The morning sunlight fought through the heavy, gray clouds hanging low over Ashwood as Lucas stepped out of the station. The cold air bit at his skin, but his mind was elsewhere. The Brotherhood of the Ironwood. A girl who died in a fire. A killer leaving a trail of bodies with a symbol etched into their flesh.
Lucas knew he was on the verge of unraveling something big, but there was still too much he didn't know. And in Ashwood, secrets ran deep.
Lucas decided to start his morning at the bakery. Not for the comfort of Emma's cinnamon rolls, but because the bakery was the heart of town gossip. If anyone knew anything about the Brotherhood, it would surface here.
The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside. The smell of freshly baked bread and warm spices greeted him, but Lucas barely noticed. Emma stood behind the counter, her usual warm smile faltering slightly as she caught sight of him.
"Detective," she greeted, wiping her hands on her apron. "Back for breakfast?"
"Not today," Lucas said, his tone more serious than usual. "I'm here for information."
Emma's smile faded completely. "What kind of information?"
Lucas pulled the photograph of the Brotherhood from his pocket and set it on the counter. "Do you recognize anyone in this picture?"
Emma leaned forward, her eyes scanning the faces. Her expression grew somber.
"That's John Carver," she said, pointing to the mechanic. "And Samuel Harper. Aaron Moore, too. I don't know the others."
"What about the name 'The Brotherhood of the Ironwood'?"
Emma's face paled slightly. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's an old story," she said carefully. "People don't talk about it much anymore."
"Why not?"
Emma hesitated, glancing around the empty bakery as if someone might overhear. "Because nothing good ever came of it," she said finally. "They were troublemakers, all of them. People blamed them for a lot of things, but nothing was ever proven."
Lucas leaned closer, lowering his voice. "What about the fire?"
Emma froze. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the photograph. Then, she looked up at Lucas, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite placeâfear, maybe, or regret.
"I think you should talk to Mrs. Owens," she said quietly.
"Okay, I will. By the way, do you recognize this?"
Lucas pulled the delicate chain from his pocket, letting the star-shaped pendant dangle between them. The silver caught the light, casting a faint glow, but all he focused on was Emma's face.
"I found this the night I was chasing someone through the woods," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "It was half-buried in the dirt, like someone had dropped it in a hurry."
Emma's breath hitched audibly, her entire body going rigid. Her eyes locked onto the pendant, wide and unblinking, as if she were staring at a ghost. Slowly, her trembling fingers reached up to her own necklaceâthe identical star resting against her collarbone.
Her throat worked as she tried to speak, but when she did, her voice was barely a whisper. "This... this belonged to my mother." A sharp inhale, as if the air had suddenly turned too thin. "She gave me this replica when I was five, told me to always keep it close." Her fingers tightened around her own pendant, eyes glistening as she looked up at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and something deeperâgrief, fear, maybe even hope.
The bell above the door of the departmental store jingled as Lucas stepped inside. Mrs. Owens was behind the counter, sorting through a stack of receipts. She looked up as Lucas approached, her kind smile lighting up her face.
"Detective Grey," she said warmly. "What brings you here?"
Lucas wasted no time. He placed the photograph on the counter and tapped it with his finger. "I need to know about the Brotherhood of the Ironwood," he said.
Mrs. Owens's smile faltered. She picked up the photo, her hands trembling slightly.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Tom gave it to me," Lucas lied. "He said you might know more about what happened."
Mrs. Owens set the photo down and pressed her lips together, as though debating how much to say. Finally, she sighed and leaned forward on the counter.
"The Brotherhood was a group of boys who thought they were invincible," she said. "They caused all sorts of troubleâvandalism, fights, even stealing from some of the local shops. But the fire... that was different."
"What happened?" Lucas asked.
Mrs. Owens's gaze grew distant, as though she were staring into the past. "They were at the old Ironwood Mill," she said. "It had been abandoned for years, but the boys liked to go there. They thought it was their secret hideout. One night, there was a fire. The whole place burned to the ground. And a girl... a young girl... she was inside."
"Who was she?"
Mrs. Owens hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know her name," she said. "But people said she was just a kid. Maybe thirteen or fifteen. No one knew why she was there, but... she didn't make it out."
Lucas left the store with more questions than answers. The girl's death was the key to everythingâhe was sure of it. But who was she? And why was she at the mill that night?
As he walked through town, he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone he passed was hiding something. The way people avoided his gaze, the whispers that seemed to follow himâit all felt wrong.
Finally, he decided to visit the library. If the town wasn't going to tell him the truth, maybe the records would.
The library was quiet, the musty smell of old books filling the air. Lucas made his way to the archives, where he began sifting through old newspapers and town records. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.
The fire at the Ironwood Mill had been front-page news fifteen years ago. The headline read: "Tragedy Strikes Ashwood: Young Girl Perishes in Mill Fire."
Lucas scanned the article, his heart pounding as he read the details. The girl's name was Emily Hayes. She had been fifteen years old, a quiet, shy girl who loved to draw. Her aunt had reported her missing the night before the fire, and when the mill burned down, her body was found in the rubble.
The article mentioned the Brotherhood only in passing, describing them as "a group of local boys who frequently gathered at the mill." But there were no accusations, no charges filed. The fire was officially ruled an accident.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Emily Hayes had been fifteen years oldâtoo young to be hanging around with a group like the Brotherhood. So why had she been there?
And then it hit him.
The victims weren't just random targets. They were members of the Brotherhood.
John Carver. Samuel Harper. Aaron Moore. And Michael Ward.
Lucas's stomach turned as he realized the truth. Someone was avenging Emily Hayes.
But who?
Lucas left the library and headed straight for the station. Sheriff Cole was in her office, poring over paperwork, but she looked up as he entered.
"Detective," she said, her tone brisk. "What is it?"
Lucas dropped the newspaper on her desk. "Emily Hayes," he said. "You were one of the first responders at the fire. What do you know about her?"
Sheriff Cole's expression didn't change, but Lucas could see the tension in her jaw.
"She was just a kid," she said. "It was a tragedy."
"Did you know her?"
Sheriff Cole hesitated, then nodded. "She was my friend's daughter," she said quietly.
Lucas felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. "Your friend's daughter?"
"He and his wife died in a car accident a few years before the fire, so her aunt took care of her. She was like a daughter to me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Lucas demanded.
Cole's gaze hardened. "Because it doesn't change anything," she said. "The fire was ruled an accident. There's nothing more to say."
But Lucas wasn't so sure.
As Lucas left the station, his mind was spinning. Sheriff Cole's connection to Emily Hayes was too close to ignore. And if someone was avenging Emily, they might be connected to Cole as well.
The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but one thing was clear: Ashwood's secrets were darker than Lucas had ever imagined.
And the killer wasn't finished yet.