DETECTIVE Adrian Lewis stood just outside the active perimeter markers. His hands rested on his hips as he looked down at the body on the ground.

She had been found far from any residential block, at an old transit stop abandoned beneath a dead rail line that cut across Greyhaven’s industrial district. Thick concrete pillars held up the rusted tracks above, casting long shadows over everything below. No one had maintained the place in years. Dust covered the floor. Trash had collected in the corners. Stagnant water sat in shallow pools where the concrete had worn down over time.

The smell had reached him before he even stepped past the perimeter markers. Blood, sharp and metallic. Something older underneath, the heavy scent of decay just settling in. Now, standing over the body, it was all he could smell.

The victim lay near one of the pillars, positioned almost carefully on her back. Whoever placed her there had not bothered to hide the body. If anything, it looked displayed.

Lewis stepped closer, stopping just short of the marked boundary.

Her coat had been sliced open down the middle. Beneath it, her torso had been cut from the stomach all the way up to the chest. The wound split her body wide enough that bone and tissue were fully exposed. Blood soaked through her clothing and spread across the concrete beneath her in a thick, dark pool that had already begun to dry around the edges.

Her ribcage had been forced apart. The space where her heart should have been was empty.

Behind Lewis, someone gagged loudly. A second later, the sound of vomiting echoed off the concrete walls. Lewis didn’t bother looking back. He was sure it was one of the new officers.

“If you need to puke, step outside the perimeter first,” he said loudly with authority. “Do not contaminate the scene.”

A nervous apology came from somewhere behind him. Then hurried footsteps moved away far from the body.

Lewis exhaled slowly. New officers these days had such weak wills, weak stomachs too. They couldn’t even handle a body without losing their lunch. He shook his head and returned his attention to the victim.

He had seen violent murders before. Crimes fueled by anger usually left chaos behind. Multiple wounds covering the body. Broken furniture or scattered objects nearby. Signs of struggle that told a simple story of rage.

This felt different.

The wounds were brutal, but they followed an obvious pattern. A single cut ran up from the abdomen, straight through the chest. It was wide and clean, made to access what was inside without obstruction. Whoever had done this knew exactly what they wanted. The broken ribs showed force with no hesitation. The killer had not stopped or changed their mind midway. And then finally, taking the heart out of the victim’s body.

The work was not skilled, but it was also not emotional. There was no frenzy in the cuts, no wasted violence. Just steady, deliberate actions carried out with a clear purpose.

Lewis folded his arms, studying the scene again. He could not draw conclusions yet. The post-mortem would determine whether the organ removal happened before or after death. Until then, everything remained theory.

He turned slightly toward one of the junior detectives documenting evidence nearby. “Any identification?”

The detective shook his head. “No, sir. We recovered a personal Terminal a few meters away, but it’s locked. We’ll have to take it to the tech division to open it.”

Lewis gave a quick nod. “Send it over as priority.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lewis shifted his focus away from the body and started scanning the surrounding area. Years of working homicide had taught him that the ground often told more than people did.

That was when he noticed the blood.

Small dark droplets marked the concrete several meters away from where the body lay. They formed an uneven trail leading toward one of the pillars. The spacing caught his attention right away. It did not look like blood sprayed from a direct attack. That kind of splatter would have been wider, more scattered. But this was too consistent.

He traced the trail with his eyes, following it back toward the entrance of the underpass.

The pattern suggested movement. Not the kind that came from a body falling or being struck where it stood. This was transport. Someone had carried something, and as they moved, blood had dripped from it onto the ground. The spacing between droplets told him the person had walked at a steady pace.

Lewis crouched slightly, careful not to cross the boundary markers. If the victim had been killed here, there would have been signs of struggle or arterial spray near the body, but there was none.

Which meant she had likely been attacked somewhere else and was brought here afterward. Only then had the killer opened the torso and removed the heart.

He looked again at the droplets leading to the body. The trail was uneven in size, some drops larger than others, but the spacing remained steady throughout. Whoever had carried the body had not wrapped it well. Blood had leaked the whole way.

That kind of mistake stood out.

Someone experienced would have wrapped the body tighter and better. Leaving a visible trail meant carelessness during transport. Lewis narrowed his eyes slightly. There was a strong chance this was the killer’s first time moving a body after a murder.

Lewis felt his expression harden as that thought settled in. His gaze rest on the empty cavity in the victim’s chest.

Taking an organ was definitely not a sign of random violence. It required time and preparation. The killer had risked transporting the body just to finish the act here. That meant the removal itself mattered more than hiding the crime.

If the motive centered on taking something from the victim, then one killing would not satisfy it. People who killed for a specific purpose rarely stopped after succeeding once.

Lewis felt his expression grow darker.

If that assumption proved true, this would not be the last body.

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