Bound By Sin

BANG.

The town was enveloped in an unsettling quiet as midnight approached. The kind of quiet that made every creak, every distant rustle of wind, seem louder than it had any right to be. Nicholas sat in his small house, finally alone after days of staying at Genevieve's, unable to shake the unease that gnawed at him since returning home. His parents were dead—victims murder, and despite his usual resilience, being in the house alone stirred too many memories.

Elsewhere, Detective Blackwood and Detective Caldwell stood in an alleyway on the outskirts of town, their flashlights casting long, eerie shadows on the damp brick walls. The body before them, half-covered in a makeshift tarp, was fresh. The blood, still dark and glistening in the glow of their lights, made their stomachs twist in a way they hadn't felt since the first victim.

Caldwell stared down at the lifeless figure, her lips pressed into a tight line, her breath visible in the cool night air. "This one... it feels different," she muttered, crouching beside the body. "It's almost like the killer's escalating again. Like they're getting bolder."

Blackwood, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, paced a few feet away. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark as they swept over the scene. "It's because they know we're close," he said, his voice low but tense. "This one isn't random. Look at the placement—no attempt to hide it. The killer's taunting us."

Caldwell exhaled through her nose, her expression tight as she glanced over the body again. "But it's more than that. Look at the cuts, the way the throat's been slit. It's clean—like the other ones—but there's something personal here. You feel it, right?"

Blackwood stopped pacing, his gaze hardening as he studied the victim. The familiar method, the precision of the slashes... it all matched the killer's signature. But as Caldwell said, there was something different this time. He could sense it, like a thread pulling tighter around his gut.

He stepped closer, shining his flashlight over the victim's hand. Something glittered faintly, catching his eye. A bracelet. Not flashy, but distinct enough to be recognized.

His breath hitched. He knew that bracelet.

It belonged to Nicholas.

"Blackwood..." Caldwell's voice wavered slightly as she followed his gaze to the piece of jewelry. "That's... isn't that—"

"Yeah," he cut her off, his voice thick with tension. "Nicholas. He's been wearing that bracelet since his parents died. I saw it just the other day."

Caldwell stood up slowly, her mind racing. "Nicholas was at Genevieve's the last few nights. He only just went home today."

Blackwood's expression darkened. "So either the killer got to him tonight, or—"

"Or the killer is taunting us," Caldwell finished, her face paling as the weight of their realization sank in. "But why would Nicholas leave his bracelet behind? He wouldn't. This has to be planted."

Blackwood nodded, his thoughts spinning rapidly. "It's not just a coincidence. The killer's been watching them. Watching us. They know we've been pulling that group in for questioning over and over again. The killer's trying to make us think it's one of them."

Caldwell swallowed hard, her mind immediately going to the other members of the group—Genevieve, Isabella, Theodore, and Ashton. They had all been brought in for questioning nearly every day, and despite their frustrations, none of them had cracked under pressure. But now, with a piece of Nicholas found at the scene...

"You think it's one of them?" Caldwell's voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze locked on Blackwood. "The killer might actually be one of the kids?"

Blackwood didn't answer right away. His mind was still racing, thinking back to all the interviews, the strange tension between the group, the way Nicholas had withdrawn after his parents' deaths. He'd always chalked it up to grief, but what if there had been something darker lurking beneath?

"We can't jump to conclusions," Blackwood said finally, though his voice lacked conviction. "But we have to consider the possibility. It's starting to make sense—the connection between the murders and this group. The killer's leaving us breadcrumbs. Trying to point us in the direction they want us to go."

Caldwell rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion and frustration etched in every line. "If it's one of the kids, Blackwood, we've had them sitting right in front of us for weeks. And we've been playing right into the killer's hands. Maybe keeping them locked up slowed the murders because they couldn't get to each other."

Blackwood nodded grimly, staring down at the body one last time before taking a step back. "We can't tell them about this—not yet. If the killer is one of them, and we alert the group, we could force their hand. They'll panic, and we'll lose whatever advantage we might have."

"So what do we do?" Caldwell asked, frustration thick in her voice. "We can't just keep questioning them over and over without them realizing something's off."

Blackwood straightened, pulling out his phone to call the forensics team. "We keep doing exactly what we've been doing—questioning them, watching them. But now we do it more carefully. More deliberately. We don't tell them about this body. We don't tell them we found Nicholas' bracelet."

Caldwell's brow furrowed. "You really think one of them could be capable of this? After everything they've been through?"

Blackwood sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as the cold air nipped at his skin. "I don't know what to think anymore. But if we're wrong, we've been chasing shadows for weeks while the real killer slipped right under our noses."

The forensics team arrived quickly, setting up their equipment and beginning the grim work of documenting the scene. Blackwood and Caldwell stepped back, watching silently as the team moved efficiently.

After several long minutes, Caldwell spoke again, her voice low. "If it is one of them, and they find out we suspect them, they'll run. Or worse."

Blackwood's jaw clenched. "We won't let it get that far. We'll find proof before we move. If this killer is one of those kids, we'll need to act fast once we're certain. But right now, we need to keep our cards close."

As the last of the evidence was collected and the scene was sealed off, Blackwood glanced once more at the bracelet lying in the evidence bag. His stomach twisted again.

Nicholas. The quiet one. The one who had suffered the most, losing his parents early in the spree. Could he have turned into something darker, more dangerous? Or was he just the latest pawn in a twisted game the killer was playing with them all?

"We need to head back to the station," Blackwood said finally, turning away from the alley. "There's too much we still don't know. But if the killer is someone in that group, we need to be ready for anything."

Caldwell followed him to the unmarked car, casting one last glance back at the alley, her thoughts heavy. As they drove away into the foggy night, the questions only grew louder in her mind.

Was Nicholas the next victim? Or was he the one they had been hunting all along? Either way, the detectives knew one thing for certain: this case was far from over, and the next few days would determine everything.