Rain drizzled down in thin sheets, catching in the flashing red-and-blue lights of the patrol cars. The scent of wet asphalt mixed with something sharper—coppery, metallic. Blood.

  Red tightened her coat around her shoulders and ducked under the crime scene tape. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but that had never stopped her before.

  A uniformed officer moved to intercept her. “Hey, you can’t—”

  “Get her out of here,” a sharp voice cut through the night air.

  Red turned just as Detective Captain James Hook stepped into view. His broad frame was rigid, his blue eyes sharp as a blade beneath the brim of his cap.

  “You again,” Red muttered.

  Hook folded his arms. “You know, one day, I’d like to walk onto a crime scene and not see you sneaking around.”

  “Then solve a case before I do.”

  A muscle in Hook’s jaw twitched. “Out.”

  Before Red could argue, another voice cut in.

  “She’s fine.”

  Detective Jacob Hunter stepped forward, rubbing rain from his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “Five minutes, Red.”

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  Hook shot Jacob an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me?”

  “She’s just going to find a way around the tape anyway,” Jacob muttered. “Might as well let her take a look before she makes a bigger scene.”

  Red grinned. “Thanks, Jake.”

  Hook exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before storming off toward the officers.

  Red turned her attention to the body.

  It was just like her father’s murder.

  The victim—a middle-aged man, mid-forties, dressed in a security guard’s uniform—lay sprawled on his back. His throat was torn open, deep claw-like gashes carving into his skin. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the pavement.

  Her stomach clenched.

  The last known victim of the Wolf had been found exactly like this.

  Red crouched beside the body, scanning for details the police might have missed. The rain had started to wash away the blood splatter, but the wounds were clean, precise—not the kind of damage a wild animal would inflict. No hesitation, no struggle. This was deliberate.

  Her hands tightened into fists.

  They had never caught the real Wolf. And now, he was killing again.

  A presence settled beside her. Jacob.

  “This isn’t a copycat,” she said quietly.

  He didn’t respond.

  She turned to look at him, but his gaze was locked on the victim, his brow furrowed. “You don’t know that,” he murmured.

  “Yes, I do.” She gestured to the throat wound. “Look at the cuts. They’re too deep, too precise. The same pattern. The same method. We both know what this means.”

  Jacob exhaled, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Red, even if you’re right—”

  “I am right.”

  His jaw tensed. “—we don’t have proof.”

  Her fingers twitched at her sides. “Yet.”

  Jacob’s expression darkened. “Listen to me,” he said, voice lower now. “You need to drop this. Let the police handle it.”

  Red scoffed. “Like they did last time?”

  He flinched, just barely.

  She stepped closer. “You and I both know Pyg and his brothers got the wrong man. And now, someone else is dead because no one wanted to believe me.”

  Jacob didn’t answer.

  Her phone buzzed. Cindy.

  She silenced the call.

  She had more important things to do.