Shattered Illusion

-III-

"In the shadows of shattered illusions, desire finds solace in anonymity, where the hidden self can whisper its secrets and reclaim fragments of forgotten dreams."
—

Chapter 3

DEATH IS HER BEAT. RHIANNON STEELE made a living from it. Forge her professional reputation on it. She treats it with the passion and precision of an undertaker — somber and sympathetic about it when she's with the bereaved, a skilled craftsman with it when she's alone. She's always thought the secret to dealing with death was to keep it at arm's length. That's the rule. Don't let it breathe in your face.

Yet, her rule had failed to protect her this time. In the opulent theater, an unsettling silence hung in the air, accompanied by an acrid scent of blood. Elongated shadows that danced malevolently, casting an eerie ambiance. Detectives Rhiannon Steele and Damion Noir stood transfixed by the lifeless body of Lily Morgan, a haunting presence that served as a chilling reminder of the depths of human nature. The commotion that had diverted their attention earlier is now a distant memory, replaced by the grim reality of a murder scene. Crimson footprints trailed across the floorboards, disappearing into the shadows of the wings. Her gaze trailing the erratic path of red prints. They swerved and stumbled, as if the victim had run through the darkness, desperately searching for an escape.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

The trail ended in a crumpled form sprawled against the wall, limbs bent at impossible angles. Rhiannon moved closer, swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat.

With measured caution, Rhiannon sank into a crouch beside the lifeless form. Apart from the haunting words etched into the victim's flesh, her attention fixated on the savage wound that tore across Lily's throat. The jagged edges spoke of violence and brutality, leaving an indelible mark on her. A ragged gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. The amount of blood... there was no way Lily could have survived.

"Steele," Damion's voice rumbled behind her, a soothing balm against her frayed nerves. "The coroner's on his way."

Rhiannon nodded, afraid to speak for fear she might retch.

Damion's hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "You a'ight?" His eyes were soft with concern, seeing far too much as always.

"Adequate," she rasped, swallowing hard. "Just...processing."

"I know." His hand slid down her arm, fingers entwined with hers. The warmth of his touch and steadfast presence eased the churning in her gut. Rhiannon took a deep breath, steeling herself as she looked at Lily's body once more.

They had a sadistic killer to catch.

Rhiannon's gaze swept through the grand theater, searching for anything out of place. Her eyes landed on a stack of items in the far corner, partially obscured by a heavy velvet curtain.

"There." She inclined her head toward the corner. "See that?"

Damion peered into the shadows, brow furrowing. "Looks like photos. And papers of some kind."

"We'll need to process those for evidence." Rhiannon pulled a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket, snapping them on. "Might be a clue to our killer's identity in there."

"You think it's personal?" Damion asked, watching as she carefully sifted through the items.

"Hard to say." She plucked a weathered photograph from the stack, staring at the image of a man with a charming smile and kind eyes. "But there are too many questions surrounding Lily's death to rule anything out yet."