The air near the docks was thick with the smell of salt and rust. Caleb parked his car near the police perimeter, the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the slick pavement. The morning was overcast, gray clouds hanging low over the city as if pressing down on it.


    Jack was waiting by the entrance to the warehouse, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced by a grim seriousness. He waved Caleb over, his face drawn.


    “This one’s bad,” Jack said as Caleb approached. “Even weirder than the last one.”


    “Let’s see it,” Caleb said, his tone clipped.


    The warehouse was cavernous, its high ceilings echoing every footstep. A few uniforms milled around the scene, but most of them kept their distance, as if whatever lay at the center of the room was too much for them. Caleb followed Jack toward a cluster of forensic techs crouched around the body.


    The victim was a man in his thirties, dressed in a suit that looked expensive even in death. He was lying on his back, his face frozen in an expression of abject terror. Caleb noticed the same raw fingertips he’d seen on the first victim, as if the man had been clawing at something.


    But it was the object in his hand that caught Caleb’s attention.


    Another key.


    This one was different from the first—larger, with intricate carvings etched into the metal. It looked like it belonged in a museum, not the hand of a dead man in an abandoned warehouse.


    “Same message,” Jack said, gesturing to the wall.


    Caleb turned to see the words scrawled in what looked like red paint: Knowledge is death.


    “Who found him?” Caleb asked, crouching beside the body.


    “Anonymous tip,” Jack said. “Caller didn’t leave a name or number. Dispatch traced it to a burner phone.”


    Caleb frowned. “Someone wanted us to find him.”


    “Yeah, but why?” Jack muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.


    Caleb studied the key, his mind racing. Two victims, two keys, and the same cryptic message. Whoever—or whatever—was behind this wasn’t just killing at random. There was a purpose, a pattern, and Caleb needed to figure it out before someone else ended up dead.


    “What’s that?” Caleb asked, pointing to something tucked under the victim’s jacket.


    One of the techs carefully pulled it out, revealing a folded piece of paper. Caleb took it, his gloved hands unfolding it to reveal more symbols—similar to the ones in the blackened book.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    “Great,” Jack said, leaning over Caleb’s shoulder. “More of your creepy hieroglyphics.”


    “They’re not hieroglyphics,” Caleb muttered, studying the markings. “They’re a language. Or a code.”


    “And you can read it?” Jack asked.


    “Not yet.” Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he noticed something scrawled at the bottom of the page, written in a shaky hand: Find the third key, or it will find you.


    “Third key?” Jack asked, reading over his shoulder.


    “Looks like this isn’t over,” Caleb said, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket.


    Back at the precinct, Caleb sat at his desk, the two keys laid out in front of him. He’d spent the past hour going through every scrap of evidence they had, but the pieces still didn’t fit.


    The first victim was a ghost—no ID, no history, nothing to suggest who he was or why he’d been targeted. The second victim was the opposite: a corporate lawyer with a spotless record and a paper trail a mile long.


    “What’s the connection?” Caleb muttered, running a hand through his hair.


    His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Jack.


    “You might want to get down to the lab,” Jack said. “The forensics guys found something on the second key. You’re not gonna like it.”


    The lab was quiet when Caleb arrived, the hum of equipment filling the sterile room. Jack was already there, standing beside a tech who looked both excited and nervous.


    “What’d you find?” Caleb asked, stepping up to the table where the key was laid out.


    The tech adjusted his glasses. “We ran a chemical analysis on the key, same as the first one. This one also had traces of that unidentified substance—what we’re calling the ‘dust.’ But there’s something else.”


    He handed Caleb a printout, pointing to a section of the results.


    “The carvings on the key are microscopic,” the tech continued. “We had to use an electron microscope to get a clear image. And what we found…” He trailed off, looking at Jack.


    “Just say it,” Caleb said, his patience wearing thin.


    “They’re not just random designs. They’re coordinates.”


    Caleb’s eyes snapped to the key. “Coordinates to what?”


    “We don’t know yet,” the tech admitted. “But if you can figure out where they lead, it might give you some answers.”


    Caleb’s mind raced. Two keys, two victims, and now a set of coordinates carved into the metal. The puzzle was growing more complex, but for the first time, he felt like he was getting closer to the truth.


    “I’ll figure it out,” Caleb said, grabbing the printout.


    As Caleb drove back to his apartment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes scanning the cars behind him, but nothing seemed out of place.


    Still, the unease lingered.


    By the time he reached his apartment, the sky was dark, and the city had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm. Caleb locked the door behind him, set the keys on the table, and pulled out the coordinates.


    It didn’t take long to pinpoint the location. The coordinates led to a place just outside the city—a stretch of forest that had been left untouched for decades.


    “Perfect,” Caleb muttered, his exhaustion replaced by a mix of curiosity and dread.


    Before he could plan his next move, a knock at the door startled him. He grabbed his gun, his body tense as he approached.


    “Who is it?” he called out.


    There was a pause, then a woman’s voice: “I can help you.”


    Caleb frowned, his grip on the gun tightening. He unlocked the door but left the chain in place, opening it just enough to see the stranger on the other side.


    She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and piercing green eyes that seemed to study him as intently as he was studying her. Her dark hair was tied back, and she wore a leather jacket that had clearly seen better days.


    “Who are you?” Caleb demanded.


    “My name’s Evelyn,” she said. “And if you want to stay alive, you’ll let me in.”