THE 12TH VICTIM

At exactly 3:17 a.m., Detective Daniel Cole's phone began to ring. He almost ignored it. Almost. He was sitting alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling while rain attacked the windows. He hadn't slept properly in three days, and the bottle of water beside him was the only thing on the table. His phone vibrated again. UNKNOWN NUMBER. Daniel frowned. Nobody called him at this hour unless something had gone terribly wrong. He answered. “Cole.” For several seconds, there was nothing but static. Then a man's voice whispered: “Detective?” Daniel sat upright. “Yes?” The voice breathed heavily. “You need to come to the old railway warehouse.” Daniel's eyes narrowed. “Who is this?” Silence. “Hello?” The line went dead. Daniel stared at the phone. He called the number back. Number unavailable. “Great.” He grabbed his jacket. Twenty minutes later, Daniel's car pulled up outside the abandoned railway warehouse. The rain had become heavier. Police vehicles surrounded the entrance, their headlights cutting through the darkness. Officers stood beneath umbrellas, speaking quietly among themselves. Daniel stepped out of his car. Detective Amara James was waiting for him. She was thirty-two, sharp-eyed, and one of the few people in the department Daniel trusted. “You look terrible,” she said. Daniel glanced at her. “Good morning to you too.” “It isn't morning.” “Technically it is.” “Technically, you need sleep.” Daniel ignored her. “What happened?” Amara's expression changed. “Body inside.” “Identity?” “Male. Mid-thirties.” “Cause of death?” “We're waiting for forensics.” Daniel looked toward the warehouse. “Who found him?” “A security guard.” “Witnesses?” “None.” Daniel sighed. “Let's see him.” They entered the warehouse. The smell hit Daniel first. Metal. Rainwater. And something faintly sweet that he couldn't immediately identify. The warehouse was enormous. Rusted machinery sat beneath plastic sheets. Water dripped from holes in the roof, forming small puddles across the concrete floor. Forensics officers were already working. One of them lifted his head when Daniel approached. “Detective.” Daniel nodded. Then he saw the body. The victim lay on his back in the center of the warehouse. His clothes were expensive—a dark suit, polished shoes, silver watch. There was no obvious blood. No gunshot wound. No knife. No broken bones. His eyes were open. Wide. Terrified. Daniel crouched beside him. “Name?” Amara handed him a folder. “Jonathan Hayes. Thirty-seven. Businessman. Owns a construction company.” Daniel studied the corpse. “Any identification on him?” “Wallet. Driver's license. Cards.” “Phone?” “Missing.” Daniel looked around. “Anything else?” Amara shook her head. “Nothing.” Daniel leaned closer. There was something strange about the victim's face. His mouth was slightly open. As if he'd died trying to say something. Daniel looked at his neck. No bruising. No obvious signs of strangulation. “Could be poisoning,” he said. The forensic officer standing nearby nodded. “Possible.” Daniel stood. “Any signs of struggle?” “None.” “Then why does he look terrified?” Nobody answered. Daniel walked around the body. His shoes squeaked against the wet concrete. Something caught his eye. The victim's right hand. It was clenched tightly. Daniel crouched again. “Open his hand.” The forensic officer carefully pulled the fingers apart. Something was inside. A small piece of paper. Daniel stared at it. “Don't touch it.” The officer photographed it before removing it with tweezers. Daniel watched as the paper was unfolded. There were only four words written on it. YOU WERE WARNED BEFORE. Daniel felt a strange chill. “Warned about what?” Amara asked. Daniel didn't answer. He looked at the victim again. “Search the entire building.” Amara nodded. “Already doing it.” Daniel stood and walked toward the far side of the warehouse. Something was bothering him. He couldn't explain what. The scene felt wrong. Not because of the body. Because of how carefully everything had been arranged. There was no blood. No weapon. No struggle. The victim had been placed in the middle of the room like someone wanted him to be found. Daniel stopped. “Amara.” She turned. “Yeah?” “Come here.” She walked over. Daniel pointed at the floor. There were muddy footprints. One set. They began near the warehouse entrance and stopped approximately ten feet from the body. Amara frowned. “Could be the victim.” Daniel shook his head. “Different shoe size.” “How can you tell?” “Look at Hayes' shoes.” They examined the victim's polished black shoes. The muddy footprints were much larger. “Whoever made these wasn't wearing the same shoes as the victim,” Daniel said. Amara looked toward the entrance. “Maybe the killer.” “Maybe.” A forensic officer suddenly shouted from across the warehouse. “Detective!” Daniel turned. The officer was standing near a stack of wooden crates. “We found something.” Daniel and Amara hurried over. Behind the crates was a wall covered in old graffiti. But one section had been cleaned recently. Someone had scrubbed the wall. In the center was a symbol. A circle. Inside the circle were three intersecting lines. Beneath it was a number. 1. Daniel stared at it. “What is that?” “I don't know,” Amara said. Daniel reached toward it. “Don't.” The forensic officer stopped him. “We'll photograph it first.” Daniel stepped back. His eyes remained fixed on the symbol. Something about it felt familiar. Very familiar. But he couldn't remember where he'd seen it. “Detective?” Daniel turned. A uniformed officer was approaching. “We found the security guard.” “Where?” “Outside.” Daniel followed him. The security guard sat inside a police vehicle, wrapped in a blanket. He was an elderly man with trembling hands. Daniel opened the door. “Mr.?” “Samuel.” “Mr. Samuel, I'm Detective Cole. I need you to tell me what happened.” The man swallowed. “I heard something.” “What?” “A voice.” Daniel glanced at Amara. “Whose voice?” “I don't know.” “Man or woman?” “Man.” “What did he say?” The old man's hands began shaking again. “He said something strange.” Daniel leaned closer. “What?” Samuel looked directly at him. “He said, ‘The first one is awake.’” Daniel's expression hardened. “What does that mean?” “I don't know.” “Did you see anyone?” Samuel hesitated. Then nodded. “Someone was leaving.” “Can you describe him?” The old man closed his eyes. “Tall.” “How tall?” “Very tall.” “Build?” “Thin.” “Face?” “I couldn't see it.” “Why not?” “He was wearing a mask.” “What kind?” Samuel looked terrified. “A white mask.” Daniel felt something cold settle in his stomach. “What did it look like?” The old man slowly raised his hands and traced the shape in the air. “It looked like…” He stopped. “Like a smiling face.” Daniel exchanged a glance with Amara. “Anything else?” Samuel shook his head. But just before Daniel closed the door, the old man grabbed his wrist. “Detective.” Daniel looked back. “Don't investigate this.” “Why?” Samuel's eyes filled with fear. “Because whoever did this…” He looked toward the warehouse. “…wanted you to find him.” Daniel pulled his hand away. “What makes you say that?” The old man whispered: “He asked about you.” Daniel froze. “What?” “He asked if Detective Daniel Cole was still alive.” For a moment, Daniel couldn't hear the rain. Couldn't hear the police officers. Couldn't hear anything. “What did you tell him?” Samuel's voice trembled. “I told him I didn't know.” Daniel stared at him. Then he stepped away. Amara followed. “What the hell was that?” she asked. Daniel didn't respond. He walked back into the warehouse. The forensic team had started packing up. The body was being covered. Daniel stopped beside it one last time. His eyes moved from the victim's face to the hand. Something was sticking out from beneath the victim's sleeve. A small black mark. Daniel pulled the sleeve back. His breathing stopped. There it was. The same symbol from the wall. But this time, it wasn't painted. It had been carved into the victim's palm. A circle. Three intersecting lines. And beneath it— 1. Daniel stared at the mark. Amara came beside him. “That's not possible.” Daniel looked at her. “What?” She pointed toward the body. “Look at his other hand.” Daniel turned it over. There was another symbol. But this one was different. The circle was crossed out. And beneath it was a number. 12. Daniel felt the hairs on his arms rise. “Take photographs,” he said quietly. Amara didn't move. “Daniel…” “Photographs. Now.” She nodded. Daniel stood and looked toward the symbol on the wall. Number one. The body. Number one. Then the message. You were warned before. His phone vibrated. Daniel pulled it from his pocket. A new message. Unknown number. He opened it. There was no text. Only a photograph. Daniel stared at the screen. It was a photograph of him. Standing inside the warehouse. Taken only seconds ago. His blood ran cold. He slowly looked around. Every officer was visible. Every corner. Every doorway. Nobody was holding a camera. Another message arrived. This time, four words: ELEVEN MORE ARE COMING. Daniel's heart began pounding. Then a final message appeared. YOU ARE NUMBER TWELVE. Daniel looked up. Across the warehouse, hidden in the darkness beyond the police lights, he thought he saw a figure standing behind one of the windows. Tall. Thin. Wearing a white mask. Smiling. Daniel ran toward the window. But when he reached it, there was nobody there. Only rain. And on the wet glass, written from the other side in red: 3:17. Daniel stared at it. He didn't know why. But somehow, deep inside him, those numbers felt less like a time… and more like a memory. 3:17 a.m. The first body had been found. And Daniel Cole had a terrible feeling that it wouldn't be the last. Not even close.