The morgue was colder than usual, or maybe it just felt that way to Caleb. He and Jack walked down the sterile, white corridor, their footsteps echoing off the tiled walls. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, adding to the eerie quiet that always seemed to hang over places like this.


    Dr. Marissa Keene, the city’s medical examiner, was waiting for them when they entered. She was a sharp woman in her late forties, with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun and a no-nonsense air about her. Caleb had worked with her enough to know that she didn’t waste time with small talk.


    “Detectives,” she said, nodding at them as they approached. “Your John Doe is on the table.”


    The body was covered with a white sheet, which she pulled back to reveal the victim’s pale, lifeless face. Caleb studied him closely. The man looked ordinary—average height, average build, thinning gray hair. But there was something unsettling about the way his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as if he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee.


    “What can you tell us?” Caleb asked.


    Marissa gestured to a clipboard on the nearby counter. “Cause of death is… unclear.”


    “Unclear?” Jack repeated, frowning. “How’s that possible?”


    There are no external injuries, no signs of poisoning, no internal trauma. Heart, lungs, brain—all normal. " It’s like his body just… stopped.” She pointed to the victim’s hands. “But then there’s this.”


    Caleb stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. The man’s fingertips were red and raw, as if he’d been clawing at something before he died.


    “Strange, isn’t it?” Marissa said. No defensive wounds, no struggle, but his fingers tell a different story. It’s like he was trying to dig his way out of something.”This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    “Or into something,” Caleb murmured, his mind racing.


    Jack glanced at Caleb. “You think it’s connected to the key?”


    “Maybe,” Caleb said. “What else did you find?”


    Marissa picked up a small evidence bag from the counter and handed it to Caleb. Inside was a book—worn and battered, with a faded leather cover. It looked ancient, its pages yellowed with age.


    “We found this tucked into the victim’s jacket,” Marissa said. “Haven’t had time to look through it yet.”


    Caleb opened the bag and carefully slid the book out, the faint scent of musty paper wafting up. He flipped through the pages, his eyes narrowing as he saw the symbols inside. They weren’t words, at least not in any language he recognized. Instead, the pages were filled with intricate patterns and strange markings—lines, circles, and shapes that seemed to twist and overlap in ways that made his head hurt if he looked too long.


    “What the hell is this?” Jack muttered, peering over Caleb’s shoulder.


    “No idea,” Caleb said. But deep down, he felt a chill he couldn’t explain. There was something about the symbols that felt… wrong.


    “You think it’s some kind of code?” Jack asked.


    “Could be,” Caleb said, carefully closing the book. “Or something else.”


    Marissa cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to the body. “There’s one more thing you should see.”


    She moved to the victim’s feet and rolled the body slightly to one side, revealing a strange mark on the man’s back. It was faint, almost invisible, but as Marissa shone a light on it, the shape became clear—a small, intricate symbol etched into the skin.


    “Tattoo?” Jack asked.


    “No,” Marissa said. “It’s not ink." It’s like the skin was… burned. But there’s no sign of external heat.”


    Caleb stared at the symbol, his heart pounding. It was one of the same markings he’d just seen in the book.


    “Did anyone else see this?” he asked.


    Marissa shook her head. “Not yet. You’re the first.”


    “Good. " Let’s keep it that way,” Caleb said, slipping the book back into the evidence bag. “Jack, we need to take this with us.”


    “You think we’re dealing with a cult or something?” Jack asked as they walked back toward the exit.


    “Maybe,” Caleb said, his voice tight. But in his gut, he knew it was more than that. The key, the book, the symbols—it all felt connected. And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to stop with one body.


    As they stepped out into the rain, Caleb glanced back at the morgue, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. This case wasn’t just another puzzle to solve. It was a door—and he had the distinct feeling that once he opened it, there would be no going back.