The deadliest Hunt

The Secrets We Bury

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the dim hospital room, a reminder that Maya Collins was still clinging to life. The scent of antiseptic hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint, metallic tang of dried blood. Despite the warmth inside, a chill settled in Alina’s bones as she stood at the edge of the hospital bed, watching the fragile rise and fall of Maya’s chest.

Brian stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed, his usual easy demeanor replaced with something far heavier. The weight of the case was already pressing down on them, and they had barely begun.

Maya stirred, her eyelids fluttering weakly before she opened them completely. Her gaze was glassy, pupils dilated, as though she were still trapped somewhere in that dark alley. When she finally focused on Alina, something flickered in her expression—recognition, maybe relief, but mostly fear.

“You said he was watching,” Alina started, keeping her voice steady. "Did you mean the man who took you? Or someone else?”

Maya’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the thin hospital blanket. “I—I don’t know,” she whispered. "I just felt it. Even when I was alone. He was there.”

Alina exchanged a glance with Brian. She had trusted her gut back in that alley, and now she was certain—whoever had done this had stayed long enough to ensure Maya was found. Why?

“You have to help me,” Maya’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “He’s not done. He—he said I wasn’t right for it.”

Alina’s spine stiffened. “For what?”

Maya’s breathing grew shallow. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her temple, like she was trying to force the memory out. “The show,” she finally murmured. “That’s what he called it." The real show.”

Alina’s jaw clenched.

This isn’t the real show. That’s what he had told her.

This wasn’t just about hurting women. It was bigger. A performance. A script only he could see.

Brian let out a slow breath beside her. “Do you remember anything else? His voice, any markings?”

Maya hesitated before shaking her head. “His voice was… calm. Almost gentle. Like he wasn’t even angry. Like—” Her breath hitched. “Like he was teaching me something.”

Alina felt the chill deepen.

“Teaching you what?” she asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Maya squeezed her eyes shut. “How to be afraid.”

The room fell into silence.

Alina sat back, hands tightening into fists on her lap. This man wasn’t just a predator—he was meticulous, controlled. He hadn’t lost his temper. He had been in complete command the entire time.

And he was planning something worse.

The door creaked open, breaking the moment. A nurse entered, her expression tight. “I’m sorry, Detectives, but she needs to rest.”

Alina stood, giving Maya one last glance. “You’re safe now,” she promised. “We won’t let him hurt you again.”

Maya didn’t look convinced.

As Alina and Brian stepped out into the hallway, the hospital’s fluorescent lights cast long, sterile shadows. The faint hum of distant conversation filled the space, but it all felt too quiet, too still.

“We need to track down every other missing woman linked to this pattern,” Brian muttered, already pulling out his phone. “If this guy is planning something bigger, we need to stop him before it happens.”

Alina nodded. “We start with the crime scene. If he left Maya there on purpose, he might’ve left us something else, too.”

Brian’s brow furrowed. “You think he wants us to find him?”

Alina exhaled. “No. I think he wants to see how well we play his game.”

**

Back at the Crime Scene

The alley off 7th Street looked different in the daylight, but it still carried the same uneasy weight. Sunlight barely reached past the buildings, casting long, eerie shadows against the damp concrete. The faint outline of where Maya had been found was still visible, marked by a chalk outline.

Alina crouched near the spot, scanning the ground with sharp precision. Blood spatter, a few discarded pieces of trash—but no signs of struggle.

Brian kicked at a crushed cigarette pack near the dumpster. “You’d think she would’ve fought back, but there’s no defensive wounds.”

“She wasn’t meant to,” Alina murmured. “He wasn’t interested in a struggle.”

She stood and turned her gaze upward, following the towering brick buildings that enclosed the alley. If their suspect had truly been watching, he had likely been above them.

Brian caught her line of sight. “Fire escapes.”

Alina nodded. “Let’s check them out.”

They moved swiftly, boots echoing against metal as they climbed the rickety staircase leading to the rooftop. The higher they went, the stronger the city’s noise became—cars honking, voices shouting from the streets below. But up here, there was a different kind of silence.

Alina reached the top first, scanning the area. The roof was cluttered with vents, old HVAC systems, and a few discarded beer bottles. Nothing immediately stood out—until she saw the cigarette butts.

Neatly arranged in a row along the ledge.

Brian whistled low. “That’s not random.”

Alina crouched beside them. They were all the same brand. A specific choice. A habit.

“He was here,” she murmured. “Watching.”

Brian took out his phone, snapping a few pictures. “If we’re lucky, forensics can pull DNA off those.”

Alina barely heard him. Her fingers brushed against the rooftop’s ledge, where faint smudges of dirt and oil marked the edge. The perfect place to perch. To observe.

She exhaled. He had seen them arrive. Had seen her find Maya.

He had been waiting for this moment.

Her stomach twisted. They weren’t just chasing him. He was leading them.

**

Returning to the Station

By the time they returned to the precinct, Ethan Holloway was already waiting at Alina’s desk, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” he said, smirking as she dropped a file onto her desk.

Alina didn’t humor him with a response. She turned to Brian. “Get those cigarette butts to forensics. If we get a DNA hit, I want to know before the ink dries on the report.”

Brian gave a mock salute before disappearing down the hall.

Ethan leaned back in his chair. “So, what’s the verdict? Our guy likes rooftop views?”

Alina exhaled, rubbing her temple. “He planned everything. The way Maya was left, the way he watched from above. He wants us to know he’s in control.”

Ethan’s smirk faded slightly. “Sounds like a perfectionist. Someone who doesn’t just want to kill—he wants to stage something.”

Alina met his gaze. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Ethan studied her for a moment before nodding. “Then we better make sure we don’t play right into his hands.”

Alina tapped a finger against her desk, her mind racing. If this wasn’t the real show—then what was?

One thing was certain.

They were running out of time to find out.