Chapter three

Detective Jonah Voss stood in the ruin of St. Brigid’s Church with rain dripping through the gaping roof, pooling around his boots. His flashlight beam lingered on the carved names in the stone altar. Three victims. And now—one more.

Evelyn Cross.

He stared at the letters until they blurred. A chill crawled up his spine, one he couldn’t shake with logic. Hale hadn’t carved this last night; the ash was fresh, the cuts sharp. Someone had been here after his arrest. Which meant there was at least one accomplice still free.

Jonah snapped a photo and holstered his phone. His first instinct was to call Evelyn, warn her to leave town, vanish until they had answers. But he knew better. Evelyn Cross didn’t run. She would take the carving as a challenge, maybe even a dare.

He muttered to the empty church, “Goddamn it, Hale…”

The shadows seemed to whisper back.

---

By the time Jonah arrived at the courthouse the next morning, Evelyn was already waiting in her office, hair pinned back, a coffee growing cold on her desk. He set the photo down in front of her.

For a moment, she didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on her own name carved into stone, the letters gouged with precision. Then she looked up, her face unreadable.

“Is this your idea of a joke?”

Jonah’s voice was gravel. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

She studied the photo again, jaw tightening. “The church was condemned. No one should’ve been there.”

“Yeah, and yet somebody was. Somebody with Hale’s script. Either he’s got disciples, or…” Jonah hesitated. “…or he planned this before he was arrested.”

Evelyn snapped the photo shut and tossed it back. “We don’t build cases on superstitions, Detective. It’s vandalism. Meant to rattle us.”

Jonah leaned closer, his tone low. “It rattled me because it’s real. And it should rattle you, because it’s your name on that altar.”

For a second, just a flicker, Evelyn’s mask cracked. But she straightened quickly, voice sharp. “If I let a threat control me, I’m no better than him. We prosecute killers with evidence, not fear.”

Jonah didn’t argue. But in his gut, he knew fear wasn’t optional anymore.

---

That afternoon, Evelyn walked into the holding cell where Father Marcus Hale sat waiting. Chains clinked when he raised his head, lips curving into that familiar cracked smile.

“Back so soon, Counselor?” His voice was soft, almost tender. “Has the ledger reached you yet?”

Evelyn froze mid-step. “What did you say?”

“The ledger,” Hale repeated. “The names written in stone. You saw yours, didn’t you? I told you—he knows you.”

She masked her unease with practiced steel. “Who’s carving the names, Father? You’re locked up. Someone’s working with you.”

Hale chuckled, a dry, papery sound. “Oh, no. They’re not working with me. They’re working through me. He wears many hands, many knives. He will take what is his.”

“Then why my name?” Evelyn pressed. “Why me?”

Hale’s smile widened. “Because you’re the last witness. And every trial needs one.”

The words landed like a hammer. For the first time in years, Evelyn’s breath hitched. She slammed her folder shut and stormed out before Hale could see the tremor in her hands.

Behind her, his laughter echoed off the concrete walls.

---

Jonah found her outside, pacing the corridor. “What did he say?”

“More riddles,” Evelyn snapped. “He’s playing cat and mouse.”

“Then why do you look like the mouse?” Jonah asked bluntly.

Her glare could have cut glass. But Jonah noticed she didn’t answer.

---

That night, Evelyn returned home to her apartment overlooking Blackthorn’s drowned streets. She dropped her coat, poured a glass of wine, and tried to drown her thoughts in case files. But every time she glanced at her window, she half-expected to see a feather pressed against the glass.

At midnight, a knock came at her door.

She froze. Few people knew her address. No one visited unannounced.

She approached cautiously, hand brushing the drawer where she kept a concealed pistol.

“Who is it?” she called.

Silence.

She unlocked the chain, opened the door an inch—and found nothing. Just rain, an empty hall.

Then her eyes dropped.

At her feet lay a single black feather, slick with rain.

---

Meanwhile, Jonah sat in his apartment nursing another glass of whiskey, files spread across his table. He couldn’t shake Hale’s words: “He was with me. Each night. Each death. I am his alibi. And I am yours.”

Jonah wondered if that alibi was a curse. If by arresting Hale, they’d stepped into the ledger themselves.

His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:

“The trial begins soon. Don’t be late.”

Attached was a photo. Evelyn’s apartment building. Her window, faintly glowing against the storm.

Jonah shot to his feet, heart hammering.

The game had just turned personal.

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