6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUJHlrYj1j8
The board was littered with photos. Red string connected faces. Articles. Timelines. Dates.
Ella circled the room like a lioness trapped in her own cage.
“Three victims,” she muttered. “All in the last four months. No known connection. But each one died the same way—exsanguination, organs removed, ligature marks on the same angle.”
Vinci sat in the corner, sketching again. Not because he wanted to. But because something inside him demanded it.
“You ever see these people before?” Ella asked, her voice sharp.
Vinci shook his head. “Not consciously.”
“But Eon might have?”
He nodded once.
She pulled one victim’s file—Dario Inocencio, a construction supervisor. Beaten to death. No suspects. Lived three blocks from Vinci’s childhood home.
“Look at this,” she whispered, her finger tracing the photo.
Vinci stood and moved beside her.
Dario had a tattoo on his wrist.
Vinci’s breath stopped. “That tattoo…”
“What about it?”
“He had the same one as my father.”
Ella grabbed another photo.
Victim two—Jorge Mercado. Former policeman. Tattoo on the inner arm. Same design.
Victim three—Luciano Arevalo. School janitor.
Same tattoo. A snake biting its own tail. Ouroboros.
“What the hell—”
“I’ve seen this before,” Vinci whispered. “When I was eight. My dad had friends over. They all had that tattoo. They drank. Yelled. And… someone cried.”
Ella froze. “Someone?”
Vinci’s hand trembled. “A boy. I think… I think they hurt a boy in that house. I remember blood. Screaming.”
Ella felt her throat tighten.
“Vinci…” she whispered. “Were you that boy?”
“I don’t know.”
But Eon did.
And he’d been cleaning up the mess ever since.
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