The sound of rain tapping against the windows of the station was a steady, monotonous rhythm that matched the storm brewing in Lucas's mind. The star-shaped necklace sat on his desk, its delicate chain coiled neatly around itself, but to Lucas, it felt like a coiled snake.
He hadn't told Sheriff Cole about finding the necklace yet, and something in him hesitated to. It wasn't just that it connected to Emmaâit was what it represented. The killer was watching. And they were playing a game.
But Lucas wasn't here to play.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the photos pinned to the corkboard in front of him. The victims stared back: John Carver, Samuel Harper, Aaron Moore, and Michael Ward. Each face was marked by tragedy, and now, as Lucas studied them for the hundredth time, the connections between them started to take form.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, grabbing a marker and stepping closer to the board. "Let's figure this out."
Lucas started with what he knew.
John Carver, the mechanic. Found hanging from the oak tree at the edge of town, his body brutalized beyond recognition. A hard worker, kept mostly to himself. No immediate family in town, but a regular fixture at the local diner, where he'd chat with the waitstaff and anyone who needed help with their car.
Samuel Harper, the farmer. Throat slit with surgical precision, his body dumped in the creek. Married, two kids. Known for being generous, often sharing extra produce with neighbors who were struggling.
Aaron Moore, the teacher. Eyes gouged out, fingers broken. Single, no family in Ashwood. A beloved figure at the local school, where he taught history and ran an after-school program for struggling students.
Michael Ward, the mason. Quiet, reserved, just 26 years old. No family in town, known for his meticulous craftsmanship and his habit of keeping to himself. Found facedown in the dirt by Emma during her morning walk, the fourth victim in what was now undeniably a series.
Lucas stepped back, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the details he'd written under each name. Four men, all with different professions, different lifestyles, and seemingly no connection. But the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that the link between them wasn't about who they were nowâit was about who they had been.
Lucas dug through the case files, cross-referencing everything he could find about the victims' pasts. He scoured their employment records, their social media accounts, even their old high school yearbooks, piecing together a picture of their lives before Ashwood.
And then, he found it.
A single photograph, buried in the back of an old yearbook from twenty years ago. It was a group photoâseven boys standing in front of an old, crumbling building on the outskirts of town. Lucas recognized three of the faces immediately: John Carver, Samuel Harper, and Aaron Moore.
The fourth boy in the photo wasn't Michael Ward. But Lucas recognized him, too.
Tom, the mailman.
Lucas's pulse quickened as he studied the photo. It was dated fifteen years ago, long before Michael Ward would have been old enough to be part of the group. But the connection was undeniable.
Lucas flipped through the rest of the yearbook, searching for more clues. He found a handwritten note beneath the photo: The Brotherhood of the Ironwood.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had heard whispers about the Brotherhood beforeâa group of local boys who had been known for causing trouble back in the day. Vandalism, petty theft, fights at the old bar on the edge of town. But nothing serious enough to draw official attention.
Or so he'd thought.
Lucas pulled out the case files on the victims again, this time focusing on the time frame when they would have been part of the Brotherhood. He found police reports, mostly minor infractions, but one incident stood out.
A fire.
The report was dated fifteen years ago, the same year as the photo. According to the file, the old building where the boys had gathered had burned to the ground in what was officially ruled an accident. But the details were murky. The fire had started in the middle of the night, and there were whispers in town that it wasn't an accident at all.
One detail in the report caught Lucas's attention: a name.
Margaret Cole.
Lucas closed the file, his mind reeling. Sheriff Cole had been a deputy at the time, fresh out of the academy. Her name was listed as one of the first responders to the fire, but there was no mention of what she had found there.
He debated confronting her about it but decided against itâfor now. Sheriff Cole was sharp and calculating, and if she had chosen to keep something from him, she likely had her reasons.
Instead, Lucas focused on the victims again, searching for any sign that the fire might have been a catalyst for the murders. It was a long shot, but it was the only lead he had.
And then he found it.
A symbol, scrawled in the margins of one of the police reports.
The same symbol that had been carved into the skin of each victim.
Lucas left the station, the photograph tucked into his jacket pocket. He needed answers, and he had a feeling Tom might have them.
When he arrived at Tom's house, the mailman seemed surprised to see him.
"Detective," Tom said, stepping aside to let Lucas in. "What brings you here?"
Lucas didn't waste time. He pulled out the photograph and held it up.
"Tell me about the Brotherhood of the Ironwood," he said.
Tom's face paled, his usually cheerful demeanor fading into something much darker. He stared at the photo for a long moment before speaking.
"That was a long time ago," he said finally. "We were just kids, causing trouble. We didn't mean for things to get out of hand."
"What things?" Lucas pressed.
Tom hesitated, his gaze flicking to the photograph and then to Lucas.
"The fire," he said. "It wasn't an accident."
Lucas's stomach turned. "What happened?"
Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We were stupid. Playing with matches, daring each other to do things we shouldn't have been doing. The fire got out of control, and... someone got hurt."
"Who?"
Tom's voice dropped to a whisper. "A girl. She wasn't supposed to be there, but she was. And she didn't make it out."
Lucas left Tom's house with more questions than answers. The Brotherhood had been involved in the fire, and a girl had died because of it. But who was she? And how did this connect to the murders?
As he walked back to the station, Lucas couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing somethingâsomething important. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but the picture they formed was still unclear.
One thing was certain, though: the killer wasn't just targeting random victims. This was personal.
And Lucas was getting closer to the truth.