Shadows of BLACKWOOD

Chapter 10 – The Setup

Damian’s apartment smelled faintly of rain and gun oil. Every surface seemed too quiet, too still. He scanned the room repeatedly, fingers brushing over the edges of his weapons. Someone had been here before—he could feel it—but there were no signs this time. No Polaroid. No notes. Just silence that screamed.

Isadora hadn’t called. She hadn’t answered her phone. And for the first time, Damian realized the truth: the shadows weren’t just following him—they were controlling the pace of the hunt.

He needed answers. He needed leverage.

Damian reviewed every clue he had. Triangle symbols carved into bodies. The Polaroids. The notes. Every step led to a dead end unless he could predict the killer’s next move. And he was getting close.

His gut twisted when he noticed something he’d overlooked in one of the Polaroids from Chapter 8—the reflection in a shattered window behind him. There was a figure. Standing perfectly still. Watching.

A calculated smile spread across Damian’s face.

“They want me to play their game,” he muttered under his breath. “Fine. Let’s play… on my terms.”

He grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with essentials: flashlight, pistol, extra rounds, and a few carefully selected items he knew would draw attention if discovered. Then he returned to the notes, examining each one, memorizing every curve, every word, every angle of threat.

Finally, he pinned a large map to the wall, covering it with red markings—possible routes, camera angles, blind spots. He circled the warehouses, alleys, and streets connected to the murders. Every path the killer had taken. Every place they might strike next.

And then he stopped. One detail clicked: a warehouse on the east side of the city—previously overlooked. It was isolated, surrounded by empty lots, with a single access road.

Perfect for a trap.

Damian leaned back against the wall, jaw tight. He wasn’t sure who would walk into it first: him or the killer. But he knew he needed a lure.

He picked up his phone. A simple text:

“If you want answers… meet me at the pier. Midnight. Alone.”

He sent it from a burner phone, the words deliberately vague. Whoever was reading would recognize the bait—and he would be ready.

The rain began again outside, soft and persistent. Damian listened, letting the sound center him. Every heartbeat, every thought, focused. Every instinct primed for the moment the hunter became the hunted.

He loaded his gun, checking it twice. Then a small note caught his eye, tucked beneath the map. It wasn’t from the killer—it was from Isadora, in her precise handwriting:

“Trust no one. Especially not me. – I.”

A chill ran down his spine.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and donned his coat. The city waited. Shadows waited. And Damian Blackwood stepped into the night with one certainty: tonight, the game shifted.

He wasn’t running anymore.

He was ready to fight.

And he would find out who had been pulling the strings all along.