Chapter Six: The Clue

The night air felt heavier than usual as Evelyn stepped out of the station. The streetlights buzzed above, casting pools of dim orange light over the wet pavement. Ramirez was waiting by her car, his face drawn tight.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. Her mind was still replaying the moment Judge Carter dismissed the case, the moment her boss made it clear—Voss wasn’t just above the law. He owned it.

She reached for her keys, but Ramirez caught her wrist. “Evelyn, listen to me. We’re in way too deep.” His voice was urgent now. “If they got to Carter, they can get to anyone. You know what this means, right?”

“They already got to the chief,” she said bitterly, yanking her hand free. “That means we’re alone in this.”

Ramirez exhaled, glancing around like he expected someone to be watching. Maybe they were. “I don’t know, Cross. Maybe it’s time to let this go.”

Evelyn scoffed. “You want to walk away?”

“I want to survive,” he shot back. “And so should you.”

She shook her head, biting back the words rising to her lips. Ramirez wasn’t a coward. He was scared, and for good reason. But fear wasn’t an option for her.

Before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

She hesitated, then answered.

A distorted voice came through the speaker. “Detective Cross.”

She stiffened. “Who is this?”

A pause. Then—

“I have information on Voss.”

Evelyn’s grip on the phone tightened. “What kind of information?”

Another pause. “Meet me at Pier 17. Midnight.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone, pulse hammering.

Ramirez frowned. “Who was that?”

Evelyn slipped her gun from its holster, checking the clip before sliding it back in place. “Someone who knows more than we do.”

He stared at her. “You’re going?”

She met his gaze. “You said it yourself. We’re in too deep. Might as well drown.”

Pier 17 

The docks were quiet, save for the occasional creak of boats shifting in the water. Evelyn stepped carefully, her hand near her gun. A thick fog curled over the ground, swallowing the edges of the pier.

A figure stood at the end, half-hidden in the mist.

Evelyn approached  every nerve on high alert.

“You’re late,” the figure muttered.

She recognized the voice instantly. “Mason Quinn?”

The former investigative journalist turned conspiracy theorist. He had disappeared years ago, after claiming he had proof of something monstrous lurking in the city’s underbelly.

Mason exhaled a bitter laugh. “Still digging into things that’ll get you killed, huh?”

Evelyn crossed her arms. “What do you know about Voss?”

Mason reached into his coat, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook. “More than you want to.”

She took it, flipping through the pages. Dates, locations, names—all tied to Voss. Some were recent. Others were decades old.

“You found something,” she murmured.

Mason’s jaw tightened. “I found everything.”

Before he could say more, a low growl rumbled from the shadows.

Evelyn spun, gun drawn.

A dark shape lunged from the fog—fast, too fast.

She barely managed to fire a shot before something slammed into her, sending her crashing against a stack of crates.

Mason shouted, but the sound was cut short by a sickening crunch.

Evelyn blinked through the haze of pain, struggling to focus. The creature crouched over Mason’s crumpled form—tall, gaunt, with silver eyes that gleamed unnaturally in the dark.

It turned toward her.

Not a man. Not an animal.

Something in between.

Voss’s voice drifted through her mind.

“Proof means nothing if she’s not alive to use it.”

Her breath hitched.

They hadn’t sent men after her.

They’d sent monsters.

Evelyn fired again. The creature snarled as the bullet tore through its shoulder—but it didn’t go down.

It lunged.

She barely rolled out of the way as claws scraped against the concrete where she had been seconds before. Scrambling to her feet, she bolted, her mind racing.

The evidence—Mason’s notebook—was still in her grip.

If she made it out alive, she had proof.

If she didn’t, Voss had already won.

She pushed harder, sprinting toward her car as the beast’s snarls echoed behind her.

She reached the door, yanking it open, throwing herself inside—

The glass shattered as claws raked through the window.

Evelyn screamed, slamming the car into reverse, tires screeching as she peeled away from the dock.

Her heart pounded as she checked the rearview mirror.

The creature stood motionless in the fog, watching her go.

Like it was letting her escape.

Like it knew she was already trapped.

---

The Next Morning

Evelyn sat in her apartment, the notebook open in front of her. Ramirez paced nearby, shaking his head.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Voss is not just a criminal mastermind, but some kind of… immortal?”

Evelyn exhaled. “Not just immortal. Something else.”

She turned the notebook around, tapping on a faded photograph taped to the page.

A black-and-white image of Damian Voss.

From 1892.

Ramirez paled. “Jesus Christ.”

Evelyn leaned back, her fingers tightening into fists.

“We can’t beat him with the law,” she said. “We need something stronger.”

Ramirez frowned. “Like what?”

Evelyn looked down at the notebook again.

The last entry was circled in red.

"The only way to stop him… is to find the first."

Her pulse pounded.

The first what?

Or the first who?

She had no idea.Evelyn stared at the blood-stained notebook in her hands, Mason Quinn’s final words burning into her mind.

“The only way to stop him… is to find the first.”

Ramirez shifted beside her, breathing heavily. "What the hell does that mean? First what?"

She flipped through the torn pages, searching for something—anything—that could explain Mason’s message. Then, her fingers stilled.

At the bottom of the last page, written in rushed, uneven handwriting, was a name.

Silas Graves.

Evelyn's pulse pounded. "I know this name."

Ramirez frowned. "Should I?"

She swallowed hard. "He was a detective. Retired before we joined the force. He worked homicide back in the ’80s."

Ramirez gave her a skeptical look. "And how does that help us now?"

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "Because he’s supposed to be dead."

Silence hung between them.

Ramirez rubbed the back of his neck. "You think Mason was telling us this guy is still alive?"

Evelyn didn’t answer immediately. Something about the name felt familiar like she’d seen it before. Then it hit her.

Her father’s old case files.

She turned toward Ramirez, her mind racing. "We need to get to my place. Now."

"Why?"

"Because if Mason was right… and if Silas Graves is still out there… he might be the only one who knows what Voss is."

Ramirez didn’t argue. He just pulled out his keys. "Then let’s move before someone else finds him first."