At St. Luke's Hospital, Zane approached Room 203, a sense of purpose in his stride. Inside, a thirty-two-year-old woman lay in the hospital bed, her face pale and drawn, the feeling of persistent stomach pain visible in her every movement.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Ibañez?" Zane asked, stepping inside with a mask and gloves securely in place.

The woman shifted, her discomfort evident as she glanced at him. "Can I eat, please? I'm starving," she murmured, desperation creeping into her voice.

Zane met her gaze with a sympathetic nod, his eyes soft above the mask as he checked the IV drip. "I know it's difficult," he said gently, "but you'll need to wait a little longer. The other nurses still need to collect a blood sample for testing. Eating now could affect the results, and we want to make sure we don't miss anything important."

The woman exhaled a weary sigh, sinking into the pillows. "Fine, but this better be worth it. I haven't eaten since last night."

Zane scribbled on the chart with brisk efficiency. "We'll get you sorted as soon as we can," he assured her. His tone softened as he glanced up. "You've not eaten since last night-may I ask why?"

Her brows knit tightly. "That's none of your concern."

Zane paused, then nodded. "Understood." He shifted the conversation. "Are you feeling any better now?"

"I just need food," she muttered, her gaze lifting to meet his. "After that, I'll be fine." Her voice softened as she asked, "What's your name?"

Her eyes lingered on him, an almost deliberate intensity flickering beneath her lashes-inviting, yet veiled.

"Uh, my name's Zane Nuñez," he said, gathering his things, readying himself to move on to the next patient.

The woman's lips curled into a faint smirk. "You look like a young man with... a good build," she remarked. Her tone held a peculiar edge. "Are you healthy?"

A strange unease prickled at the back of Zane's mind. He straightened, forcing a polite smile. "I... I am, ma'am," he replied, his voice steady despite the flutter of nerves.

"What time is it?" she asked, her gaze lingering a moment too long.

Zane glanced at his watch, the hands hovering near seven. "It's 6:46, ma'am," he said, his heart drumming against his ribs as he tried to maintain composure.

"I need to eat," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Just a few more minutes, miss. Don't worry," Zane replied. "I'll be heading to the other room now." Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he stepped out, closing the glass door quietly behind him.

Zane's shift flowed with routine efficiency as he tended to patients in the east wing of the second floor, periodically checking in to ensure all was in order. By nine o'clock, he began to relax, taking a brief reprieve before the next wave of duties.

The calm didn't last. The piercing wail of the emergency alarm shattered the quiet, echoing through the hospital corridors.

The double doors slammed open, and paramedics surged through, wheeling a stretcher at a frantic pace. Zane froze momentarily, his breath catching as his gaze fell on the patient. A man, drenched in blood, lay motionless, his skin ashen.

"Zane, the patient from earlier was pronounced dead on arrival," Dr. Ferrer said, her voice steady but hinted with urgency. "Pathology's short-staffed tonight, and may I ask if you can assist with the preliminary handling of the case. Can you spare some time?"

She didn't wait for an answer before adding, "Sarah will accompany you. She's done this before."

Zane paused. His duties rarely veered into the morgue, but after a brief moment's thought, he nodded. "Of course. Just let me know what's required."

Dr. Ferrer leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know what you and my cousin are up to, so I'm letting you in on this first-hand. My brother and some of his team will be there to observe as well." Her words lingered in the air like a secret, before she straightened, walking past him with a casual tap on his shoulder.

Guided by Sarah and Samantha, Zane navigated the corridors towards the pathology department, his thoughts swirling. This wasn't his usual realm, but his sense of duty kept him moving forward. As he entered the cold, sterile room, the lifeless body of the man on the table struck him again-an all-too-familiar sight. Now, it was his responsibility to aid in uncovering the truth behind this tragic end. Nearby stood the detective inspector, a forensic analyst, and Raine wearing lab coats, gloves, and surgical masks.

Zane's eyes fell to the body, a white sheet draped over it. The pathologist began the examination, and as the minutes ticked by, the air thickened with tension.

Dr. Ferrer's voice sliced through the silence. "I'm sure you've seen this before." She snapped on a pair of gloves, her assistants following suit. She gestured towards the open chest cavity of the deceased. "The heart is missing..." She paused for a beat, her eyes narrowing. "Another victim of the serial killer obsessed with hearts. The sixth, to be precise."

Zane's breath hitched in his throat. The detective inspector exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the two forensic analysts, who moved in with swift precision, snapping photos of the surgical cleanliness with which the heart had been removed. Zane's gaze flicked to Raine, her expression saying everything without a word-I told you so.

"What now?" Zane asked, his voice tight.

Dr. Ferrer glanced up, her tone calm despite the gravity of the situation. "Let's begin with the basics. External wounds, trace evidence, and then we'll proceed with the internal analysis."

Zane passed over the tools, his hands steady despite the knot of anxiety forming in his chest. Sarah, standing off to the side, took notes with practiced speed, her pen moving fluidly across the page as she captured every detail.

Dr. Ferrer examined the body with meticulous care, her eyes scanning for any visible marks or signs of struggle. "No defensive wounds on the arms or hands," she remarked, gesturing to the man's untouched skin. "But this"-she pointed to the clean incision on the chest-"the heart has been surgically removed. Just like the others. It's eerily consistent with the previous victims. Though a more thorough procedure will be necessary to confirm everything."

Christine Barrameda, the second forensic analyst, leaned in, snapping photos as she swabbed areas of interest for potential DNA. "Could be," she murmured, her focus unwavering. "We'll also need a toxicology report to be sure."

Dr. Ferrer moved to the internal examination, carefully removing the chest cavity plate. Zane steadied himself, forcing his gaze to remiain fixed on the scene happening before him. The space where the heart should have been was an empty void, its edges meticulously cut.

"Precisely removed," Dr. Ferrer murmured. "No jagged tears, no excessive damage. This wasn't done in haste. Just like the others."

Zane hesitated, his curiosity edging out his discomfort. "Could it be another victim?"

Dr. Ferrer exchanged a look with her dear brother before answering. "There's a high probability. But these cuts... they are too clean for amateurs. The incision is precise. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."

Blood samples were carefully collected, along with swabs from inside the cavity. Raine catalogued each item with meticulous precision. "This will help us determine if anything unusual was introduced into his system. We're also running tests on trace particles found on the skin," she explained.

Detective Inspector Ferrer, who had been observing in silence, finally spoke, his tone tight with urgency. "We need answers, and we need them fast. This isn't looking good-the serial killer won't stop his mischief. We need to find him, and fast!"

Dr. Ferrer nodded solemnly. "The tests will take time, but this body has more to tell us. Until then, we can't rule anything out."

Zane remained silent, his thoughts spinning. Despite the routine nature of his shift, nothing had prepared him for this.

Time seemed to drag on, each moment heavier than the last, until finally, his shift ended. Exhausted, Zane trudged down the dimly lit hallway, his mind still haunted by the night's events. As he passed the waiting area outside the pathology wing, his steps faltered.

Seated there was the grieving Mrs. Suarez, her face drawn, pale, and streaked with tears. She clutched the small hand of little Vincent, who sat quietly beside her. The child, wide-eyed and silent, glanced up at Zane for a fleeting moment before his gaze dropped to the floor.

Raine sat beside them, at the middle of conducting interviews with her co-worker, Allie. Mrs. Suarez, her face etched with sorrow, spoke through her tears.

"In the morning, he was talking nonsense-saying that whatever happens to him, I should take good care of our son," she choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He kept saying he was sorry, but I don't know for what. Then, tonight, after Vincent and I came back from buying food for my husband's birthday in the city, we found Aaron lying on the floor of our bedroom. The door to the balcony was wide open."

Allie spoke gently, offering her condolences. "Our deepest sympathies, Mrs. Suarez."

Raine, her brow furrowed, asked, "Where is the letter you received, Mrs. Betty, may I ask?"

Mrs. Suarez's expression hardened. "I burnt it!" she snapped, her voice shaking with fury. "I burned that cursed letter to ashes!"

It was then that Raine's mind clicked. The letter they had found in their own building might hold the key-a fingerprint, a blood sample, both could provide vital clues. It was now clear: the letter had to be from the same killer who had left his mark on the Suarezes.

Zane paused, caught between his instincts to offer comfort and the weight of the situation. The woman's gaze met his for a brief moment, her eyes searching him-perhaps for answers, or simply for some trace of empathy.

Unsure of what to say, Zane offered a small nod, a quiet acknowledgment of the grief before him, and then turned, continuing down the corridor, his footsteps slow and heavy as the night's revelations settled in.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Days passed before the results finally arrived. The surgical procedure was a perfect match to the other five victims. Footprints, size 38, were found at the Suarez home, the wearer seemingly calm as they entered through the balcony. They had destroyed the locks of the outdoor stairs leading up and forced open the door to the master bedroom.

Further tests revealed traces of the same drug found in the systems of the other victims, administered via syringe. The substance likely paralysed him before death took hold.

Despite the mounting evidence, the killer remained free. Suspects were few, but the police were focusing on those who frequented the pubs at night-similar to their previous theory on Amara Turner's death.

The red letter Raine and Zane had received offered no fingerprints, save for their own. The blood, however, matched the fifth victim-the husband of the woman who had been murdered on Zane's first visit to the city.

"Whatever the killer's up to, it's definitely bad," Zane muttered one Saturday morning as he sat on the balcony of their flat, watching the rain fall in steady sheets. "They could be sending those letters out again, randomly."

"We should be careful," Raine said, her tone steady as she sipped her coffee by the door. "Remember what Andrea Mercado told you about the big night before the sixth murder?"

Zane frowned, glancing up to find Raine standing there. "Why bring her up again?" he asked. "I don't want to talk about her. She's happy with her handsome man."

"No, mister," Raine replied, her gaze firm. "I have a feeling that Professor Mercado might have known something about what was going to happen that night."

Zane bit his lower lip, his mind racing. "Are you saying that...?"

"No, no, don't look at me like that. We can't jump to conclusions just yet," Raine shushed, holding up a hand.

Zane shook his head, frustration building. "Well, all I can say is that it seems impossible she's the killer. You know her-she's kind and gentle!"

"I'm not saying that," Raine countered. "You're the only one thinking that way." She took a sip of her coffee. "I need to talk to her today. Can you call her? Tell her I'm finally letting her join the club?"

Zane raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Are you sure? Club?"

Raine's expression softened into a smile, but her eyes remained sharp. "Of course not. It's just a ruse to get her here quickly," she replied, her tone shifting back to seriousness. "But really, I need to speak with her. You're right-if I need information, she'll be the perfect fit. Her major aligns with what's going on."

"I'll do it," Zane said, clearing his throat as he grabbed his phone from his lap. "But I'll say this-she's innocent. She's not who you think she is."

He typed down the eleven numbers on his phone, and Andrea quickly answered. "Hello?" her voice came through.

"You're in, according to Raine," he relayed. "She asks that you come here right away."

"Great! And I know exactly what it's for," Andrea replied, grinning.