Chapter 5

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Pressure and Shadows

The precinct briefing room buzzed with quiet tension. Miguel skimmed the files in his lap, but his mind was elsewhere—already bracing for what lay ahead. Then the door swung open.

Every head turned.

Captain Reyes stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp as glass. He didn't need words to command the room; the city's unrest clung to him like a shadow.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and even. "I'm Captain Reyes. I'll be leading this investigation moving forward. The city's rattled. People want answers. We don't have the luxury of silence—transparency isn't a choice. It's a requirement."

He paced slowly, locking eyes with each officer—measuring their will, fear, and resolve.

"This isn't just about cracking the case," he continued. "It's about restoring trust. The clock's already ticking. I expect regular updates. No delays. No excuses."

The room tensed. A quiet shift passed through it—part nerves, part resolve. Officers glanced at each other, some with furrowed brows, others giving the smallest of nods. Miguel felt a knot settle deep in his chest.

Reyes stopped pacing, folding his hands behind his back. "If we don't take control of the narrative, the public and the press will. And what they build out of silence will be far worse than the truth. We don't let that happen."

Miguel's eyes found Emily's across the room. She held his gaze, steady and serious. No need for words—he understood. This wasn't just their case anymore. Whatever pressure they'd felt before, it was about to double.

As Reyes stepped toward the door, he paused, his final words quiet but sharp enough to linger.

"We're not chasing shadows anymore," he said. "We're racing the clock."

The door shut behind him.

And for a moment, no one spoke. The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy. Something had shifted. The stakes had changed.

***

Hours later, after the briefing dissolved into hours of chasing leads, Miguel and Emily found themselves deeper in the city's underbelly—following half-spoken rumors of occult rituals and hidden sects tied to the gruesome string of murders.

Back at the precinct, their desk was a chaotic mess of files—photos of carved symbols, ritual markings, and cryptic ancient references—painting a darker picture than Miguel expected.

During a tense interview with a nervous informant about strange figures near the abandoned cathedral, Emily leaned close to Miguel and whispered.

"You haven't stopped since we took the case. I'm worried about you. You're burning yourself out."

Miguel didn't look at her. His fingers tapped lightly on the corner of a file. "I'm fine. We're close. I can feel it."

She held his gaze, steady but concerned. "I know how much this matters. But it feels like you're chasing something more than just a killer."

He let out a faint, tired smile. "We have to keep going. The city's watching. And with Reyes breathing down our necks, there's no margin for error."

Her eyes drifted briefly to the thin scar near his temple—something he'd never talked about. A quiet reminder that some battles weren't just on the streets.

Later that night, alone in the dim glow of the precinct, Miguel stood in front of the case board. Lines connected victims, symbols, and locations—patterns that only he seemed to see, threads pulled tight by an unseen hand.

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