“Victim number one: Rowan Whitaker.”

Malakai hangs the man’s photo on the large whiteboard near his and Jax’s desks. The picture is crooked for a second, until he carefully straightens it.

“Forty-two years old. Civil engineer. Divorced, no children.”

Jay appears right behind, holding a handful of smaller photos and some colored pins, and approaches the painting.

“Rowan worked for almost two decades on public and private projects.” He hangs the images around Whitaker’s face: blueprints, construction records, and an old photo from his work badge. “In recent years, he requested a transfer to smaller projects, far from major centers. He cited ‘exhaustion’.”

Jay makes air quotes.

His colleagues described him as methodical, quiet... the kind of person who always knows more than he lets on.

“Enemies?” Jax asks, leaning against the table, a half-empty cup of coffee in his hand.

“None that connect to the other victims,” Malakai replies. “At least, nothing documented.”

Jay walks over to the city map hanging next to the blackboard. He picks up a red peg and carefully plants it in the ground.

“Whitaker’s body was found right here.”

Jax leans forward slightly, observing.

“An old, abandoned construction site, on the edge of a secondary road that doesn’t show up on navigation apps,” Jay continues. “Officially, it doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“But the killer knew,” Malakai adds, too calmly.

“Some locals know the road…” Jay agrees. “The place was closed years ago after a partial landslide. No electricity, no cell phone signal, no cameras.”

“Perfect for spawning,” Jax remarks dryly.

“Exactly.” Jay points to one of the photos. “The body was found near an unfinished foundation. Partially covered by a torn tarp, as if someone had tried to hide it… but given up halfway through the process.”

Malakai crosses his arms, lost in thought.

“Which makes me believe that this was the first murder he ever committed.”

Jax frowns and turns his face toward him.

“Why?”

“Because you have hesitation there,” Malakai replies calmly. “An attempt to erase what was done, followed by abandonment. In the other cases, this doesn’t happen. Everything is cleaner. More decisive.”

He pauses briefly, his gaze fixed on the map.

“And something tells me there are more than just four victims.”

Jay lightly pats Malakai on the back, grinning crookedly.

“It’s great to have an oracle on the team. Even if one with somewhat rusty skills.”

Malakai gives a polite smile, clearly ignoring the provocation.

Jax shakes his head angrily.

“Does knowing there could be more victims make you happy?”

Jay raises his hands defensively.

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

“And I’m the bad guy here…” Jax grumbles, bringing his coffee cup to his lips.

A heavy silence settles in for a few seconds.

Jay opens his mouth to defend himself, but Malakai doesn’t even pay attention. He was already mentally turning the page, pulling another photo from the folder.

“Focus.” He approaches the painting again. “Second victim: Maeve Calloway.”

Hang the image next to the first one.

“Twenty-nine years old. Postgraduate student in Anthropology. Independent researcher. Single.”

“That one gave me chills back then,” Jay remarks, adding other photos around Maeve’s face: notebook pages, travel logs, a blurry photo taken from afar. “Maeve studied ancient rituals, regional folklore, oral traditions… that sort of thing.”

Jax crosses his arms, observing in silence.

“In recent months, she officially left the university,” Jay continues. “But she didn’t abandon research. She just decided to go it alone.”

“Ah, yes…” Malakai smiled slightly. “I remember your face well when we went into her room.”

Jay makes a face.

“You didn’t need to remind me.”

Malakai continues, now more seriously:

“At the time, the family reported that she seemed obsessed with a specific topic. She never explained what it was. She kept physical notebooks, refused to digitize any notes, and spent weeks visiting forgotten places: ruins, abandoned areas, sites officially considered ‘without historical value’.”

“A witch?” Jax asks bluntly.

Malakai nods, already anticipating the next line of reasoning.

“No. We investigated the entire lineage at the time. Nothing indicated witchcraft, nor direct descent.”

“And what about involvement?” Jax insists. “Was she getting involved with some witch or warlock?”

Jay shakes his head.

“Nothing. Few friends. All human. No boyfriend…” he pauses briefly. “Or girlfriend.”

He shrugs, as if handing over a detail without weight.

He turns to the map and picks up another red pin, searching for the right spot.

“The body was found here,” he carefully hammers in the pin. “In an old, ruined rural chapel, off the beaten tourist track, surrounded by dense forest.”

Jax looks at the map, scratching the back of his neck.

“Another place that doesn’t appear on recent maps. Known only to long-time residents of the region…”

“Not to mention that almost all of them have already passed away or moved away,” Malakai adds, his gaze too intent.

Jay crosses his arms.

“There were no clearly defined trails to the location. The body was inside the chapel, near the old altar. The ceiling had already partially collapsed.”

He exhales slowly.

“The case was eventually closed, cold, at the time. They said it was too isolated. Difficult to connect to anything else.”

Jax stares at the painting. Two faces. Two points on the map. Two places that didn’t want to be found.

“Elliot Harrington. Third victim.” Malakai positions the photo below the number three, adjusting it with almost excessive care. “Thirty-six years old. Financial analyst and corporate auditor. Married… but in the process of separating.”

“Amicable separation?” Jax asks, without taking his eyes off the printed face.

“Apparently,” Jay replies. “The wife was downcast when we spoke to her. Genuinely sad, not suspicious. I even considered the possibility of an extramarital affair, but I didn’t find anything. No strange messages, no unusual patterns.”

Malakai crosses his arms.

“Elliot was known for being overly meticulous. Absolute precision. The kind who wouldn’t let a single penny go out of place. And that made him… inconvenient.”

“The kind of person nobody likes to be around,” Jax murmurs.

“Exactly,” Malakai agrees. “In the months before his death, he officially requested time off due to stress. But he continued accessing files remotely. He couldn’t let go.”

Jax tilts his head, thoughtful.

“He might have some connection to Whitaker.”

Jay nods.

“I thought about that, too. A civil engineer and a financial auditor… it seemed promising. But their paths never crossed. They never worked together, never frequented the same circles. At least, nothing we could prove.”

“Yet.” Malakai points out.

Jay pulls out a folder and continues:

“We recovered conversations and records from his personal computer. Elliot suspected financial transactions involving land considered “of no commercial value.”

Jax frowns.

“Forgotten plots of land.”

“Exactly,” Jay confirms.

“He was found in a shed, wasn’t he?” Jax stands up and walks to the map on the wall. “Here…” he points to an area away from the other markings. “Far away from the others.”

“That’s it,” Jay says, approaching. “An old, abandoned industrial warehouse on the outskirts of town. The company that owned it went bankrupt more than ten years ago. The land has been in a legal dispute ever since, so nobody touches it. It just sits there… rotting away.”

“That’s what makes the place perfect,” Jax says.

“And preserved,” Malakai adds. “Unlike the flowerbed and the chapel. The rains have practically erased those scenes.”

Jay makes a vague gesture with his hand, pointing to the photos on the board.

“As in the other cases, there was no street lighting, cameras, or nearby residences. Just tall grass, rust, and cracked concrete. The body was in an interior room, without windows. Completely isolated.”

Jay grimaces at the memory.

The smell was unbearable at the time.

“Yeah...” Malakai sighs. “And it must be worse now.”

Jax continues staring at the map, the red pins forming a pattern too unsettling to be a coincidence.

“Three victims,” he says finally. “Three people who knew too much about places that nobody else cared to look at.”

Jay crosses his arms, trying to lighten the weight.

“When you talk like that, it almost sounds planned.”

Malakai glances at him.

“Because it probably is.” Jax scratches the back of his neck, his gaze still fixed on the map. “Any news from the forensics team on the identity of the fourth victim?”

“Here! With me!” Andy appears, almost tripping, breathless, his face red, a crumpled envelope held high like a trophy. “Holy shit… I’ve never run so fast in my life…”

He stops right in front of Jay and practically stamps the envelope on his chest.

“Julian… uh… Julian Ashcroft.”

Andy blinks a few times, clearly recalibrating his own system, drags a chair, and throws himself into it. Then he grabs a water bottle left on the table, certainly someone else’s, and empties half of it in seconds.

“I was snooping around for what you asked for… about who’s been gossiping…” he says between sips. “Then I bumped into Kate in the hallway… she was coming this way… but the detective pulled her back halfway, so…” he points with his chin to the envelope. “She sent this and said she’s already given us some information.”

Jay opens the envelope and spreads the photos and reports out on the table.

“Thirty-four years old. Freelance documentary photographer. Single.”

“Once again, an outlier,” Malakai observes.

“Yes and no,” Jax retorted, already holding his phone. His fingers slid quickly across the screen. “Look at his portfolio.”

He spins the device, showing images of abandoned dams, villages swallowed by water, and structures corroded by time and neglect.

“Forgotten places. Ignored,” Jax continues. “It seems he’s specialized in this. Isn’t he aligned with the other victims?”

Jay lets out a low whistle.

“Quite a lot.”

“Andy, see if-”

“If there’s any direct connection between the four of them,” Andy interrupts, already opening his laptop. “On it.”

Years of working together had this advantage: nobody needed to finish the sentence.

“Again, a place with no signal, no cameras, no recent record of visitors,” Jax comments, turning his eyes back to the painting. “Another pattern from this guy.”

“If you stop to think about it…” Malakai says calmly. “This killer is full of patterns.”

“And that doesn’t help at all.” Jax crosses his arms. “It just means more work. More layers. More hidden stuff.”

“If our oracle’s skills weren’t so rusty...” Jay teases, leaning towards Malakai. “Maybe we’d have a shortcut.”

This time, Malakai doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t argue back. He simply tilts his head, thoughtfully… and then smiles.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Give me about... five hours.”

Jax looks up, suspicious.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to the temple.”

Jay’s eyes widen for a split second... and then he bursts into laughter.

“Oh, no,” he shakes his head. “Are you going to say you expect the gods to whisper something in your ear?”

Malakai simply shrugs, already grabbing his coat.

“Why not?” he replies simply. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Nor the last.”

Jax watches Malakai walk away, his smile slowly fading.

Something about this ‘pattern’ was too close to making sense.