The Southern District was suffocating. The air felt too thick, too wrong, weighed down with smoke, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of rot. It clung to the crumbling buildings and clung to the people—people who'd long since given up pretending they could escape it. The sun could barely claw its way through the haze, and red-and-blue sirens flickered like dying embers on cracked pavement.
Detective Evelyn Nada's boots echoed sharply as she stepped out of her car. She squinted into the gloom, feeling the familiar weight of the city's decay pressing in on her. This wasn't her first corpse, and it wouldn't be her last. But something about this one felt different. Off.
A young officer approached, barely holding his composure. "It's bad, ma'am."
"Define bad," Evelyn muttered, ducking under the yellow tape.
She stopped, her breath catching in her throat.
The body lay in the center of the alley—headless, dressed in a blood-soaked gray coat, the fabric once fine now a grotesque display of crimson. He could've been stepping out of a ballroom, but instead, he was left like a piece of meat, discarded, his life drained from him in the most savage way imaginable. His head lay several feet away, his frozen, horrified eyes locked in a final, silent scream.
Evelyn's stomach churned, but her face didn't betray her. She crouched beside the corpse, examining the wounds—torn open, not sliced. The ribs had been ripped apart as though they were brittle bones in a child's toy. The heart was gone. Devoured.
"Who is he?" she asked, her voice low, controlled.
"Angelo Corvey," the officer said, his voice tinged with disgust. "Billionaire investor. Major donor to city campaigns. He's tied to everything. Construction, childcare foundations, you name it."
Evelyn stared at the mess of his body. "And yet he ends up like this… in a back alley."
The officer swallowed hard. "Doesn't make sense, does it?"
Evelyn scanned the scene, her mind sharp. This wasn't a robbery. No, this was something else.
"This isn't a mugging," she murmured, her gaze hardening. "It's a reckoning."
The young cop glanced nervously at her. "Do you think it's… him? The one they've been whispering about?"
Evelyn didn't answer right away. Instead, she rose, her eyes sweeping the surroundings—like the city itself was holding its breath. "I don't know. But whoever did this... they didn't do it for money or revenge. This was planned. It's methodical."
Another officer arrived, urgency in her voice. "Detective! There's a girl. Behind the store. She's alive."
Evelyn froze. "Show me."
They hurried around the building, stepping over scattered debris, into a dark, cramped storage space behind the store. Cardboard boxes were stacked against the walls, a half-hearted attempt to create a semblance of warmth. And there, curled beneath a dirty blanket, sat a little girl.
No older than eight. Her tattered party dress, once a symbol of innocence, was now stained with dirt and blood. Bruises marred her tiny arms, a shallow cut along her cheek. But it wasn't the physical damage that hit Evelyn the hardest—it was the hollowness in her eyes. Eyes too empty for a child her age.
Evelyn knelt carefully, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "Hey… I'm Detective Evelyn. You're safe now, okay? No one's going to hurt you."
The girl didn't speak.
Evelyn tried again, her voice as soft as she could make it. "What's your name?"
A breathless whisper. "Lina."
Evelyn's heart tightened. "Lina… were you with Angelo Corvey last night?"
The girl nodded once, trembling, her small body shaking like a leaf in the wind.
"Did he hurt you?"
A long, painful pause. Then a small, shaking "Yes."
Evelyn clenched her fists. "Do you know what happened to him?"
Lina's eyes flicked nervously toward the alley beyond the building. "He said he bought me. Said I was his now."
Evelyn's blood ran cold.
Lina pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "He took me here. Told me to stay quiet. Told me not to cry. He smelled like cigars and wine. He smiled all the time… even when he hit me."
The words cut through Evelyn like shards of glass.
"Then… he came."
"Who, sweetheart?" Evelyn asked, her voice a gentle coax, though her insides were beginning to freeze.
Lina's eyes were wide, haunted. "The man with the mask."
"Did he speak to you?"
Lina shook her head. "No. He just… looked. Just looked at me." She stopped, her voice barely a breath. "Then he walked past… and went to him."
Evelyn's breath caught. She forced herself to stay calm. "What happened next?"
Lina's voice trembled. "He dragged him into the alley. He didn't scream. Not once. Then… he took his heart. And ate it."
The world seemed to stop for a moment.
Evelyn's jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. Her mind whirled, cold and calculating.
Lina spoke again, her words almost too soft to hear. "He… he looked at me. Then he crouched down. He… patted my head."
Evelyn blinked in surprise. "He touched you?"
Lina shook her head quickly. "No. Just my hair. It was… gentle. Then he stood up… and disappeared into the smoke."
---
Back at the precinct, Evelyn stared at the case board, her fingers tapping against the frame, her mind a thousand miles away.
Photos of Corvey. News articles. His smiling face plastered all over the front pages. The philanthropist. The wealthy investor. The man who gave back to the community. None of it mentioned the dark corners of his life. None of it mentioned the children. The victims he'd buried in the shadows of his riches.
Marcus, her partner, walked in, his footsteps heavy. "You okay?"
Evelyn didn't look up. "No."
Marcus followed her gaze to the board. "So this... guy. You think it's real?"
Evelyn's fingers brushed the edges of the photo, her gaze hardening. "I think whoever did this didn't kill out of impulse. They killed with purpose."
Marcus leaned against the desk, his face creased with concern. "What kind of purpose ends with someone eating a heart?"
Evelyn met his gaze, her eyes steady but filled with an emotion she hadn't let surface before. "Retribution."
Marcus rubbed his face, his frustration palpable. "This city's sick, Evelyn. But if this guy's clearing out the rot…"
Evelyn turned sharply, her voice cold. "Don't romanticize it. He's not a hero. He's something else. Something darker."
Marcus nodded slowly, a shadow crossing his face. "And the girl?"
"She's safe. For now." Evelyn's voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. "But what kind of world do we live in, where a child only feels safe once her abuser is dead?"
Neither of them had an answer.
Evelyn grabbed a marker and scrawled across the whiteboard:
HE DOESN'T KILL FOR SPORT.
HE KILLS TO SEND A MESSAGE.
She stood back, staring at the words, her mind racing.
"He saw the rot. And he chose to cut it out."
Marcus frowned, his voice tense. "What if he keeps going?"
Evelyn's eyes narrowed, her jaw set. "Then we better pray the next one deserves it too."