Kate shakes her head. “No documents with the victim. We collected fingerprints. Awaiting a response from the system.”

“Hm…” Jax replies more with his throat than with his mouth.

He steps back, walking slowly around the body. He observes the precise cut, the position of the limbs, the earth slightly sunken under the dead weight. Everything seemed… too familiar. Like a scene repeated too many times to remain a coincidence.

Another empty body where there should be blood.

Jax takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze fixed on the corpse, the unsettling feeling that he wasn’t just hunting a killer, but chasing something that always seemed to be one step ahead.

Jax looked around, absorbing the surroundings with forced attention. The dark water of the dam seemed too still, the air heavy with a silence that didn’t match the movement of the forensic team a few meters behind. It was the fourth body found in three months.

He wasn’t the only one who wanted answers.

The nights had become a succession of sleepless nightmares – faces I didn’t recognize, shattered families, voices demanding justice, threatening, pleading. It always ended the same way: another body. And, worse, no concrete leads. Nothing that could be firmly established.

“The boss called. He’s calling us back.”

Malakai’s voice pulls him back to the present.

Jax turns his face away and stares at his partner.

“Did something happen?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

Jax simply nods and starts walking towards the pickup truck. Malakai follows him, his steps too calm for someone who had just come from a scene like that.

“How did you get here so fast?” Jax asks, opening the car door.

“I was reviewing the previous autopsy reports with Kate when she got the call.” Malakai shrugs. “I called you several times, just so you know.”

“I was dead out.”

“Nothing new about that.” Malakai sighs lightly. “When are you going to learn to take care of yourself, man? You’re killing yourself like this...”

“That’s my problem.”

The response is automatic. The end.

Malakai shakes his head, as if he had expected that, and decides to change the subject before confronting him.

“I think we should review the previous cases more carefully. Something might have been overlooked…” he frowns slightly. “There has to be something in common between these victims.”

Jax slams the door shut and walks around the car, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yes. The madness of the killer.”

Malakai lets out a short, humorless laugh.

“Come on, Jax. Every crazy thing has a reason. Even when it seems too irrational.” He rests a hand on the roof of the pickup truck. “No killer chooses victims completely at random.”

“This one chooses.”

Malakai clicks his tongue, tilts his head, his gaze distant for a second – as if something beyond words were bothering him.

“I still think there’s something we’re not seeing.”

Jax gets into the car without answering. He starts the engine, the harsh sound breaking the silence around the dam.

He didn’t believe in intuition. But, for some reason, that phrase stuck with him more than it should have.