Chapter 4: 1

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CHAPTER 1

THE DEVIL

??? POV

Devils are real.

They are scattered all around us.

In fact, there are so many that you cannot count them on your fingers.

In this room, surrounded by people, dressed in elegant clothes, and appearing so innocent, they mingle and hide.

Their attire is clean, their words are polished, and their faces are fresh. But behind this façade, many harbor demons in their hearts.

"That girl playing the violin is so hot," I heard a man say while staring at the girl playing the violin on stage.

She was accompanied by another beautiful woman who played the piano with grace and class.

They created music that was truly delightful to hear.

It felt as if you were in a magical world.

The notes transported you to a realm devoid of cruelty, filled only with beauty.

The music wrapped your heart in warmth, like a hand providing the comfort it desperately needed.

It was as if angels were playing in heaven, welcoming you into their paradise.

Yet, even these two young women, seen as angels by the audience, were being demonized by the very eyes that admired them.

And me? I am here, witnessing it all. I am God's emissary, here to judge those with demonic hearts.

I am the child of God, destined to judge those who let their demonic nature prevail.

I...

I am an angel.

My first judgment was not perfect. It was sloppy; I almost got caught thanks to the girl, but the process brought me immense joy.

I felt as if I was in God's embrace once again. Somehow, the number of demons in this world has been reduced.

In a dimly lit room adjacent to the main hall, a different kind of performance was unfolding, one hidden from the innocent eyes outside.

The elegance of the music created a deceptive contrast to the horror contained within these four walls.

"Ahhh!!!" A loud scream of pain echoed, unheard outside due to the powerful music played by the two angels.

"Have mercy on me, please," a man begged, his voice cracking with fear and desperation.

I merely laughed, savoring the irony of his plea.

Mercy?

From an emissary of divine judgment?

Blood splattered against the cold, gray walls as I continued my work.

The man before me, once a figure of power and deceit, was now reduced to a quivering, pleading wreck.

His eyes, wide with terror, met mine, searching for a hint of compassion that would never come.

"This is just the beginning," I whispered, my voice lost in the cacophony of his agony.

"My judgment has only begun."

I am God's emissary.

•••

Seyren's POV

The next morning, I was abruptly awakened by the sensation of falling out of my bed.

My head hit the floor with a resounding thud, instantly jolting me into full consciousness.

Groggily, I stood up and reached for my phone, which was lying on the nightstand beside my bed.

I powered it on, curious about the time, as my alarm had seemingly failed to go off.

9:30 AM.

My eyes widened in disbelief.

Not only was it much later than I had anticipated, but my screen was also inundated with a barrage of text notifications from my coworkers.

From: Anthony Guerrero

Ms Valencia, please come to work a little early, may ibibigay ako sa'yong case.

5:30am

From: Anthony Guerrero

Ms Valencia, are you up?

6:00am

From: Anthony Guerrero

Ms Valencia, you are now needed, please pumasok ka ng maaga.

6:15am

From: Anthony Guerrero

Ms Valencia?

6:30am

Panic set in as I scrolled through the messages, each one more urgent than the last.

The reality of my tardiness hit me like a freight train, and I felt a sinking dread in the pit of my stomach.

Desperately trying to regain my composure, I quickly ran through a mental checklist of my morning routine, knowing I had to expedite every step to make up for lost time.

I quickly showered and got ready.

Cursing myself internally, I couldn't believe I was already late on my first day as a detective.

I grabbed a black t-shirt, blazer, trousers, and shoes, all in a hurry.

Skipping breakfast, I grabbed my moped, put on my helmet, and sped off.

The urgency in my movements matched the tension I felt inside.

I headed straight to the location Mr. Guerrero had sent in one of his messages.

When I arrived, the scene was chaotic.

A crowd of onlookers had gathered, and police officers were stationed at the entrance of the building, their presence adding to the gravity of the situation.

This was the same building where the concert had taken place last night.

As I approached the barricade tape, I showed my new ID to the officers.

They immediately let me through, understanding the urgency.

One of the officers volunteered to guide me to the crime scene.

Walking into the building, I was struck by the grandeur of the main lobby, a reminder of the hotel's opulence.

The officer led me to a floor where two seasoned detectives, colleagues of mine, were already at work.

Upon arriving, I donned a face mask and gloves, steeling myself for what lay ahead.

"Finally, the new detective has arrived," Mr. Guerrero greeted me with a hint of amusement in his voice. He was a respected detective and someone I considered a friend.

Even from the doorway, the pungent smell of alcohol and something far worse hit me.

The crime scene was in a suite room, spacious and luxurious, a stark contrast to the grim reality that had unfolded within.

"Sorry for being late. I don't have a good or valid reason, so I'll accept any reprimand," I said, feeling a mix of shame and anxiety. Mr. Guerrero chuckled, his eyes showing a hint of understanding.

"I'm not going to reprimand you. But if it were Sky, maybe. You're lucky she's not here today, so this case has fallen to you," he said, patting my shoulder in a friendly manner.

"First case mo 'to pero heavy na. Sure ka kaya mo?"

"Yes, sir" I answered so confidently.

As we stepped into the living room, the sight that greeted me was chaotic.

Other officers were meticulously taking photographs, documenting every detail.

The room was a mess, littered with broken wine bottles and other debris.

But what truly made my heart stop was the body lying on the floor.

The victim's lifeless form was a stark reminder of the violence that had occurred.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the scene.

Blood splattered across the floor and walls, and the room reeked of death and decay.

The sight of the man's body was so horrifying that I rushed to the nearest bathroom and vomited into the sink.

I had just seen a male corpse, naked, with his genitals cut off, his face smashed in, and all the fingers on his hands severed.

The sheer brutality of the scene left me reeling, my stomach churning with a mix of shock and revulsion.

It was as though every grotesque detail was imprinted in my mind, refusing to let go.

I leaned heavily on the bathroom sink, trying to steady my breathing, but the image of the mutilated body kept flashing before my eyes.

My hands trembled as I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the nausea and the horror.

I had been a police officer for years, and I had seen my share of gruesome crime scenes.

But this was different.

The sheer savagery of the act was beyond anything I had ever encountered.

It seemed like the work of a demon, something out of a nightmare.

"Huy, ayos ka lang? I know you have a weak stomach when it comes to this."

"I'm fine naman po. Just a little bit discombobulated." I said, stepping out of the bathroom, my voice trembling slightly.

"What happened here?"

Mr. Guerrero, with a reassuring gesture, handed me a piece of candy.

"Here, take this. It might help with the aftertaste from what you just vomited." He placed the candy into my palm, and I accepted it gratefully, unwrapping it and popping it into my mouth.

"According to the janitor" he began

"He was simply scheduled to clean this room because it wasn't marked as reserved or occupied in their computer system. When the janitor entered, he was met with the sight of the victim." As he spoke, we moved closer to the gruesome scene, and I could feel the weight of the situation pressing heavily on me.

"Take a look at this CCTV footage I managed to get," Mr. Guerrero said, handing me his phone.

I took it and focused on the screen, trying to steady my nerves.

The video footage began with the victim entering the elevator accompanied by Azara, my step-sister.

They appeared to be talking, though I couldn't make out the details.

A second clip showed them entering a room. After a few minutes, the footage revealed another person leaving the room, carrying Azara, who was clearly unconscious or incapacitated.

The other person was unrecognizable.

"There's no footage showing the suspect entering the building," Mr. Guerrero explained, frustration evident in his tone.

"The individual wore a black mask, a black hoodie, and a black cap, making them virtually unrecognizable."

I frowned, trying to piece together the chaotic scene in front of me.

"What exactly happened? Why is Ms. Cameron mixed up in this?" My voice carried a note of urgency as I sought clarity.

Mr. Guerrero's face grew serious.

"According to the witness, the individuals involved, including Ms. Cameron, were supposed to be in this room simply to have a conversation. They were not expecting anything out of the ordinary. The witness was unsure of what transpired after they entered the room. However, it's clear that Ms. Cameron became a victim herself. She sustained two stab wounds to her back, which caused her to lose consciousness." I just nodded, my eyes scanned the whole room.

"The most troubling part is that the same criminal who attacked her was the one who brought her to the hospital. The staff, unaware of the criminal's identity, focused solely on treating Ms. Cameron. They paid no attention to the person who brought her in, thus missing the crucial detail that would have exposed the perpetrator. The criminal managed to blend in with the medical staff, effectively avoiding immediate suspicion."

Nanatili naman ang mga mata ko sa biktima. Hindi kaya ng sikmura ko pero sinusubukan kong magpakatatag.

"I can only make one deduction about the individual responsible for this crime," Mr. Guerrero said with a stern expression.

"This person harbored an intense hatred for the victim, which is apparent from the brutality inflicted-notice, the victim's fingers are completely severed. We've combed every inch of this room in our search, but we've yet to find any of them. Our other team is currently scouring the surrounding areas, hoping to recover the missing fingers."

My eyes continued to roam the room, absorbing every detail of the scene.

In a corner near where the sofa was positioned, something caught my attention.

I moved closer to investigate, and there, partially hidden, was a gentle monster cap. It seemed to have been discarded or dropped in haste.

Adjacent to the sofa, I discovered traces of blood and a series of dirty shoe prints.

The floor was covered with these prints-both dirt and blood-streaked.

There's a possibility that the killer pinned him in this couch because I know damn well hindi magsusuot si Azara ng ganitong cap.

It's so lame.

I ventured to the balcony, noting that each room in this building had one.

I began to piece together the possible actions of the criminal, imagining myself in their place.

If I were the perpetrator and wanted to avoid being seen entering a room directly, I would likely use the balcony above to access the area discreetly.

By utilizing the pipe, I could slide down to the desired balcony.

From this vantage point, I would leap over the railings, conceal myself against the wall, and wait patiently for the opportune moment to launch my attack.

"Anong ginagawa mo diyan? Don't tell me susuka ka na naman?"

"Hindi po, I'm examining the whole room." Pag amin ko.

I reentered the room and continued to scan the surroundings with focused intensity.

"Is there no evidence from the killer?" I asked, my voice carrying a hint of frustration. Mr. Guerrero shook his head, his eyes glued to the CCTV footage on his phone.

"Unfortunately, the killer was very skilled. They've left behind nothing but an unusually large shoe print. There's no handprint, no knife, or any other clue that could help us identify them. We're just waiting for Ms. Cameron to regain consciousness so we can get her statement. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I need you to interview Ms. Cameron when she wakes up. She might be more comfortable speaking with a female investigator," Mr. Guerrero explained. I found myself unwilling to accept this task.

What I found most objectionable was the thought of interacting with Azara. Ever since I went to college and was given my own condo by her father, we have barely communicated.

Why do I have such aversion towards her?

She has always been harsh and unfriendly towards me.

Her disdain was palpable when we were younger, which only deepened my feelings of resentment.

We have always clashed.

"I've finished the reports. Take these to our headquarters and grab something to eat. I can hear your stomach growling," Mr. Guerrero said, handing me the papers and evidence items.

I felt a flush of embarrassment at his comment; he was right. My stomach had been rumbling with hunger for quite some time.

I bid him farewell and made my way out of the building.

Outside, I was approached by numerous individuals seeking a statement from me, but I chose to remain silent.

I felt it was not yet my place to speak, being still new to this role. I am, after all, a rookie.

I arrived at the headquarters as instructed, with a sense of urgency and professionalism.

Upon entering, I approached our team with the reports and items, neatly packed in a zip bag, that I had gathered.

"Detective Valencia, here are the questions you need to ask Ms. Cameron," said one of my colleagues, handing me a clipboard.

His tone was matter-of-fact, and the clipboard was filled with carefully compiled questions for the interview.

I accepted the clipboard with a nod and then excused myself from the room to handle the next steps.

After leaving the headquarters, I walked to a nearby 7/11.

The crisp evening air felt good, but my mind was preoccupied with the case.

I bought three onigiri, intending to grab a quick bite.

However, as I contemplated the grim scene I had witnessed earlier, my appetite vanished.

The disturbing images of the crime scene were replayed in my mind, and I found myself unable to enjoy even the simplest of meals.

I decided to head straight to the hospital where Mr. Guerrero had informed me Azara was located.

The urgency in my steps matched the seriousness of the situation.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I went straight to the reception counter.

I showed my ID and inquired about the specific room where Azara was admitted.

A nurse, seeing my evident concern, kindly volunteered to guide me to the room.

I gratefully accepted her assistance, knowing that navigating a hospital's labyrinthine corridors could be a challenge on its own.

As we arrived at the room, I saw the Cameron family gathered around Azara's hospital bed.

The room was filled with a tense but hopeful atmosphere.

Azara lay there, remarkably alert and smiling as if nothing had happened to her.

Her demeanor was almost incongruous with the seriousness of the situation, adding to the strangeness of the scene.

"OMG, Seyren, I'm so glad you're here!" Aunt Azalea exclaimed.

She was the wife of Uncle Elliot, who had adopted me years ago.

Her warm, affectionate gesture as she embraced me was a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation.

She clung to me, her tears flowing freely, clearly overwhelmed by the emotional strain.

"Are you the one handling your sister's case?" Uncle Elliot asked, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

I nodded in response and managed a reassuring smile, though my mind was already racing through the details of the case.

"Her? Are we taking this case seriously, or is this just a joke? Because if this is a joke, it's not funny," Azara interjected sharply.

Her tone was biting, and her cold demeanor was unmistakably directed at me.

This was precisely why I had been reluctant to engage with her.

Azara had always been abrasive and challenging, and her confrontational attitude only fueled the underlying tension between us.

Despite the gravity of the situation, her attitude was a reminder of the personal difficulties I had faced with her over the years.

"Ano bang gagawin mo ngayon?" Asked Tito Elliot as I made my way inside the room.

"Just some interviews and shits. It won't take a while so I please cooperate with me." Umupo ako sa sofa malapit sa hospital bed.

"I think you two need some space, Mom, Dad, why do we grab some food to eat?" That was Elowen, Azara's younger sister.

Compared to her, she was sweet and gentle, this girl in front of me? She's cold and bland, like a kapeng barako.

But they're beautiful.

When I behold Azara, I encounter an almost ethereal beauty.

Her azure eyes, profound and enigmatic, and her full, sculpted lips, exude a mesmerizing allure.

Her dark, flowing hair accentuates her flawless symmetry, while her effortless grace and quiet confidence infuse her presence with a timeless elegance.

She seems to inhabit a realm where beauty and magnetism transcend the ordinary.

"So what were you doing with Mr Alvarez last night?" I directly asked once her family leave.

She turned her gaze towards me with a scowl and then, with a sudden and almost theatrical gesture, lifted her shirt and turned her back.

"You see this?" she said, pointing at the gauze pad on her back.

"This is what happened last night."

"Lucky for you," I said, trying to remain calm.

"the guy got his genital cut. Now, tell me, what were you doing in an unpaid room with him?" I asked with a nonchalant tone, fully aware that she was trying to elicit sympathy.

When she looked at me, I swiftly covered my eyes with the clipboard I was holding. Her hospital gown was still bunched up, leaving her body exposed.

"Boohoo," she said dismissively.

"You already got the answer, so now just leave."

"I won't leave until you've answered all of my questions. I'm doing my job, so please cooperate with me," I responded, my irritation growing.

"Urghh nakakainis!"

I heard her groan, and as I gradually removed my hands from my eyes, I saw her lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"I just wanted to have sex with him, but I don't know what happened. I was in the bathroom doing my business when the killer arrived and did their job. When I came out, they just stabbed me and, voala! Here I am." I nodded in acknowledgment and wrote down her words.

"Did you recognize the killer?" I asked.

"Obviously not. I was backstabbed. How could I see them, idiot?" she retorted, and I chose to ignore her derogatory remark.

"What do you think their height was?"

"About 6'4 or 6'5. I don't know and I don't care."

"You should care because you're the one who brought that old man into that room," I said, continuing to write.

When I looked up, our eyes locked, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed.

"So you're blaming me for his death?" she asked, her tone laced with defensiveness.

"Did I say that?" I mimicked her voice and raised my own eyebrow in response.

"Do you know Mr. Alvarez is 60 years old?" she asked, glaring at me.

"Obviously, I know. And that's not a big deal because I'm already in my 30s."

"FYI, you just turned 30," I corrected her.

I continued the interview for a few more minutes until we had covered everything. In the end, I kept writing on my clipboard.

"Congratulations, by the way," she said with heavy sarcasm.

"You've made my parents proud once again. What a perfect little daughter you are." Her tone was dripping with irony.

I chose not to react to her taunt, maintaining a professional demeanor.

"Thanks," I responded with a hint of philosophy in my tone.

"Thanks," I heard her mockingly echo.

She repeated it several times before letting out a final, disdainful "tsk."

I was about to voice my frustration, but before I could, a man abruptly entered the room.

Great, the good guy has arrived

---

No one's POV

"Azara, are you alright?" As Liam stepped into the room, his face was etched with concern.

His eyes scanned the space, looking for any sign of distress from Azara.

"Liam!" Azara's face lit up with relief and joy at the sight of him.

She adjusted her seating position, her movements reflecting her eagerness to greet him.

The warm smile she flashed him spoke volumes about how much she appreciated his presence.

Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she saw the bouquet he was holding.

"I'm okay," Azara said, her voice carrying a gentle, reassuring tone.

Her words were meant to comfort him, though her expression showed her genuine pleasure at the gesture.

Liam, visibly relieved, approached her with a soft smile.

"Thank God you're okay," he said, his voice filled with sincere concern.

"I brought you roses because I know you like them," he continued, his words tender and filled with affection.

He carefully placed the bouquet beside her, his gesture reflecting his thoughtfulness.

In the corner of the room, Seyren observed the interaction with a detached, almost resentful air.

Quietly, she muttered to herself.

"Actually, asters are her favorite flowers" before standing up to leave.

Her comment was an undercurrent of frustration, hinting at her awareness of details that seemed to be overlooked by others.

As Seyren made her way towards the exit, Azara's gaze followed her.

Her initial joy began to wane as she noticed him leaving.

The change in her demeanor was palpable; her face fell, and a look of confusion and worry replaced her earlier smile.

"You're leaving already? Are you done interviewing me?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of reluctance and anxiety.

The way she spoke suggested that she wasn't ready for the interaction to end and that she felt unsettled by her departure.

Seyren did not respond to her inquiry. Instead, she continued to walk out of the room, her silence amplifying the finality of her departure.

The lack of response only deepened Azara's sense of abandonment, and her previously bright expression was now shadowed by sadness.

She felt a lump form in her throat, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil she was experiencing.

Liam, noticing the shift in her mood, couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness himself. He turned to Azara with a sympathetic look and asked,

"Have you still not made up with her?" His question was gentle, reflecting his concern for the strained relationship between Azara and Seyren.

"I would never make it up with her," Azara replied with a tone of resolute finality.

Her words were spoken with a sense of firm conviction, indicating her unwillingness to reconcile despite the sadness it brought her.

"Nice wristwatch btw" she said, effortlessly changing the subject.

"Thank you, it's Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime" Liam smiled, unaware that he got distracted.

Outside the hospital, Seyren's demeanor was in stark contrast to the emotional tension inside.

As he stepped out into the fresh air, he encountered an elderly woman struggling with her shoelaces.

Her difficulty was evident, and Seyren's immediate reaction was one of compassion.

She approached her without hesitation, offering her assistance with a kind and gentle demeanor.

"Tulungan ko na po kayo" she said, kneeling down to assist her.

"Naku maraming salamat hija" It was as if a block of ice melted in the heart of the old woman because of what Seyren did.

"Wala po 'yon. Happy to help po"

The act of kindness she extended, though simple, resonated deeply within the old woman.

She had grown accustomed to the indifference of others, especially in a bustling city where people were often too preoccupied with their own lives to notice someone in need.

But Seyren's genuine concern and assistance were like a warm ray of sunshine piercing through the cold.

Even though she didn't know the girl, she managed to smile widely at her.

It was a smile that hadn't graced her face in a long time, one that came from a place of sincere gratitude.

Seyren's simple act of kindness had a profound impact, reminding the old woman that there were still good people in the world.

After helping the old woman, Seyren said her goodbyes.

She felt a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment, knowing she had made a difference in someone's life, no matter how small.

This act of kindness lingered in her thoughts as she made her way to the headquarters, where she worked.

Upon arriving at the headquarters, Seyren immediately immersed herself in her tasks.

The workday was long and demanding, but she found a strange sense of peace in the routine.

The hours passed quickly, and before she knew it, evening had arrived.

A peaceful night had come, but Seyren knew better than to assume all silence was tranquil.

For Seyren, however, her life was indeed peaceful.

The chaos of the outside world seemed distant, and she found solace in her own little bubble of serenity.

She finished her work and headed home, looking forward to a quiet evening.

"The headline news for tonight: A millionaire named Jerome Alvarez was found dead at the Okada Manila Hotel at 3 AM. According to the investigation, he was attacked at 9 PM and also became a victim along with model and actress Azara Cameron, who sustained two stab wounds in the back. The crime is currently being investigated due to its gruesome nature. It was remembered that Jerome Alvarez announced on April 15 that he was a confirmed Satanist." The reporter's voice echoed throughout the room while Seyren ate quietly at home.

"Satanism? What's that bullshit?" Seyren whispered to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.

"People nowadays don't know how to respect god anymore." She mumbled.

She couldn't comprehend why anyone would get involved in something so dark and destructive.

She continued eating, trying to push the disturbing news out of her mind.

In an unexpected turn, the same news was unfolding for Azara.

In her hospital room, her eyes were glued to the television, taking in every word the reporter said.

Her family was with her, providing support and company as they ate and talked.

"There's a religion called Satanism now?" Elliot said, seemingly displeased with what he was hearing on TV.

His face was etched with concern, unable to fathom how such a belief could exist.

"Dad, there are a lot of religions now," Elowen said with a laugh while continuing to eat dinner.

She found the situation somewhat absurd, the idea of Satanism as a religion bewildering her.

"With so many, they no longer know who the true god is," Azara whispered to herself, her mind drifting to the complexities of faith and belief in the modern world.

"By the way, I received a text from Seyren. She said she has been assigned to be Azara's guard, so once she's out of the hospital, Seyren will move back into your mansion," their mother announced.

The news was met with mixed reactions.

The reaction from her eldest daughter was one of annoyance and anger.

"Does she really have to live with us? I can hire plenty of bodyguards, right?" Azara commented, frustration evident in her voice.

"It's necessary, and no, you can't hire a bodyguard. Your father and I will find one for you. But it's better if your adopted sibling is with you. You can trust her more than any bodyguards you might hire," their mother replied, her tone firm yet understanding.

"It's fine with me. It's boring at home with just Ate Azara," Elowen said excitedly, smiling widely.

She was looking forward to Seyren's presence, hoping it would bring some liveliness to their home.

"Urgh, I really hate being the center of attention with issues like this," Azara said, her irritation growing.

She didn't like the idea of her personal life being scrutinized, especially under such circumstances.

"Well, you are the center of attention now. Do me a favor, Azara. Be nice to your little sister," their father said, almost pleading.

His concern for their family dynamic was palpable, hoping for harmony among his children.

"She's not my little sister. I don't even think we should consider her a girl since she has that man's private part under her pants," Azara commented harshly.

Elowen stifled her laughter, knowing the tension that would follow.

"She's still a girl, Azara, and I adopted her, so she is your sister. She's nice, Azara. If only you weren't so rude and hostile to her, you might be closer than you expect," Elliot replied, his eyes showing concern about the situation of his three children living in one house without their parents.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Azara rolled her eyes and continued eating, dismissing the conversation.

The night passed peacefully, with the moon casting a serene glow over the quiet city.

The next morning, Seyren woke up early, feeling a sense of urgency.

She had been summoned to work earlier than usual because their lead detective needed her assistance.

Arriving at the closed hotel, Seyren could feel the weight of the previous night's events hanging in the air.

The lobby was eerily silent, with only the faint hum of air conditioning breaking the stillness.

As she stepped inside, she immediately noticed Skyler, the lead detective, standing motionless in the main lobby, her eyes fixed on the mini stage.

"Uhm, Detective Sky," Seyren called softly, trying not to startle her. The call drew Skyler's attention, and she turned her cold, focused gaze towards Seyren.

"Nandito kana pala.' Skyler acknowledged, her voice devoid of warmth.

She then turned back to the stage, her eyes narrowing as if piecing together a complex puzzle.

"What are you looking at?" Seyren asked, her curiosity piqued.

She followed Skyler's line of sight to the stage, wondering what had captivated the detective's attention so completely.

"Didn't the victim die during Cameron's performance?" Skyler stated more than asked. Seyren nodded, remembering the chaotic scene from the night before.

"Because everyone was busy watching the performance, the killer managed to do what he wanted. There were no people around that night because everyone was focused on the performance. In my opinion, all of this was planned, and Jerome Alvarez was deliberately invited here to be killed," Skyler explained, her voice steady and analytical.

Seyren could only nod in agreement, understanding the detective's perspective.

Skyler's demeanor was intense and unwavering.

She was known for her sharp mind and meticulous approach to solving crimes, qualities that Seyren deeply admired.

Seyren's eyes drifted to what Skyler was carrying, noticing a small, clear zip bag.

"What are you carrying?" Seyren asked, her curiosity deepening.

"This?" Skyler lifted the zip bag slightly.

"I found the other missing fingers of the victim. Where did I find them? In another corner of this hotel that has a saint statue." she explained, her voice calm despite the gruesome discovery.

Seyren felt a chill run down her spine.

The methodical and almost ritualistic nature of the crime was unsettling.

"Scratch the killer; let's call him a psychopath or devil," Skyler added, her tone cold and detached.

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