The road was quiet.
Too quiet for that hour.
Lucas leaned back in his seat, half-awake, watching the faint glow of streetlights slide across the windshield. The rain had just started—light, almost harmless—tapping gently against the glass.
His father hummed softly, fingers tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with some song only he could hear.
"You should sleep," he said casually, his eyes still on the road.
Lucas smirked faintly. "I'm not a kid." "Could've fooled me."
A small silence followed—comfortable, familiar.
Lucas turned his head slightly, watching the blur of trees and distant lights outside.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing wrong.
Just another drive home. And then—A flash.
Not lightning. Something else.
Blinding.
Headlights.
Too high.
Too wide.
A horn screamed—loud, heavy, too close. Lucas's eyes snapped forward.
A truck.
Out of nowhere.
The truck didn't hesitate. It didn't slow down.It came straight for them. His father's expression changed. Not confusion. Recognition.
"Lucas—"
The wheel turned—Too late.
Impact.
The sound wasn't just loud—it was violent. Metal crushed inward like paper, glass bursting into the air as if the world itself had shattered.
Lucas felt his body lift, weightless for a fraction of a second before being slammed sideways. His head struck something hard—he didn't know what. Pain exploded. Then silence.
Everything slowed. Distorted.
The car wasn't moving anymore. Or maybe it was. Lucas couldn't tell. His vision flickered.
Shapes. Shadows. Fragments of reality trying to piece themselves together. He turned his head—slowly, painfully.
His father.
Still in the driver's seat.
Blood.
Too much of it.
"Dad…"
The word barely formed. His voice didn't sound like his own. His father didn't respond.Didn't move. Somewhere in the distance, an engine sound faded.
Lucas tried to focus. Tried to understand. But his body refused.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
Slow.
Unstoppable.
The last thing he saw—was the shattered windshield. And beyond it…nothing.
---
Lucas woke up with a sharp breath.
For a moment, he didn't move.
The ceiling above him came into focus slowly, faint morning light slipping through the curtains. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if his body hadn't yet realized he was no longer there.
The dream lingered.
Fragments.
Noise.
Impact.
Then nothing.
"Lucas!"
His mother's voice broke through from downstairs. He blinked, grounding himself in the present. The silence of the room replaced the chaos in his head.
"Lucas, are you awake?"
"I'm up," he replied, his voice still rough.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, running a hand through his hair before standing. The cold floor beneath his feet helped steady him. Another normal morning.
Or at least, it looked like one.
The staircase creaked softly under his steps as he walked down. The smell of coffee filled the house—warm, familiar.
Safe.
His mother stood in the kitchen, placing a cup on the table.
"You didn't sleep well again," she said without looking at him.
Lucas pulled out a chair and sat down. "I slept."
She gave him a look that said she didn't believe him—but didn't press further.
She slid the cup toward him.
"Drink."
Lucas took the coffee. His hands were steady—but his grip tightened just a little too much.
Footsteps followed—fast, careless.
His younger brother came down the stairs, adjusting his bag.
"Morning," he muttered, already halfway to the door.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Planning to stay at home today or just passing through?"
"Very funny," his brother shot back. "I've got class."
Their mother turned slightly. "At least have breakfast before you go."
"No time, Ma. I'll grab something on the way."
"You say that every day."
"And I survive every day," he replied with a grin.
Lucas shook his head faintly, taking a sip of coffee.
"You're going to regret that lifestyle."
"Not today," his brother said, already opening the door.
He paused for a second and glanced back.
"Bye."
The door shut behind him.Silence returned.Their mother sat across from Lucas now.For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You're going early?" she asked.
Lucas nodded slightly. "Work."
"You always say that."
"It's always true."
She studied him for a second longer than usual. There was something in her eyes—concern.
Unspoken.
"You should take care of yourself too," she said quietly.
Lucas didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he looked down at the coffee in his hands. Dark. Still.
Then—a sharp vibration broke the moment. His phone.On the table.The screen lit up: Director Adrian. Lucas picked it up. His expression changed instantly—Focused,Cold.
He answered.
"Black Wolf" a voice said on the other end.
A pause.
He listened. His eyes narrowed slightly."I'm on my way." He ended the call and stood up—already somewhere else mentally.
His mother watched him.She didn't ask.She already knew.Lucas grabbed his jacket.
"Don't wait for me," he said.
And just like that—The normal morning was over.
---
The crime scene was already active when Lucas arrived.
Not crowded. But controlled.
An open stretch of land. Freshly dug earth. A construction site abandoned mid-work. Yellow tape cut across the area, fluttering slightly in the morning air. Lucas stepped out of the car.
His eyes immediately went to the disturbed ground.
A shallow pit.
Workers stood at a distance, uneasy. Something had interrupted their routine. Something they weren't supposed to find.
"Captain."
Lucas turned slightly.
Ryan Cole approached, tablet in hand, expression focused.
Lucas didn't waste time.
"Report."
"Construction workers found it while digging," Ryan said. "Called it in right away. "He glanced briefly at the scene. "They didn't touch anything. Local officers secured the area."
Lucas nodded and walked closer.The soil had been carefully cleared. And there—bones. Not fresh. Not recent.
A human skeleton lay partially exposed in the earth, fragments still buried.Time had stripped everything else away.
Lucas crouched slowly. His gaze steady. Focused.
Years.
This had been here for years.
"Did forensics arrive?" he asked.
"They're here," Ryan replied. "A new specialist took charge."
Lucas's eyes shifted slightly.
"New?"
Before Ryan could respond—a voice.
Calm.
Clear.
"Careful with the surrounding soil. Don't disturb the lower layers."Lucas turned.
She stepped into view. Gloves on. Mask lowered to her chin. Hair tied back neatly. No hesitation in her movement. No uncertainty. She didn't look like someone new. She looked like someone in control.
"Brush, not shovel," she instructed. "You'll destroy trace evidence."The team adjusted immediately. Lucas watched her silently.
"Who is she?" he asked quietly.
"Eva Almeida, sir," Ryan replied. "Forensic specialist. Transferred today."
"I've heard of her," Ryan added. "Top cases. Never misses details." That showed.
Eva knelt near the pit, brushing soil away from a section of bone. Her focus was absolute—the world around her didn't exist.
She paused.
Studied something.
"Stop."
Everything halted. She leaned closer.
"Mark this area. There's structural damage on the skull."
Lucas's eyes narrowed. Even from a distance—she saw that.
"Not natural," she murmured. A pause.
"Impact."