Hamilton County Morgue – 6:08 AM
The Polaroid lay on the steel counter like a wound.
Max stared at it, unmoving, his coffee cooling beside him. The woman in the photo had been posed — not just tied, but arranged. Knees bent, arms folded across her chest like a corpse in a Victorian portrait. Her eyes were wide with terror. But it was the mirror behind her that made Max's pulse spike.
Written in condensation, faint but deliberate:
"I remember everything."
Max dropped into the chair, elbows on the counter, forehead resting on gloved fingers. His mind was already dissecting the scene — the angle of the light, the curvature of the mirror, the folds in the drapery behind her. He wasn't just looking for location.
He was looking for Julian's voice in the silence.
FLASHBACK – Cambridge Medical Institute, 13 Years Ago
"Why do you hesitate?" Julian's voice echoed through the lab.
Max tightened his grip on the scalpel. "Because this isn't a cadaver, Julian. It's Elise."
"She won't feel it," Julian whispered, eyes alight. "But we will. The purest anatomy is emotionless. Don't you see? It's the soul we're cutting free."
Max took a step back.
Julian laughed softly. "You want to understand death, Max. You have to let go of your fear of becoming it."
Present – Hamilton County Crime Lab, 9:43 AM
Detective Lena Monroe slammed the crime scene folder down in front of Max.
"Explain this." Her voice was sharp, eyes burning with the beginnings of doubt.
Inside were photos from a new victim found that morning — a male, mid-40s, former pathology professor. His chest had been opened with the same flawless Y-incision. But this time, the killer had left something inside the body.
Max picked up the photo slowly.
Resting beneath the man's sternum — a preserved heart, encased in resin. And engraved on the resin's surface, tiny but legible under magnification:
"You owe me a body."
Max froze.
Lena leaned in. "This isn't coincidence. This isn't random. This is a vendetta."
"I know," he said softly.
Her voice darkened. "Against you."
Hamilton's Apartment – 11:11 PM
Max stood before the mirror, shirt open, old scars faint under the light. One near the ribs. Another along the left shoulder blade. Surgical. He traced them absently.
Julian had always believed pain was just another way to explore the boundaries of human limitation.
Max had believed in control.
He was starting to lose it.
He retrieved the black notebook again. Flipping through pages, he paused on a diagram — not one of his. Julian's handwriting. An experiment: nerve slicing under local anesthesia. A note beside it: "Pain is a more honest language than speech."
The phone buzzed.
Blocked Number.
He answered in silence.
A voice — modulated, distorted — bled through the line.
"You left me with silence, Max. But silence remembers. And now it's your turn to listen."
Click.
The line went dead.
Police Station – Briefing Room, Next Day
Lena's frustration was rising. "We're getting another body every 72 hours. Always staged. Always clean. And always… artistic. This isn't rage. It's performance."
She turned to Max, now seated like a man on trial. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Max looked up slowly. "Yes."
The room hushed.
Lena stepped closer. "Then tell me."
Max exhaled. "His name is Julian West. He was… a medical student. Brilliant. Psychotic. He saw death as a canvas. Elise Montgomery was our friend. One night I walked into the lab and found her... opened."
Lena's face paled. "Opened?"
"Like one of our cadavers. Surgical. Clean. Beautiful, in his twisted way."
"What happened?"
"I told the Dean it was an accident. Elise had been experimenting. Julian disappeared. The school buried it. And I… buried him."
She stepped back. "You lied on an autopsy report?"
"I buried a killer to save a reputation," Max said bitterly. "Now he's exhuming himself one body at a time."
Evening – Unknown Location
The woman from the Polaroid sat alone in a room that was not quite a room — white walls, no windows, a single surgical lamp hanging above her.
Julian circled slowly, his face masked, but his voice soft and eerily affectionate.
"You're part of something beautiful," he whispered. "You're the chapter he won't skip. The cut he won't close."
He bent beside her, brushing hair from her eyes.
"Max will come. He always does. He can't resist a puzzle."
He leaned in closer.
"And you, my dear… are the scalpel."
Max's Lab – 3:03 AM
He hadn't slept. Couldn't. He stared at the map of Hamilton County now pinned across one wall — red dots marking each body, each message.
Then he saw it.
A subtle spiral. Not random. Intentional.
The pattern was closing in.
The center of the spiral wasn't the city.
It was him.
Julian was leading him somewhere.
But not with rage.
With love.
Max turned to the mirror, the one he'd hung beside the board months ago.
The fog from the shower still clung to its edges.
And there, written by a hand unseen — a fresh message:
"She's still breathing."
End of Chapter 3