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Chapter Text

[05:13 AM | SVU Group Comms : Priority Alert] DISPATCH:

Chaichana, Lieutenant Phayu. Lee, Detective Rain. We have got a body. Female. Alley behind Sukhumvit Soi 22. Near the old bakery. Uniform on site says it looks staged. No witnesses. No ID. Forensics en route. Captain Phupha wants you both on scene immediately. There’s a note. It’s addressed to you. – Dispatch Control, Unit 4.

The sharp chime of the priority alert jolted Rain awake, his body reacting faster than his thoughts. He blinked into the early light filtering through the curtains, already reaching for the phone vibrating on the nightstand. Beside him, Phayu stirred, eyes cracking open, sharp despite the hour. Rain skimmed the message, heart sinking a little at the last line. “Dispatch. There’s a body,” he said quietly, voice rough from sleep. “Note’s addressed to us.” Phayu was already sitting up, reaching for his black watch and the plain silver ring on the bedside table. “Where?” “Soi 22. Near that old bakery.” There was no panic in the room, just movement. Efficient, familiar. Clothes pulled on with muscle memory, side by side, no words needed for the first few minutes. Phayu tugged on a fitted black shirt, sliding his badge into the pocket of his jacket. Rain, still buttoning his own shirt, caught the crease of tension in Phayu’s brow and stepped closer, fingers brushing lightly against his chest before smoothing down the collar, his own ring glinting in the soft light. “Hey,” Rain murmured. “We have got this.”

Phayu’s eyes met his, something unspoken passing between them, trust, certainty, maybe even the memory of the last case that had shaken them both. He leaned down just slightly, pressing a brief kiss to Rain’s forehead. “I know.” They were out the door within minutes, keys in hand, weapons holstered, and minds already turning. In the car, Rain tucked his knees up slightly in the passenger seat, the city just beginning to stir outside the window. He stared out at the soft light catching on rooftops, his senses on edge. “Feels personal,” he said finally. Phayu nodded, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his thumb absently rubbing the side of Rain’s wrist where it rested nearby. “Staged scene. No witnesses. Note with our names. It’s someone making a point.” Rain glanced at him sideways. “They picked the wrong people for that.” Phayu’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “They did.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, the kind of quiet filled with the static of too many thoughts. They knew the rhythm by now, the calm before the storm, the click of instincts sharpening. When they pulled up near the alley, lights already flashing faintly against the buildings, Phayu parked without a word. They looked at each other once before stepping out. Rain rolled his shoulders. “Let’s find out who wants our attention so badly.” Phayu gave a small nod, jaw set. “And make sure they regret it.” Together, they walked toward the tape, side by side, not just partners on paper, but in every sense that mattered.

The alley behind Soi 22 was already cordoned off with regulation tape, a ripple of blue and white catching the rising sun. Patrol cars flanked the entrance, their lights muted now to a soft pulse. Officers milled around the perimeter, some scribbling notes, others watching the gathering crowd of onlookers held back by barriers. As soon as Phayu stepped out of the car, there was a shift, subtle but immediate. Uniforms straightened. Conversations dropped in volume. The ripple of respect moved outward like a stone in still water. “Lieutenant,” a young officer greeted, stepping aside quickly, eyes flicking once to Rain before dropping respectfully. “Scene’s secured. No one’s touched anything. Captain Phupha said you would take point.”

Phayu gave a curt nod. “Good. Keep everyone back. No chatter.” Rain followed him closely, not bothering with pleasantries. His expression had settled into something cool and quiet, the calm mask he wore when things were about to get bad. There were other detectives already present, likely from precinct watch or nearby divisions. One of them, a veteran officer with sharp eyes and a tired face, dipped his head as Phayu passed. None questioned who had command here.

The moment they crossed the police tape, Phayu reached out, linking his pinkie with Rain’s without looking. A small gesture, easily missed. But Rain felt it immediately, the sudden quiet in his head, like a heavy curtain drawn across a window. The background hum of thoughts and fear and noise dulled into silence. Shielded. Rain exhaled through his nose, grateful. They moved with purpose down the narrow stretch of concrete, boots crunching softly against damp gravel. Phayu’s eyes flicked upward briefly, the alley opened slightly toward the end, and the body had been placed deliberately in the center of that widening space.

They said nothing yet. Let the silence settle. Let the scene speak first. The body lay there, a woman, face obscured by shadows, limbs arranged almost with reverence. Rain didn’t move toward her immediately. Neither did Phayu. They stood just outside the inner ring of the scene, observing everything else first: the drag marks leading from a darker corner, the deliberate way the heels of her shoes pointed outward, almost daintily. No signs of a struggle here. She hadn’t died in this alley. Phayu finally pulled on his gloves, the sound of latex snapping soft in the air. Rain mirrored him, slipping on his own pair with practiced precision. Still no words. None needed yet.

Behind them, the forensic team was setting up, but they stayed well clear of the body until Phayu gave the signal. He crouched first, careful, his expression unreadable. Rain followed a moment later, kneeling at an angle so he could observe the placement of her limbs and the details of the scene without disrupting anything. Phayu tilted his head. “Rain.” Rain narrowed his eyes, focusing. The shielding helped. He let the clairvoyance settle at the edges of his senses, not touching the body yet, not opening his mind all the way, just enough to feel that faint, grim echo. “Staged,” he said quietly. “Deliberately displayed. This is a message.”

Phayu nodded once. “We don’t respond to messages. We collect facts.” Rain gave a small, humourless smile. “Yes, sir.” Behind them, the scene remained quiet, the officers on standby, the forensics team waiting, and somewhere, out of view, Dr. Bun would be arriving. Phayu stood slowly, gaze moving over the nearby walls, the angles, the blood that had dried strangely clean. He tapped Rain gently on the arm. “Let’s begin.”

Phayu crouched again, carefully this time beside the body, his gloved fingers hovering just above the hem of the victim’s skirt. Rain knelt opposite him, taking in the visual field, the shadows, the angles, the placement of her limbs. The air was still cool, the smell of old rain and something metallic lingering in the alley. Neither spoke at first. This part demanded silence, the kind that let the scene breathe, that gave space for the truth to settle. Phayu’s voice was low when it came. “Estimate the age.” Rain leaned in slightly, not touching her yet. “Late twenties to early thirties. Well-groomed. No visible signs of prolonged struggle. Probably taken from elsewhere.”

Phayu examined the woman’s hands first. Fingernails short, clean, no signs of broken nails or defensive wounds. Her palms were oddly smooth. Not the hands of someone used to manual work. “No soil or grit,” he muttered. “She didn’t claw her way out of anywhere.” Rain studied the neckline, or rather, where it had been. The blouse was cut open in a jagged line, not torn in panic but slashed deliberately, almost ritualistically. The same was true for the skirt, cut in a straight line up one side and left peeled open. No bruising on the wrists. No zip ties, no ligature marks. She hadn’t been bound. He finally reached out, one gloved hand hovering above her temple before letting his fingers rest gently against her hair.

A shudder. Cold ran up his spine. Phayu immediately extended his hand, brushing pinkies with Rain again, reinforcing the mental shield. “Pull back if it’s too much,” he said softly. Rain nodded once. He closed his eyes for a second. “She knew him,” he whispered. “The killer. She trusted him. Not… not fully. But enough. Enough to get in a car with him. There was charm. Control.” Phayu’s gaze darkened. “Like Bundy.” “Or worse. He’s practiced. Detached.” Rain let go, severing the contact and pulling his hand back slowly, breath steadying. Then they turned to the more grotesque detail, the mutilation. Phayu gently rolled the victim’s torso just enough to inspect the deep, precise incisions on her abdomen.

Rain stiffened. The cuts were deliberate, almost surgical in nature, a deep Y-shaped incision across the torso, echoing the crude postmortem mutilations Jack the Ripper had inflicted. Intestines had been displaced, not sloppily, but with a disturbing sense of placement. She had been gutted like a specimen. “No pooling around the edges,” Phayu said, his tone flat. “She was dead before the abdominal cuts.” Rain’s mouth was tight. “Or unconscious and bleeding elsewhere.”

They moved to the neck. A thin line of bruising circled it, not thick enough for strangulation by rope. More like pressure. A forearm, perhaps. Something meant to cut off air and panic her but not kill her outright. That hadn't been the intention here. “Throat was slit,” Rain said. “Quick. We need to find the spot where the first arterial spray hit. Angle suggests he stood behind her. She never saw it coming.” Phayu glanced beyond the alley before he stood again, slowly, brushing his gloves together. “Staged. Composed. But if this was a message, it was not just to us, but to the city. They want fear. Reverence.”

Rain stood beside him. “And he’s done his research. Jack the Ripper down to the smallest detail.” Phayu’s jaw tightened. “And he wants us to know he’s just getting started.” They turned toward the sound of footsteps approaching, calm and deliberate. Dr. Bun, Medical Examiner, arriving with his kit in hand, the body officially his to examine now. Phayu stepped aside, nodding once. “We called him into a gory one,” he said. Rain didn’t reply, but he reached out briefly, just brushing his fingers against Phayu’s wrist. Just enough to ground himself again before the next round began.

Dr. Bun crouched with a grace that came from years of practice and habit, his kit already unzipped beside him. He adjusted his gloves and clicked on a small penlight, giving the victim one long, quiet look. There was no visible emotion on his face, only the subtle shift in his posture, respectful, professional, but alert. Phayu stepped closer, but didn’t interrupt. Rain stood beside him, silent, letting the older man do his work. Dr. Bun’s voice was calm, clipped. “Female, mid-to-late twenties. No external bruising on wrists or ankles. No restraint marks. Clothing cut postmortem, note the fabric separation here,” he pointed with the light, “not torn, but incised with precision. Small blade, extremely sharp. Scalpel, perhaps.”

He moved to the neck. “Cause of death appears to be a single, clean slash to the throat. One motion. Left to right. Depth and angle suggest a right-handed attacker, approximately her height or slightly taller.” Rain murmured, “She was surprised.” Dr. Bun nodded once. “Agreed. No defence wounds. She didn’t even raise her arms. Death would have been rapid. Severed both carotids. Blood pressure would have dropped in seconds.” Phayu tilted his head. “Time of death?” Dr. Bun checked the woman’s exposed wrist, then pressed lightly behind her jaw, feeling the muscles and noting their rigidity. “Based on lividity, temperature, and rigor onset… I would say she has been dead for four, maybe five hours. No more than six. Killed sometime around 1 to 2 a.m.” “Any indication she was sexually assaulted?” Phayu asked, voice flat. Dr. Bun’s expression didn’t flicker. “No overt signs. But we will confirm with the full postmortem. There’s no tearing or bruising visible externally, but the scene’s theatrical. That doesn’t mean he didn’t take his time before the kill. I will collect swabs, run DNA.”

He paused over the woman’s abdomen. His tone dropped. “This is where it gets… troubling.” Rain leaned forward slightly. “The incision here….” Bun ran a finger along the edges without touching, “….is meticulous. Clean entry, organs partially removed, placed beside her. A deliberate attempt to recreate something.” Phayu’s eyes narrowed. “Ripper.” Bun nodded grimly. “Not just the method, the sequence, the positioning. This isn’t a panicked killer. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s done his reading. She has been eviscerated like most of his victims.” Rain swallowed, throat dry. “Organs removed postmortem?” “Almost certainly. There’s minimal bleeding within the cavity. Suggests no heartbeat at the time. Which also tells me he’s controlled, unhurried. He had time.” Phayu was quiet for a long beat, absorbing the details. Then, “Any indication she was drugged before death?”

“Good question,” Bun said, checking the pupils with his light. “They are dilated, but not definitive. I will check tox screens, but I would wager she was sedated. There's a faint needle mark on her left inner arm. Could be recent.” Rain’s fingers flexed. “He calmed her down. Or knocked her out to move her.” Bun nodded again. “And one more thing, there’s almost no blood trail in the alley. Which tells me she was already dead when he brought her here. Scene is secondary.” “So, he killed her somewhere else,” Phayu said. “And cleaned her up,” Bun added. “There’s a faint scent of antiseptic. Not strong enough to suggest a hospital, but… deliberate.” Rain looked over his shoulder toward the shadows of the alley. “He cleans her. Displays her. Leaves her as a message. Just like the Ripper.” Bun zipped his kit slowly. “I will send everything to Tian’s lab. You will have a full report within hours. But this one’s… different. It’s not a heat-of-the-moment kill. This is performance.” Phayu didn’t move for a moment, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the body. Then he nodded. “Thank you, P’Bun.” The doctor stood, bones cracking softly as he straightened. “Be careful with this one, Phayu. Whoever he is… it shows no remorse.” Rain glanced at Phayu, the chill in the air settling deeper in his chest. They were hunting a ghost, but not one without a voice. This one had chosen to speak.

Chapter Text

The forensic tent had been set up with clinical efficiency beside the alleyway, casting a soft white glow that stood in stark contrast to the shadowed brick walls just beyond. Rain followed Phayu under the canopy, the rustle of latex gloves and the soft hum of portable lights the only sounds cutting through the quiet. The body had been removed by then, taken under Dr. Bun’s supervision to the morgue, but the scene remained heavy with its absence.

Dr. Tian stood over a folding table where a series of high-resolution photographs had already been pinned to a board. He wore a dark hoodie under his forensic coat, gloves still on, surgical mask pulled down just beneath his chin. His gaze lifted as Phayu approached, and he gave a brief, respectful nod. “P’Tian,” Phayu greeted. “What do you have?” Tian gestured to the photographs, not just of the victim, but of the walls, the pavement, the blood spatter patterns, even the faint boot prints they had dusted near the body. “One of the officers found the primary scene, and we have run Luminol,” he said. “Nothing unexpected. The walls were spattered, as you can see. There was heavy pooling, most likely that she bled completely out, then he dragged her to the secondary. No signs of movement post-placement. Which means once he set her down in that position, he never adjusted her again.”

Rain stepped in closer, his eyes narrowing. “Any other blood trails?” “None,” Tian said. “Not even transfer patterns.” “Which means he killed her further up the alley, and then most likely dragged her out for maximum effect or easy discovery,” Rain murmured, but Phayu heard him clearly. He folded his arms. “Did we get shoe size and sole pattern?” Tian pointed to a high-contrast photo. “Size ten, probably male, standard canvas sole, not worn down, so relatively new shoes. We are running comparisons in the database, but it’s generic. Could be anything from supermarket sneakers to custom canvas. No logos. No impressions outside the alley either.”

Rain leaned over the board, squinting at one corner of a photo. “Is that… chalk?” Tian’s brow lifted. “You saw that too.” He pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag and held it up. Inside were faint flakes, white, crumbly, but unmistakably chalk. “Scraped from beneath the victim’s right heel. She wasn’t killed at a construction site, so this is likely from wherever he picked her up or whatever method he used to lure her here. Or even where she worked? We will be testing it for composition, but my rough estimate shows it’s calcium carbonate, standard classroom chalk, not industrial.” “School?” Rain suggested softly. “Or studio, gallery, even a private office,” Phayu muttered. “We will need to narrow it down.”

Tian nodded. “Also, take a look at this.” He clicked a remote. The tablet screen shifted to an image taken beneath UV light. The brick wall behind where the victim had been placed now glowed with smeared letters, faint, written in what must have been a translucent fluid not visible to the naked eye. Rain stared. “He left a message?” Phayu stepped forward, reading aloud. “‘I have returned to cleanse the filth.’” Rain exhaled. “God complex?”

Tian turned the screen off. “Written in some kind of synthetic protein gel. We have taken swabs, and we will run the tests on this as well, but it’s highly unusual. Not sweat. Not body fluid. Something artificial. Deliberate.” Rain frowned. “So he wanted the message to be found, but only by us. Or by someone who knows to look.” Tian looked between the two of them. “Which makes sense, considering this.” He handed over a small evidence bag. Inside was a folded piece of parchment that looked aged, but clearly modern, the kind used in luxury stationery. The edges were burned slightly, stylised. Phayu opened it slowly. Elegant handwriting curled across the center in black ink:
“ Catch me if you can. Although I know you can’t. She was the first, but not the last.”

Rain said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line. Phayu’s face was unreadable. Tian glanced at both of them. “He knows who you are. And he has mentioned you by name Phayu. This is not going to be a joke. And he’s playing a long game.” Phayu folded the note back into the bag, sealing it.

Rain finally spoke. “This isn’t about victims. Not entirely.” “No,” Phayu said quietly. “It’s about the SVU.” The hum of the city seemed far away in that moment. The message wasn’t just a clue. It was a gauntlet, thrown in blood, intellect, and shadow. And they had just picked it up.

Rain stood in front of the main board, the soft click of magnets echoing faintly in the quiet briefing room. The photographs, notes, and early timelines had already begun to form a web. A shot of the victim’s face, blurred out for respect, was at the center, framed by a timeline on the left and a growing list of forensic clues on the right. The parchment note, printed and pinned beneath plastic, stood alone beneath a bold red tag: Killer’s Message #1.

Phayu leaned against the wall to Rain’s right, arms folded. His expression was sharp but calm, every part the Lieutenant. Across the table sat Sky and Pai, their chairs turned slightly inward so their knees brushed, a silent comfort between partners used to moving as one. Two young uniformed officers stood quietly by the glass doors, fresh-eyed Phon and slightly older Kaen. Both had been handpicked for their discretion and steadiness, and even in their silence, they watched everything.

Captain Phupha had made the decision less than thirty minutes ago: Phayu, Rain, Sky, and Pai would lead the investigation. The others, Pat, Pran, Sam, Mon, would continue handling open cases, a rotation that kept the squad balanced and respected the internal hierarchies of trust. Rain stepped back, pushing a loose curl behind his ear, and clicked the board remote. The screen beside it lit up with Dr. Bun’s autopsy summary on the left and Tian’s forensics report on the right. He spoke as he moved, voice calm, measured.

“Victim was identified as Kanokwan Saetang, twenty-six, teacher, last seen leaving her a party with her friends at 11:48 p.m. No sign of struggle. We believe she was taken en route home, drugged, then killed deeper up the alley before being dragged back to its mouth. Time of death between 1 and 2 a.m. No personal connection to other active cases.” He turned, looked at Phayu. “We believe she was chosen. Deliberately.” Phayu gave a single nod. “The message confirms that.” Pai tapped a pen lightly against his notebook. “He wants us to know it’s about us. That this is personal.” Sky frowned slightly, studying the parchment printout. “But why make it so performative? If he wanted to scare us, why hide the message under UV? Why not write it in blood, make it theatrical?”

Phayu looked thoughtful. “Because that would make it too easy. This… this makes us feel like we discovered something. He’s playing a different kind of power game.” Rain crossed his arms, voice low. “Let’s talk mindset. We have got a killer who recreates the Ripper’s style. Who uses modern tools, reads historical records, studies famous crimes. What’s the why behind the message?”

Sky lifted his hand, fingers tapping his temple. “Theory one, it’s a challenge. Classic narcissist. Wants attention. Believes he’s smarter than us. He’s hunting hunters, testing himself against the best.” Pai added, “Theory two, it’s personal. Not just admiration for old crimes. Maybe he sees us as symbols. Maybe we remind him of someone. Since is focus is the SVU, I would say he is also trying to most likely buck authority… making him childish, which makes him the ultimate threats in my mind.” Rain glanced over, curiosity bright in his eyes. “Go on.” Pai straightened slightly. “Also, if he has been watching, if he knows about our clearance rates, connections within the precinct; he might think you represent control over chaos. And this is his way of disrupting that.”

Phayu murmured, “And the third?” Sky hesitated. “Theory three, he wants in.” Everyone looked at him. “He wants to be part of the story,” Sky explained. “He’s not just performing the Ripper; he is rewriting the case as a new legend. He wants to insert himself into our narrative. The message isn’t just a challenge. It’s a plea to be noticed. To matter. He’s obsessed with legacy.” Silence fell for a beat. Phayu finally said, “All three hold water. None of them feel wrong.” Rain stepped up to the board again, eyes scanning the web of string, notes, and images. “He’s baiting us. But if we read the story backwards… maybe we will find his signature in the margins.” Phayu walked up beside him, linking their pinkies discreetly. Just enough for Rain to feel the quiet warmth of his shield spreading gently around his thoughts. “Then let’s start reading.”

Schools were already out for summer break, but fellow teachers and the management had been coming in to prepare for the next semester. The receptionist had already ushered them in by the time the team arrived. Kanokwan Saetang’s colleagues had gathered in the staff room at the far end, where the soft hum of an espresso machine and the shifting discomfort of the waiting made the air feel heavier than it should have. Phayu took the lead, dividing them quietly.

“I will speak to her Principal,” he said. “Sky, you take the person who last saw her that night. Rain, you speak with her closest colleague. Pai, take the admin team.” They nodded. Rain headed toward the kitchen nook where a slender woman in her late twenties sat with her hands clenched around a reusable coffee cup. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her posture was rigid, bracing against the shock. Rain offered a small, warm smile. “Hi, I am Detective Rain. Mind if I sit?” She nodded wordlessly. He sat, leaving space between them. “You are Pimchanok, right?” “Pim,” she whispered. “Kanokwan always called me Pim.” Rain gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Can you tell me a little about her? What was she like at work?” Pim looked away for a second, swallowing hard. “She was… bright. Not loud, just… kind of like a lamp. You know? She lit up a room but never took up too much space.” Rain nodded gently, not interrupting.

“She stayed late a lot,” Pim continued. “We both did, but she was more disciplined. She had this routine. Headphones on, chamomile tea, same playlist every time. She liked feeling safe in structure. Loved poetry.” Rain’s brow furrowed. “Why would you stay late at a school?” “Well, it is a rule for teachers to stay back. We are not allowed to take work home, so we usually finish everything here itself. Plus, our personal systems cannot access school records.” Rain nodded. “Did she ever mention anyone making her feel unsafe? At work or outside it?” Pim hesitated, then shook her head. “No. She was careful. Really careful. Even a little paranoid. She carried pepper spray and a personal alarm on her keys. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere with someone she didn’t trust.” Rain made a mental note of that.

Meanwhile, Sky was seated across from a twitchy man in a beanie and wire-rimmed glasses, fidgeting with a stylus. “I teach science, and I had finished setting up the new equipment and materials that came for the lab. So I don’t know when exactly she left, but it was definitely before five.” “How do you know that with such clarity” Sky asked. “Well,” he said. “Because five was when I resurfaced for coffee, and most of the teachers were gone, there were hardly any lights.”

Across the room, Phayu was speaking quietly to Kanokwan’s Principal, a crisp woman in her forties with a tight bun and tighter expression. “Kanokwan was one of our best,” she said. “Never late, never slacked off. She recently declined an offer from a high-paying private school. Said she liked the quiet here.” Phayu’s gaze sharpened. “Any idea why she would turn down a significant opportunity?” “She said she didn’t want to start over again.”

Pai, meanwhile, had coaxed gentle answers from the admin team. “No strange packages. No angry exes. No drama,” they told her. “She was sweet. If someone hurt her, it wasn’t because she hurt them first.” By the time the team regrouped outside, the sun had begun to dip low behind the buildings.

“Nothing obvious,” Phayu muttered. “But too many mentions of how cautious she was,” Rain said softly. “She wouldn’t have gone willingly.” “Which means,” Sky added, “he either earned her trust… or found a way around it.” Pai’s voice was low. “Let’s check camera footage. If he left a trace, it will be there.” Phayu nodded. “Good. Let’s move.” And as they walked back to the car, Rain felt it, the deep, cold quiet of a puzzle that had barely begun to show its edges.

Chapter Text

Rain found her exactly where he expected, tucked in the back corner of their usual café near the hospital, already halfway through her iced Americano, scrolling absently through her tablet. The scent of roasted beans and buttered croissants filled the air, familiar and calming, a quiet contrast to the weight of his workday. He slid into the seat opposite her, tugging the cap lower over his eyes. She looked up, smiled instantly. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ple said, voice light with mischief. “Very on-brand for you.” Rain snorted. “Hello to you too, Dr. Resident.” She grinned and pushed a second drink across to him, hot this time, sweet and strong, just how he liked it. “You are welcome.” “Thank you,” he said, softening. “This might be the only warm thing in my day.”

Ple raised an eyebrow. “That bad?” He hesitated for half a second, then shook his head. “Can’t say much. You know how it is. Active case.” “But bad enough that you came looking for comfort coffee,” she said, voice gentling. “So I will just assume it’s the kind of case where you want to curl up in a corner and scream.” Rain gave a tired smile. “Screaming would wake P’Phayu. He’s barely gotten rest either.” She leaned in, propping her chin on her hand. “You are shielding again, aren’t you? From me. You never used to be able to do that. P’Phayu has stuffed cottonwool in your head.”

He shrugged, sipping the coffee. “It’s not about shutting you out, Ple. It’s about… keeping you safe. We have seen what happens when too many people know too much. I can’t risk dragging you into this.” Ple watched him for a beat. Then she reached across, covered his hand with hers. “Rain. You don’t need to protect me from everything. But I will take the coffee and the concern. What I won’t take is you burning out. So you better be eating and sleeping, or I swear I will rat you out to Saifah.” Rain smirked. “Oh, you are playing that card?” “I live with that card,” she said dryly. “It’s laminated.” He laughed, leaning back for the first time that day. The tension eased from his shoulders a little. “Speaking of, how is my charming, overly perfect brother-in-law-to-be?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Don’t start.” Rain grinned. “Oh no, I insist. Have you told him you like the way he wears his scrubs two sizes too small yet?” Ple flushed just a little, but didn’t pull away. “He does not wear them small, you brat.” “He does, and you stare.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are insufferable.” “And you are in love,” Rain teased, tilting his head. “Admit it.” Ple groaned. “I will not be baited. I have rounds in thirty minutes and a spine surgery to assist on. I need my focus.” He chuckled, then looked at her with softer eyes. “Just be careful, alright? Don’t walk alone. Don’t stay late at the hospital if you can avoid it. If anything feels off, you call me.” Her expression shifted. “You are really worried.”

Rain nodded. “The case is… intense. And targeted. Not towards you, but that doesn’t matter. He’s smart. Calculated. And I just….” He exhaled. “I don’t want you near the edge of it.” Ple squeezed his hand once, firmly. “Then we take care of each other, yeah? Like always.” He smiled, truly this time. “Like always.” They clinked cups gently before parting, each stepping back into their own world, hers of blood and bone, his of shadows and secrets, bound still by a friendship that neither distance nor danger could break.

Rain stood silently near the victim’s desk, his gloves already on, fingertips hovering just over the smooth surface. Sky was across from him, eyes half-lidded, one hand resting lightly on the back of the victim’s chair. The staff had emptied out the place for them ‘for further investigation’, cleared by the precinct for re-examination, but the hum of memory clung like static. “She was here late,” Rain murmured. “Pim said music, tea, lights low. Quiet night.” Sky nodded. His fingers slowly trailed along the desk lamp, then the ceramic mug still left behind, faintly stained with dried chamomile. “There’s residue,” he said quietly, “but it’s fractured. Like someone tried to scrub the timeline clean.” Rain frowned. “Psychic interference?” “No,” Sky answered. “Not psychic. Just… precise. Clinical. Someone who didn’t leave emotion behind. That makes it harder.” “Which means he was here? Someone she knew?” Sky looked disturbed at Rain’s question.

Rain finally let his mind empty out. “We won’t find anything here. We need to go to where she was taken. Even walls have memories.” Sky nodded, as both men drove in relative silence to the cozy café where the victim had last been seen. Sky hissed as soon as the stepped down and out. “What? What is it?” Rain looked around. “There is going to be a lot here. Are you sure you will be okay?” Sky asked, worry clear. Rain smiled faintly and nodded. He laid his hand on the door of the café. A flicker of something pulsed against his mind, a jolt of surprise, a startled intake of breath. His heart stuttered with the echo of it. He swallowed. “She was scared,” he said softly. “Only for a moment.” Sky circled around, hand brushing the wall next to the door. “There was contact,” he said, brow furrowing. “I think she was trying to regain her balance. Someone leaned over her. Spoke to her. Close. Too close.” Rain walked slowly around the building, hand brushing another part of the wall, pausing at the junction of the café and the alley next to it. “Here,” he said. “She moved here. Maybe tried to get away. She was cornered.” Sky joined him, placing his hand gently on the wall. His eyes fluttered closed, and his breath hitched, a flicker of something, a whisper just beyond comprehension. “It’s like trying to catch fog,” he murmured. “There’s a presence, but it’s slippery. He left almost nothing.” Rain watched him quietly, then offered a hand. Sky took it. “We will try again when we know more,” Rain said. And together, they stepped back into the quiet, leaving the shadows to settle again.

The next day, the SVU conference room was dimly lit, blinds half-closed against the sun. Phayu sat at the head of the table, sharp-eyed and unreadable. Rain sat beside him, fingertips pressed together. Pai and Sky flanked the other side, both alert, silent. Dr. Bun entered first, coat crisp, tablet in hand. Tian followed, but lingered near the wall, letting Bun speak first. “She died between 12:30 and 12:50 AM,” Bun began. “Neck slashed with what we believe to be a surgical blade. No hesitation marks, clean cut, no signs of struggle on the hands. She was likely caught off guard.” “Drugged?” Phayu asked. “No signs of sedation in preliminary tox,” Bun said. “She was likely standing. Based on pooling, she collapsed instantly.” “So the needle marks?” Rain asked. “As I said, preliminary tox. We are doing a secondary.” Dr. Bun said.

Sky frowned. “Minimal blood outside the wound. The cut was that clean?” “Almost surgical,” Bun nodded. “We have sent blade pattern impressions to the lab. But there’s more. Her mutilation was 100% post-mortem.” Pai went still. “He.. it was almost theatrical,” Bun clarified, “like he knew he was imitating someone, but he was also wanting to leave his own mark. As if he were creating a display.” Rain’s skin crawled. “So it’s not completely classic Ripper behaviour.” “It is, but with modern restraint,” Phayu muttered. “So he knows what he’s copying.” “I also found something odd,” Bun continued. “A single white rose petal in her throat. No bruising on the trachea. It was placed after death.” Pai shifted, suddenly uneasy. His eyes turned distant. “I… I see…” His voice faltered, and Phayu reached over without a word, grounding him. Pai’s breath steadied, eyes flickering back to the room. “She walked with someone,” Pai whispered. “She didn’t know him. But his face… it’s smoke.” Rain leaned forward. “You saw?” “Just fragments,” Pai said. “A smile. A ripple. And then… silence.” Phayu was quiet for a beat. Then he turned to Tian, almost as if nothing had happened. “Your turn Phi.”

Tian nodded once, used to these four men talking about things no one else could actually see. “Let’s talk forensics.” He stepped forward, unfurling digital files on the screen. “We processed the café overnight,” he began. “Very little physical trace. He wore gloves, we are certain. But we did find one thing, partial tread marks. Boot pattern. Standard military issue. Similar to the ones near the body” “Surplus?” Phayu asked. “Possibly,” Tian replied. “They are common enough to be meaningless… unless we get lucky.” He tapped again. A photo of a faint smudge glowed on the screen. “That,” Tian said, “is a trace of benzalkonium chloride. It’s a disinfectant, medical grade.” “Used in surgery?” Rain asked. “Used in sterilisation and embalming,” Tian replied. “If our unsub is recreating Ripper murders, he’s taking the cleaner’s route. He came prepped. He cleaned the scene, but left intent behind.” Sky narrowed his eyes. “This wasn’t rage. It was theatre.” Phayu was silent.

The conference room smelled faintly of antiseptic and strong black coffee, traces of late nights and heavier truths. It had become their base of operations, with whiteboards along every wall, maps and mugshots pinned with red thread, and the current case sprawled like a cryptic tapestry. The air buzzed with unease, even though Tian had just delivered his forensic findings with clinical precision.

“…so the killer knew what he was doing. Clean incisions, anatomical accuracy, and based on the knife entry, he’s left-handed,” Tian concluded, nodding toward the digital image of the body on the screen. “The lack of hesitation marks suggests familiarity. Possibly a medical background, or… someone mimicking one.” Dr. Bun, perched on the edge of the conference table with his tablet in hand, tapped through the autopsy images. “Toxicology came back with benzodiazepine. Which is why it didn’t show up in the initial screen. But could be good for us, since it is a controlled substance.”

Phayu gave a curt nod. “Thank you, both of you. We will follow up once Sky and Pai finish their sweep at the apartment.” Tian smiled slightly and glanced at Rain, who sat beside Phayu, fingers laced tightly in front of him. “Good luck. Whoever this is… they are just getting started.” The moment the door clicked shut behind Bun and Tian, a cold hush settled over the room. It wasn’t silence, not exactly, it was the kind of stillness that curled at the edge of perception. Rain turned to Phayu almost immediately, voice quiet. “You saw something.”

Phayu didn’t respond at first. He remained standing, hands gripping the back of his chair, gaze fixed on the far corner of the room. It had been barely a flicker, a shimmer in the periphery, but he had felt it, more than seen it. The sudden drop in temperature. The shift in air pressure. The unmistakable energy of a spirit trying to reach through the veil. Sky was already frowning. “You locked your shoulders. Like you were bracing.” “And your pulse jumped,” Pai added gently. “Something was here, wasn’t it?” Phayu finally exhaled and looked at them. “Yes.” Rain moved closer, hand brushing against Phayu’s. “Tell us.”

“She was here,” he said softly. “The victim. Just… for a moment. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look directly at me. But I could feel her. She was trying to say something, I think. Desperate, like someone yelling through water. I couldn’t understand her.I….” He shook his head, frustrated. “I am sorry.” “You don’t have to be,” Rain murmured. “It’s not always clear the first time. Sometimes they can’t make the bridge right away. Too much trauma. Too recent.” Sky moved to the far corner where Phayu had been looking. His fingers hovered in the air for a moment before pulling back. “Residual energy’s faint. She tried, but she’s not fully anchored.” “Or she’s being blocked,” Pai added, her tone darkening. “Something is keeping her from reaching you. A force stronger than her will.” “Or stronger than mine,” Phayu muttered. Rain’s hand found his, this time openly, grounding him. “Don’t. You are the reason she could reach at all.” Phayu didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw softened.

Sky glanced at the photos on the evidence board. “We need to give her another chance. Maybe with fewer people around, or in a place she felt safe.” “I agree,” Phayu said. “Somewhere familiar to her. Somewhere we can anchor her.” “Her apartment?” Pai offered. “Maybe,” Rain said, already planning. “Tomorrow. After sunset. She may not be strong enough to appear again so soon.” Phayu gave a tight nod. “We wait. And when she comes again, we will be ready.” Outside, the afternoon sunlight pierced through the windows in jagged rays, casting warped shadows against the walls. But in the centre of the room, bound by grief and resolve, the core team stood steady, waiting for the dead to speak once more.

Chapter Text

Sky’s hand hovered just above the edge of the glass coffee table as he stepped cautiously into the living room of Kanokwan Saetang’s apartment. The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, throwing fractured shadows on the walls and floor. He didn’t touch anything. Neither did Pai, who moved past him with measured steps, his eyes scanning every surface as if the walls themselves might whisper secrets. The apartment had been cleared by forensics already, but a faint chemical smell lingered, a mixture of bleach and something synthetic, sterile. It unsettled Sky more than any trace of blood would have. The air carried no personal scent, only silence and distance.

"She lived alone?" Pai asked, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the dead. Sky nodded. "Divorced. Neighbours said she kept to herself." Pai moved toward the small kitchen, studying the fridge with its blank surface. No photos, no magnets. The sink was empty and dry. He tilted his head toward the sparse dining table set for one. “Why her?” Sky glanced at a bookshelf in the corner, filled, but arranged too neatly. No clutter. No disarray. “That's what I keep asking,” he said, walking over. “There’s no personal connection yet. No pattern in her profession, social habits, or recent movements.”

Pai turned back to him. “So why choose her as the first?” Sky hesitated. He crouched beside a low cabinet, opening drawers one by one, careful not to disturb anything. “Maybe because she was isolated. Easy to study. Easy to get to.” “That's not motive. That’s opportunity,” Pai countered. Sky stood up, brushing dust from his gloved palms. “Right. So, possible motives,” he began, pacing now as he thought aloud. “One: she wasn’t the first intended, just the first available. Two: she represents something…. a symbol. A trial run, maybe. The killer could be experimenting. Testing.” Pai watched him with narrowed eyes. “Go on.” “Three,” Sky continued, “maybe she’s connected to someone else who was the target. A proxy. Kill her to send a message.” Pai frowned. “To who?” “No idea yet. But this doesn’t feel random. It was too deliberate. You saw the staging.”

Pai nodded grimly. “P’Phayu and Rain need to hear all this. They will want to dig into her contacts again.” Sky crossed his arms. “Already flagged her financial records for anomalies. Also checked her VPN logs, someone accessed her home network last week using an untraceable masked IP.” Pai’s eyes flicked toward him. “Before the murder?” “Three days before.” Pai exhaled slowly, as if releasing tension that had gathered invisibly. “He was watching her.” “Could have been longer. That’s just the first digital footprint I found, so I passed it on to digital forensics.” Pai nodded. He moved toward the narrow hallway that led to the bedroom, passing a wall-mounted clock frozen at 2:18. A strange quiet settled over them again. Even their steps seemed muffled, swallowed by the stillness of the space.

“Are you picking up anything?” Pai asked, his tone neutral, but edged with expectation. Sky opened his mouth to reply, but paused. Something shifted. Pai’s eyes lost focus as his breath caught. His shoulders tensed. He turned away from Sky abruptly, leaning on the back of the nearest chair as a wave of pain crested in his head. A piercing sensation tore through him, not physical, but something far deeper. His chest heaved once, then again, and he stumbled back. “P’Pai?” Sky’s voice sharpened with concern. Pai clutched the edge of the table, eyes closed, sweat breaking across his brow.

The vision came in jagged flashes, blurred, fragmented, as if through shattered glass. A hand pressing a doorbell. Blood on linoleum. Someone whispering a name over and over. Not Kanokwan’s. Someone else. A dark hallway, flickering lights. A heartbeat too loud. The sharp smell of copper. Then, a scream. Not of pain, but realisation. And it all went black. Pai gasped as he came back to himself, staggering slightly. Sky was by his side, ready to catch him, but Pai held up a hand. “I am fine,” he said, hoarse. Sky didn’t look convinced. “What did you see?” Pai’s face was pale, but his voice steadied. “He’s not done.” Sky’s breath caught. “This wasn’t a message. It was a prologue,” Pai said. “The start of something bigger.” The room felt colder suddenly. A car honked distantly from the street outside, but neither of them acknowledged it. Pai turned toward the door, eyes distant. “We will hear about the next one soon.” “How soon?” He shook his head. “Days. Maybe hours.”

Sky stood still, the weight of the words settling between them. “You are sure we can’t stop it?” “Yes,” Pai said quietly. “This was never meant to be the only one.” They remained silent for a moment longer, surrounded by the ghost of Kanokwan Saetang and the heavier presence of whatever was coming next. Then Pai moved, the trance broken. He reached for his phone. “We have to call Phayu and Rain now. They need to prepare.” Sky nodded and followed him out. The door clicked shut behind them with a finality that felt like a countdown beginning.

The walls of the SVU conference room were awash in grey and low light, a reflection of the thick clouds crowding Bangkok’s early evening sky. It was just past 7:00 PM, but the day already felt long. A dry erase board at the front of the room had been covered with magnetic sheets, maps, photos, a timeline, while the corkboard to its right bore printouts, forensics snapshots, and autopsy excerpts.

Phayu stood near the board, arms crossed, his posture alert but not tense. His gaze swept from the pinned image of the victim’s home, to the post-mortem photographs, then to the copy of the killer’s message. Rain, seated at the oval table beside Pai and Sky, was reading from a sheaf of papers. Phon and Kaen stood at the back, silent unless spoken to, respectful of the core team’s process.

“All right,” Phayu said, voice low but clear. “Let’s walk through everything we know. Just facts. We are not interpreting anything yet.” Rain nodded. “Victim’s name: Kanokwan Saetang, twenty-six, teacher. No sign of struggle. We believe she was taken en route home, drugged, then killed at a separate location.” “Staff where she worked said she was quiet, unassuming, hard-working, and known to stay overtime most days. Leaving at 6 was hardly anything new for her,” Sky said. Pai tapped his pen softly against his notepad. “But she left early that day. Most likely for the party she was attending.” “She was taken outside the club,” Phayu offered. “Family was also pretty shaken, having no idea why she was chosen as the victim,” Sky said.

Rain continued. “Nothing was stolen. Handbag, phone, laptop all present. Fingerprints were wiped, not even hers were visible. Crime scene was remarkably clean, sterile, actually, aside from the blood splatter pattern, which was sharp and defined.” Phayu turned to the board and pinned a sticky note beside the crime scene photo. “Right. Maw Bun said the killer likely used gloves. Latex or nitrile. Left no hairs or fibers behind. No foreign DNA recovered.” Sky frowned. “Too clean. Purposefully so. That’s not just a neat person, it’s someone who has done this before, or studied how to do it.” “Message was pinned to the body’s side,” Rain said. “Typed, not handwritten. No signature. No direct threat. Just a simple one: Catch me if you can. Although I know you can’t. She was the first, but not the last.”

At that, Phon shifted. “Permission to speak, Lieutenant?” Phayu turned slightly. “Granted.” “Sir, the message using our team… could it be someone you have worked with before? A former case? Maybe someone you didn’t catch?” Phayu’s voice remained steady. “We have considered that. But for now, we are treating it as targeting this unit in general. Until proven otherwise.” Rain picked up the thread. “The reference in the message is ambiguous. Could be metaphorical, inviting us to look deeper. Or literal, meaning the scene was meant to mirror something. P’Bun and P’Tian said the method of murder, deep throat slash, the mutilation, public-facing victim, matches a canonical victim of Jack the Ripper.”

“Could be any of his victims,” Sky said softly. “Except that this was a modern twist in the tale.” “Right,” Rain agreed. “Which is why it’s not a perfect match. But the location, staging, and throat wound do echo the Ripper. Kanokwan left the café almost as she was done, and was taken immediately after. Which could mean one of two things,” Phayu said. “Either she was being followed since a while, or..,” Sky said. “Or she was a chance pick. Right place, right time, wrong person,” Rain said. “Was she a substitute for someone? Or just a random pick?” Kaen asked quietly. “Nothing to suggest anything of the sort so far,” Pai said. “We did background checks on current employees and ex-staff. Nothing substantial. We are waiting on deeper dives into financials and email traffic,” Rain added.

Pai leaned forward. “We don’t even know for sure if this was personal or symbolic. She might’ve just fit a pattern. Could be the ‘type,’ not the individual, that mattered.” “That’s what we need to establish,” Phayu said. “If she was chosen at random to fulfil a role, it’s a different case than if this was vengeance.” Sky asked, “What about security footage?”

Phon shook his head. “Nothing useful. Two cameras near the area were disabled. The rest were running but didn’t catch anyone coming or going. We are still reviewing footage from the buildings and hotels around the area, but this was Sukhumvit Soi. We are not likely to find too much in any case. It’s not an area where shop owners actually put up cameras,” he said.

Rain flipped to another page. “Forensics confirmed the time of death around 12.50 am. So whoever did it knew exactly how to cover their tracks, even down to security protocol. They were confident. Efficient. And they left us the message not just to gloat, but to bait us.” Pai tilted his head. “Why now? Why start this now? If this person is recreating historical killings, they could have started with anyone. But they chose a modern, Bangkok-based woman, who while not too high-flying, was someone who did leave an impact, and left no actual signature, just that message only addressed to the SVU,” Sky said.

Rain looked at Phayu, but the Lieutenant’s expression didn’t waver. “The lack of signature might be the signature,” he said. Sky rubbed his thumb along the side of his finger. “Is it possible this isn’t a copycat killer in the traditional sense? Maybe they’re not mimicking Jack the Ripper so much as using his name to start a series. Modern symbolism, old-world method.” Rain added softly, “Which means this could be the first of a sequence.” Phayu nodded once. “That’s what we are treating it as. Pattern recognition will help if it exists. But we are not going in with any assumptions. This isn’t a game of chess where we try to anticipate every move. It’s evidence-first, always.”

The room fell quiet as they absorbed that. Then the landline on the wall buzzed, loud and sharp in the silence. Kaen crossed the room in two long strides, answering crisply. “SVU. Officer Kaen.” They watched his face go still. “Yes, understood. When?” A pause. “Yes, sir. Sending coordinates now.” Kaen looked at Phayu. “Lieutenant. Dispatch just got a call. A body was found in a Soi off Lat Phrao Road. Alley behind an apartment complex. Civilian jogger stumbled on it. It’s fresh. Uniforms have secured the scene. They said there’s… another message.” Phayu didn’t react outwardly. He merely looked at Rain. “Gloves. Lights. Vests.” Rain was already up, reaching for his satchel. “How far?” “About twenty minutes if traffic is clear,” Phon said.

Phayu turned to Phon and Kaen. “You are with us. Secure the perimeter, but don’t engage the scene until we arrive. Let Forensics do their job. Keep the media out. Understood?” Both uniforms snapped a nod. “Yes, sir.” Pai gathered his notes quickly, snapping the file closed. “Second message. We document everything exactly as it is. Fresh eyes. No assumptions.” Sky said, “We don’t know what they want. But they clearly want us looking.” “Let’s go give them our full attention,” Phayu said. And with that, the team moved in quiet precision, exiting the room without another word. The sound of the door shutting behind them was the only echo in a space suddenly too still, too cold, and far too quiet.

Chapter Text

The police tape fluttered slightly in the evening breeze, catching the glow of the sodium streetlights lining the narrow alley off Soi 71, Lat Phrao Road. The area had been cordoned off cleanly, per protocol, with Phon and Kaen standing in position at the main entry point to keep civilians and media at bay. The alley behind the low-rise apartment building smelled of gasoline, old rain, and fresh rot.

Phayu stepped out of the vehicle first, his face unreadable as he scanned the scene. It was 7:43 PM. The call had come in exactly nineteen minutes earlier. The response was prompt, methodical. No rush, no hesitation, just discipline honed by years of procedure and hard-won instincts. Beside him, Pai adjusted the strap of his evidence kit and checked that his latex gloves were on tight. Rain and Sky moved past them, heading toward the lone civilian seated at the far end of the perimeter, flanked by two uniforms. A man in his mid-thirties, still in jogging shorts, his hoodie streaked with something dark and wet that wasn’t his own blood. “Let’s approach clean,” Phayu said to Pai. “No assumptions.” Pai nodded once. “Agreed.” They moved to the body.

The victim was a woman in her twenties. She was sprawled against the rusting chain-link fence at the far edge of the alley, her legs splayed unnaturally, arms twisted behind her back at the elbow, as though she’d been bound at one point. Her skull was caved in on the left side, the dried trail of blood matting her dark hair against her cheek. Her blouse was torn, buttons scattered across the concrete, bra exposed. One shoe was missing. The other was twisted off her heel and hanging by a thread of leather strap.

Pai crouched first. “Blunt force trauma. Left parietal region. High impact. Probably a crowbar or metal pipe.” He glanced around. “We will wait for the sweep, but there’s no murder weapon in immediate sight.” Phayu stepped in beside him, careful not to disturb the blood pattern. “She wasn’t killed here,” he said, eyes moving across the scene. “There’s no pooling beneath her head. Only smeared transfer and backflow. She was dumped.” Pai gestured with a gloved hand. “Drag marks, faint, from the southern side of the alley. She was hauled here, probably by the arms. There’s abrasion on the heels.” “Look at the bruising pattern,” Phayu said, nodding to the victim’s jawline and clavicle. “Grip marks. Possibly from restraint. There’s petechiae in the eyes, she may have been choked, not fatally, but enough to render her unconscious. Then struck.” Pai’s face darkened slightly. “And raped, by the looks of it.” “No assumption until P’Bun gets here,” Phayu said, voice quiet but firm. “We don’t speak it unless we know it.”

Nearby, Rain was crouched in front of the witness, his voice soft and even. “You are okay. What’s your name?” he asked. The man was pale, shaking slightly. “Niran. I… just… God, she was just there. I… I run this route every night. I wasn’t looking for anyone…." “I believe you,” Rain said gently. “You didn’t touch her, right?” “No. No, I swear….” “You called 191?” “Yes. I…. I didn’t know what to do. I took one step closer and then I saw her face. And the…." he shuddered. “I backed up. I didn’t touch anything.” Sky, standing just behind Rain, asked, “Did you see anyone in the alley when you came in?” Niran hesitated. “No… wait. There was a sound. Metal. Like a clatter. Just one. Maybe a lid or a pipe falling. But I thought it was a cat.” “What time was that?” “I run the same loop. My watch logged the lap time…. 7:22. I turned into the alley at exactly that time.” Sky made a note. “You saw no one else. No figure running away?” “No, I…. I didn’t see anyone. I just saw her.”

Rain’s voice remained steady. “You have done everything right. An officer will walk you through a written statement. We will need your watch logs too.” The man nodded helplessly, and a uniform stepped forward to take over. Rain and Sky exchanged a glance before moving back toward the alley. By the time they returned, Dr. Bun and Tian had arrived. Bun knelt beside the body without a word, snapping on gloves. Tian started taking wide-angle photos while directing another tech to begin marking the drag path with numbered flags.

“Time of death looks recent,” Bun said after a few moments. “Body temp still retained. External lividity not fully settled. Likely 6:45 to 7:15 PM, which matches your witness’s account.” Phayu moved to the opposite side of the body, scanning the area for any signs of personal belongings or identification. “P’Tian, anything on surveillance?” “Working on it. Building cameras are outdated and only cover entrances, not alleys. I will send a team to canvass neighbouring shops for any footage.” Pai pointed to the bruising around the victim’s thighs. “Possibly consistent with restraint. She might have been handcuffed or bound.” “No ligature present,” Bun added. “But I will confirm abrasions in autopsy. No wallet or phone found yet?” “Nothing,” Phayu said. “She wasn’t robbed. This wasn’t about theft.”

Rain crouched down beside Sky, now both near the lower half of the body. “Clothing torn,” Rain murmured, “but no sign of a defensive wound. No dirt under the fingernails.” “She wasn’t fighting,” Sky said quietly. “She didn’t have time.” Phayu’s eyes narrowed. “Or she trusted him. At first.” Bun shifted slightly and removed a thin manila envelope pinned beneath the victim’s hip, sealed in plastic. “Message,” he said, passing it to Phayu. Phayu slipped it from the evidence pouch carefully and unfolded the typed sheet. No fingerprints, no handwriting. Just the same crisp courier font, centred. Looks like you are still running. This gift was easier to give. She was sweet.

Rain’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Pai exhaled slowly. “So it’s sequential. A performance. A puzzle.” Phayu said nothing at first. He folded the note back and handed it to Tian for bagging. “Bundy’s method. Charisma. Trust. Isolation. Blunt force. Sexual element. Abandonment of the body in a semi-public space.” Rain added, “Bundy often lured victims with a fake injury or charm. There’s no sign that happened here, but the staging mimics his early Florida victims. Head trauma, torn blouse, left near an apartment complex.” “Assuming we are right about the method,” Sky added, “then this is number two of six.” “We don’t assume,” Phayu said quietly, almost to himself. “We verify.”

Bun rose to his feet, stripping off his gloves. “I will confirm sexual assault after internal swabs. Right now, I would say the weapon was heavy metal, at least 1.5 kg. Possibly hollow pipe or tire iron. Blow to the head was swift. Victim lost consciousness instantly. Death followed in under a minute.” Tian added, “No tire treads nearby. No prints. Nothing obvious on footwear, but I will send her shoes for soil analysis. We will also search along the southern wall for signs of vehicle movement. And I will put in a rush on fingerprint identification.” Pai surveyed the narrow alley. “He didn’t kill her here. But he chose this place for the message. Which means he knew we would find her fast.”

Rain looked up at the surrounding apartments, their windows dim or dark. “That’s confidence.” “Or familiarity,” Sky said. “He knows the rhythm of this area. Knows when the alley’s deserted, how long a body would go unnoticed.” Phayu straightened slowly. “Work the timelines. Double-check the witness’s watch data. Pull phone pings from nearby towers. Every minute matters.” He looked back toward the alley entrance, where the last rays of the sun had faded completely. “We are not dealing with a copycat,” he said at last. “We are dealing with someone who wants to rewrite history.” And none of them had any doubt; they were now officially chasing a timeline.

Rain sat on the narrow wooden bench outside the precinct’s break room, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. The weight of the evening still clung to him, the second body, the message, the quiet horror of a killer playing history like a deck of cards. But the noise in his mind had softened, thanks in part to the gentle shield wrapped around him, a warm mental hush that bore Phayu’s quiet energy.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, thumbed through to Ple’s contact, and hit call. It was late, nearly 10 PM, but she always answered. Two rings. “Rainy?” He smiled at the sound of her voice. Soft, slightly hoarse from long hours in a cold hospital, but unmistakably her. “Hey, Princess.” There was a pause, and then a sigh. “You sound tired.” “I am.” “I saw the news,” she said quietly. “About the body in Lat Phrao. It’s everywhere already.”

Rain didn’t speak right away. He stared up at the overhead fluorescent bulb, watching it flicker at irregular intervals. “Yeah. That was us.” “Baby…” Her voice softened. “Are you okay?” “I am okay,” he said. “We are all okay. We got there fast. We are processing it cleanly. We are not jumping ahead this time.” Ple hesitated. “It’s happening again, isn’t it? The high-profile cases. The attention. The pressure.” Rain nodded slightly, though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. It’s that kind of case.” “Are your shields holding?” He blinked at the question, caught a little off guard. “Yeah. P’Phayu’s helping. And I am keeping the ones his mom taught me up. The layer-braid one. It’s working.” “Good,” she said firmly. “Don’t let them slip, Rain. Especially if he’s targeting you directly.” “He probably is. It’s the whole SVU this time Princess.” Another silence. Then a breath. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” he said again. “We are handling it together. P’Phayu’s solid. Sky’s grounded. P’Pai’s been stepping up, too. We are not chasing ghosts alone this time.” Ple made a soft humming noise, the sound she always made when trying to gauge how much truth was hidden between Rain’s words. “Promise me something.” “Anything.” “Don’t go anywhere alone. Not now. Not even for a second. Not even for a smoke break, not even to get coffee. Stay with someone. Preferably with P’Phayu, but if not, Sky or Pai or even a damn uniform.” Rain let out a quiet laugh. “You are scolding me.” “I am not scolding you, I am loving you loudly because I know how you are. You think if something dangerous comes up, you should face it first so nobody else has to. But you don’t have to be the front line anymore. You have got a team.”

“I know,” Rain said. “No, Rainy, I mean it. I have been up nights thinking about this case since you got pulled in. And this one…. this one feels like it wants to burn you out. You are the psychics. You are the lens. That makes you the magnet.” Rain didn’t reply for a moment. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “Baby, you can’t break. Not again.” He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut. “I am not going to break.” “Not even a hairline fracture?” He smiled. “Not even a scratch, Princess.” “Good.”

A pause stretched between them, long but not heavy. He let the silence settle, then asked, “How’s the hospital? Are you on-call tonight?” “Finished at nine. Just got home. Showered. My feet are dead, but my heart’s good.” “Hard day?” “Just long,” she said, stretching the word. “Couple of spinal injuries, one emergency shunt, and a five-hour resection on a tumour that looked like it had grown legs.” “Sounds glamorous.” “Oh, absolutely. I smelled like cauterised blood and regret by the end of it.” He snorted. “I missed your melodrama.” “You love my melodrama.” “Always have.”

She laughed softly. “Well, Dr. Romantic here has some good news, by the way.” Rain blinked, sitting up slightly. “Yeah?” “There’s talk of a promotion,” she said, trying not to sound too pleased with herself and failing miserably. “If all goes well by the end of the year, I will be a full-fledged doctor. Official. Signed, sealed, certified neurosurgery badass.” Rain’s face lit up, the weight on his shoulders lifting for just a second. “Ple, are you kidding me? That’s amazing! Holy shit, I am so proud of you.” She giggled, a high, bright sound. “I haven’t told many people yet. But P’Fah knows. Obviously. And now you.” “Of course I know. I am your Rainy.” “Exactly,” she said warmly. “And you have always believed I could do this, even when I didn’t.” “You can>/i> do this. You are doing this. I am going to throw confetti at your face the day you get your badge.” She snorted. “Please don’t. It will get in my scrubs.” “I will throw edible glitter instead.” “Even worse.”

“I will arrange something. Dinner. When this case cools down. You, me, P’Phayu, and P’Saifah. We will go out, just us four. Somewhere you don’t have to wear crocs and I don’t have to carry evidence bags.” “That sounds perfect.” He smiled at the image. “It will be.” Ple’s tone softened again. “I know I joke a lot, but seriously, Rainy… this case. It’s got teeth. Be careful. I have seen what pressure does to you, and I have seen how you power through it even when you shouldn’t. Please don’t let yourself become the story.” “I won’t.” “And don’t disappear into your abilities, either. Stay you.” “I have got people around me now. Good ones. Sky checks in every five minutes. P’Pai’s got the most annoying sense of timing in the world. And P’Phayu…. You already know how overprotective he is.” “He really is, isn’t he?” Ple said. “Yeah,” Rain said, the warmth in his voice immediate and certain. “He really is.” “Then let him take care you, even when you think you don’t need it.” “I will.”

Another pause. “I love you, baby,” Ple said gently. “So much. You know that, right?” He leaned his head back again, eyes closed, smile spreading slow and genuine across his face. “I know. I love you too, Princess. Always.” “Even when I yell at you?” “Especially then.” She laughed softly. “Call me tomorrow, okay? Even just for five minutes.” “I will. You are my tether, Ple.” “And you are my Rainy.” They stayed there, quiet on either end of the line, holding the space between them like a thread. Despite the violence of the world outside, despite the case pulling him deeper by the hour, Rain felt a small corner of peace settle in his chest. They hung up only after she made him promise one more time to stay safe. And when he slipped the phone back into his pocket, the world felt a little less jagged, and a little more bearable.

Chapter Text

The conference room carried the quiet thrum of anticipation. Outside, the corridors of the Bangkok Metropolitan Police’s SVU wing had fallen into their late-evening hush. Inside, the lights burned steady over the pale wood table, where the core team had gathered once more. Phayu stood nearest the case board, arms folded, as Rain settled into the seat beside Pai. Sky sat across from him, a glass of water between his hands. At the far end, Phon and Kaen stood at ease, their presence unobtrusive but fully alert. The door clicked open precisely at 9:04 PM.

Dr. Bun entered first, white coat crisp despite the long hours, followed by Tian, who carried a thin brown file folder and a tablet tucked under his arm. Both men looked as tired as the rest of the team, but their eyes held the intensity of people who had found something worth staying late for. “Evening,” Bun greeted, voice low. Phayu gave a small nod. “Let’s begin.” Tian stepped forward and laid the folder on the table. “We have confirmed the identity of the second victim.” He clicked his tablet, and the screen on the wall lit up with a scanned government ID photo; young woman, dark eyes, minimal makeup, her expression formal.

“Name: Kanyarat Ubonchai. Age twenty-three. Freelance photographer and social media content consultant. Lived in a studio apartment in Din Daeng. No priors. Contacted last by a colleague around 6:45 p.m. on the night of the murder. She said she was on her way to meet a prospective client near Lat Phrao.” Sky tilted his head. “How far from where she was found?” “About twelve minutes walking,” Tian said. “Near Soi 83. The alley was quiet. No cameras in direct sight of the murder spot, but there’s one across the street. We are pulling footage now.” Phon spoke up from the corner. “She was still warm when we arrived, sir. We secured the perimeter within minutes.” Phayu nodded. “Good. That gives us a tighter time window.”

Dr. Bun picked up the thread. “Time of death estimated between 7:10 and 7:20 p.m. The body was discovered at approximately 7:22 by a jogger. She was found supine, legs positioned neatly, head turned slightly to the side. Eyes open. No overt mutilation.” Rain’s voice came soft. “Cause of death?” “Strangulation,” Bun replied, face unreadable. “Ligature marks on the neck consistent with cord or nylon rope. Light petechial haemorrhaging, which suggests loss of consciousness was rapid. Secondary trauma to the back of the skull; she was struck first, then asphyxiated. The wound indicates a solid object, likely metal or wood, blunt but with a narrow edge.” “Same sequence as the Bundy-style MO,” Pai said, resting his elbows on the table. “Lure. Attack. Stun. Kill.” Tian swiped to the next slide. “Minimal physical evidence. Gloves again, no latent prints on the victim or her bag. Her phone and wallet were left untouched. Killer didn’t take anything.”

“And the message?” Phayu asked, voice sharp but calm. Rain’s eyes flicked to Tian as he brought up the next image. The same parchment style paper, expensive but fresh looking. Looks like you are still running. This gift was easier to give. She was sweet. Sky exhaled slowly, the only sign of tension. “This one’s for us,” Rain murmured. Phayu remained still. “He is trying his best to rattle us, confuse us.”

Before anyone could speak, the door opened again, and Captain Phupha entered. Tall, lean, his black uniform jacket draped over one arm, he moved without wasted motion. His gaze swept over the room once before settling on Phayu. “Status update,” he said simply. Phayu gestured Rain forward. “Victim identified as Kanyarat Ubonchai, twenty-three, last seen alive just before 7:00 p.m. She was found warm at 7:22 p.m. in an alley off Lat Phrao Soi 83. Cause of death: blunt trauma followed by ligature strangulation. No sexual assault. Nothing stolen. Same message pinned to her body.” Phupha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Similar profile?” “Not identical,” Phayu replied. “Different demographic from the first victim, Kanokwan. But similar age range. Both lived alone. Both had irregular schedules.” “Both easily targeted,” Bun added. “She was lured. The angle of the blow and the neatness of the staging suggest she turned her back willingly before the attack.”

Phupha folded his arms. “Anything useful in her belongings?” “Only her phone, which we are processing now,” Tian said. “No new calls after 6:45. Texts were casual, coordinating work, no red flags. The client she was meeting never showed.” “Or never existed,” Pai said grimly. Sky leaned forward. “How sure are we that the killer is mimicking Bundy’s tactics?” Bun nodded. “Down to the sequence and precision. Blunt force injury followed by strangulation. Presentation is controlled. No frenzied violence. No postmortem injury. All of it screams calculated.” “And psychological,” Rain added quietly. “He’s baiting us. The language in the note is more pointed. He’s trying to destabilise SVU. Wants us reactive.” Phupha turned to Rain. “Is it working?” “No,” Rain replied without hesitation. “Not this time.” “Good.”

The room fell silent for a few beats. Kaen spoke next. “Sir, are we considering a pattern yet? Two victims, two signatures.” Phayu nodded. “We are analysing that now. First scene mimicked Jack the Ripper. This one, Bundy. There are six names mentioned in the original note. We suspect the killer is following a thematic sequence.” Sky added, “Which means four more killings, unless we stop him first.” Phupha moved closer to the board and studied the timeline. “Do we have any indication of what connects the victims beyond their vulnerability?” “Not yet,” Pai said. “But that’s where we start next. Life patterns. Routines. Online connections. Places they frequented.” “Could be random selection,” Rain murmured, “but it feels curated.” “Agreed,” Phayu said. “He’s not picking out of a phonebook. These women were selected. We need to find out why.”

Phupha gave a short nod. “Tighten your net. Start comparing timestamps, digital footprints, surveillance. If he’s following a sequence, he will already be planning the next one.” He turned to Bun. “Anything else I need to know?” Bun shook his head. “Tissue samples sent to the lab. We are checking for accelerants or sedatives. It’s a long shot, but if he used anything to subdue her beyond blunt trauma, it will show up.” Phupha gave a final glance at the message on the board, then looked at Phayu. “I want updates every six hours. Work this clean, not fast. And keep yourselves protected.” Sky opened his mouth to argue, but Phayu spoke first. “No one’s not working alone on anything.” “Good,” Phupha said, already turning toward the door. “Let me know the second we get anything new.” And then he was gone. The room sat in silence for a moment longer. Tian slowly turned off the screen. Bun packed up his tablet. Phayu looked to the team. “All right. Let’s get to work.” Rain closed his notepad and stood. The weight was still there, two victims, one killer playing god with time and memory, but his mind was clear. They would find the next step. Together.

The late morning sun did little to warm the narrow lane in Din Daeng where the Ubonchai residence stood, a modest two-storey home painted in faded cream, its metal gate rusted at the hinges. The neighbourhood was quiet, respectful. News of the tragedy had travelled fast. A white ribbon had been tied to the gatepost. Someone had placed a garland of jasmine on the mailbox.
Phayu parked the unmarked vehicle a little down the lane and stepped out with Rain, both dressed in plain clothes, badges clipped discreetly to their belts. The heat rose from the pavement in slow waves, but neither of them commented on it. The air around them was already heavy. Rain glanced up at the second-floor window where lace curtains barely stirred. “You ready?” Phayu nodded once. “You?” “As I will ever be.” He didn’t smile. Neither did Phayu.

They approached the gate and rang the bell. A moment later, a woman in her late teens came to the door. Her face was drawn, eyes swollen, and she held a tissue tightly in one hand. “Yes?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “Detective Rain and Lieutenant Phayu,” Rain said gently, offering his badge. “We are here to speak to you about Ms. Ubonchai. We are so sorry for your loss.” The woman nodded shakily. “I am Chanya. Her younger sister. Come in.” They removed their shoes at the entrance, stepping into a cool living room where the curtains were drawn, and the air smelled faintly of incense and grief. On the low table were several framed photos of Kanyarat: laughing with friends, posing with a camera, blowing out candles on a cake.

A woman sat on the couch, her body slightly turned inward, as if protecting herself from the world. Her husband sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders. His face was stone, but his other hand clutched a photo of their eldest daughter so tightly that the frame’s edge had left an indentation in his palm. Rain and Phayu bowed politely before sitting across from them. Phayu began, voice low and respectful. “Mr. and Mrs. Ubonchai… we understand how difficult this is. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t absolutely necessary. We are trying to find the person responsible. The smallest detail could help us.” Mrs. Ubonchai, still silent, nodded once.

“Can you tell us about Kanyarat’s routine?” Rain asked. “Was she working on any specific projects? Meeting anyone new?” “She was always working,” Chanya replied softly. “Clients, editing, social media posts… sometimes events.” “She said she had a meeting near Lat Phrao that evening,” Mr. Ubonchai said. “She left around 6:30. I was in the kitchen. She waved and said, ‘Be back in an hour, Pa.’ That’s the last time I saw her.” Mrs. Ubonchai made a small noise, like a sob trapped in her throat.

Rain leaned forward slightly, his tone compassionate. “Do you know who the meeting was with?” Chanya shook her head. “She didn’t say. Just that it was a possible long-term contract, something with travel photography. She was excited. She was always excited about work.” Phayu gently placed a recorder on the table. “May we ask a few follow-up questions? We will stop at any point you need.” Mr. Ubonchai nodded. “Please… anything that helps.” Rain spoke next, keeping his voice soft. “Did she ever mention feeling unsafe? Anyone following her? Any fights or strange messages?” “No,” Chanya said, glancing between her parents. “She didn’t even like horror movies. She said the real world was scary enough.”

Mrs. Ubonchai finally spoke, her voice brittle. “She was careful. Always. She shared her location with us. Always messaged when she arrived somewhere. Why wasn’t that enough?” No one had an answer. Phayu’s gaze was steady. “We believe the killer planned this very carefully. He used deception. We don’t believe she could have anticipated it. This is not your fault. Or hers.” There was a long silence. The ticking of a nearby wall clock punctuated the stillness. Rain opened his notepad, scanning his list. “Did Kanyarat keep a journal? Or any personal record of meetings?” “She had a planner,” Chanya said. “I can get it.” She disappeared upstairs and returned with a slim leather-bound book. Rain accepted it with gloved hands and slipped it into an evidence envelope.

“Did she ever talk about someone persistent? Uncomfortable interactions?” Chanya hesitated. “There was one man… months ago. A client who kept messaging even after she said no. But that was ages ago. She blocked him.” “Do you remember his name?” “No. But maybe her old phone still has the messages. It’s in her room.” “We will check with digital forensics,” Phayu said. Mrs. Ubonchai looked up again, eyes brimming. “She was so bright. She loved light. And he… he left her in the dark. Alone.” Her husband gripped her hand. Rain’s chest ached. “We will do everything we can,” he said. “We promise.”

After a few more questions, on habits, friends, and safe spaces, they prepared to leave. Rain handed Chanya a card. “If anything comes to mind, anything at all… even something small, please call us.” She nodded. “Will you… let us know when you find him?” Phayu’s voice was quiet. “You will be the first.” They bowed once more and stepped back into the heat of the afternoon. Outside, the street buzzed faintly with traffic and cicadas, but to Rain, it felt muffle, like the weight of what they had seen and heard dulled the sound. He leaned against the gatepost and let out a long breath. “She was just trying to live her life.” “She trusted someone enough to meet them alone,” Phayu said, gaze fixed on the street. “He used that.” Rain folded his arms. “Her sister said she shared her location. That means she wasn’t being careless. She was doing everything right. And still…” “And still it wasn’t enough,” Phayu finished. Neither man spoke for a long moment. Rain turned to look at the house again. He could see Chanya through the window, sitting beside her mother, trying to hold her up. “She had a whole life,” Rain whispered. “And now it’s been reduced to evidence bags and autopsy photos.” Phayu’s jaw clenched, his voice low. “And we don’t even have a real lead. Not one.” Rain didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The helplessness hung between them like the smog over Bangkok; dense, inescapable. They stood there in silence for another few minutes before walking back to the car, each carrying the weight of a promise they hadn’t yet figured out how to keep.

Chapter Text

The interrogation room on the third floor of the Special Victims Unit had been cleaned and set for the day. The lighting was warm but neutral, calculated to calm nerves without feeling clinical. The two-way mirror had been checked for privacy compliance, and the recording system had been verified by the tech team first thing that morning. Sky stood by the small table, checking the schedule on his tablet. Nine people were set to appear, five colleagues and four clients from Kanyarat Ubonchai’s freelance and media work. He made a note beside each name as the clock ticked forward. Beside him, Pai leaned against the far wall, arms crossed but gaze alert. Their plan was clear. Ask open-ended questions. Avoid leading language. Build rapport where possible. Watch for contradictions, inconsistencies, or signs of omission. Everything would be documented, recorded, and transcribed.

The first to enter was Jariya Meesuwan, a video editor who often worked on Kanyarat’s content. She was in her early thirties, plainly dressed in black, and her eyes were rimmed red. “Thank you for coming in today,” Sky began, offering a polite nod as she sat. “We know this is a hard time. We are grateful for your cooperation.” Jariya nodded. “She was like a little sister.” Pai tapped the recorder. “We are recording this interview for case documentation. Do you understand and agree to that?” “Yes.” The questions began gently; how long she had known Kanyarat, what they worked on, whether there had been any changes in her behaviour recently. “She was upbeat,” Jariya said. “Always. The last few weeks… she seemed more focused. Not anxious or anything, just… like she had something big coming. She didn’t say what.” “Did she mention a contract? A new project?” Sky asked. “She mentioned a client that asked for a confidentiality agreement. Said it was ‘high-end.’ That’s all she said.”

Pai scribbled a note. “Anyone she was worried about? Threatening messages? Online harassment?” Jariya shook her head slowly. “She blocked people when they crossed lines, but nothing recent. She said she had developed a thick skin.” They wrapped the interview at the twenty-minute mark. Jariya left after giving them access to her chat history and shared project folder with Kanyarat. Next came Thanom Lertwiset, a camera rental manager. Late forties, terse, clearly unused to the formality of a police interview. “Miss Ubonchai rented a stabiliser rig from us about two weeks ago,” he said. “Said she was preparing for international shoots.” “Did she mention a destination?” Pai asked. “Somewhere in Europe, maybe Austria or Spain. Said the client was going to pay for everything if things worked out.” “Did she return the rig?” “She did. Two days before she died.”

They took a quick coffee break before the third witness, Mayuree Chansamorn, a sound technician, came in. She was emotional, shaking, her voice nearly cracking as she described Kanyarat. “She made people feel seen,” she said. “I was closeted when I met her. She never judged me. Encouraged me to do the work I love.” They steered the conversation gently back to the investigation. “She had a meeting the night she died. She told me it was a potential game changer,” Mayuree said. “But she seemed hesitant too.” “Did she say why?” Sky asked. “She said, ‘I don’t know if I should trust this guy. But it’s big.’ That’s the last thing she told me.”

Sky and Pai exchanged a glance. It was the most concrete lead they had had so far. The next two colleagues, Preecha Namsuk, a location scout, and Lalana Phattharaphon, a freelance stylist, gave similar information. Kanyarat had mentioned a large-scale international collaboration, but kept details vague. Both described her as professional and passionate. Neither knew who the client was. “Not even a name?” Pai asked Lalana. “No. But she said it was someone she had met through another client, a referral. Maybe a male. She didn’t elaborate.”

When they switched to clients, the tone shifted. These were people who had paid Kanyarat for services, social media campaigns, product photography, video editing. Client One: Phichit Narongdet, an up-and-coming fashion brand manager, had glowing things to say. “She was visionary. Made our brand feel fresh. Our last shoot with her was three weeks ago. No issues.” “Did she say anything about moving out of freelance work?” Sky asked. “She hinted at taking fewer clients. Said she might go full-time with someone.” “Someone?” “She didn’t say who.”

The second client, Wipada Thongchai, a wellness entrepreneur, described Kanyarat as “overworked but enthusiastic.” No mention of suspicious activity. The third client, Ramil Kumsaeng, a media content director, had an interesting detail. “She asked me to review a non-disclosure agreement,” he said. “Said she didn’t want to sign anything shady.” “Do you still have that document?” Pai asked.

“Yes. I will forward it.” The last client, Benjamas Arunrat, a tourism account manager, confirmed something chilling. “She told me she was going to meet someone in Soi 71 near Lat Phrao,” she said. “I joked about how narrow those lanes are. She laughed and said, ‘If I disappear, it’s your fault for jinxing me.’” Pai’s jaw tightened. They thanked Benjamas and concluded the round of interviews. It was just past 4:00 p.m. when they returned to the conference room. Pai’s notebook was filled with scribbles; Sky’s tablet glowed with recordings and notes.

The room smelled faintly of whiteboard ink. Someone had cleared the coffee cups, and the evidence photos from both murders were clipped to a corkboard on the far wall. Rain and Phayu arrived fifteen minutes later, looking as drained as they felt. Sky stood. “We have got some pieces.” “Same here,” Rain said, dropping into a chair. “Her family’s broken. Completely. But she was doing everything right. Telling people where she was going. Sharing her location. We still missed it.” Phayu remained standing, hands behind his back. “Let’s compare. Go.”

Sky began summarizing: Mayuree’s comment about mistrust, the mysterious NDA, the man she met through a referral. Benjamas confirming the Soi. The possible destination in Europe. The fact that multiple witnesses recalled Kanyarat saying this job was “huge.” “Which sounds like a lure,” Phayu said flatly. “Too good to ignore.” Rain tapped a pen against the desk. “The NDA she had checked out by a client, do we have it?” “He’s sending it,” Pai confirmed. “He said it looked rushed. Unprofessional.” “What about a name?” “No names. But Wipada mentioned that Kanyarat said she’d been referred. Maybe through a previous client.” Rain nodded. “So someone reached her through the professional network. Not social media.”

“We might want to look at the last two dozen clients she worked with,” Phayu said. “Filter for men. See if anything matches in the system.” Sky looked up. “Already pulled her project history from the last six months. I was just waiting for Shin to run the backend data.” Right on cue, the door opened. Shin Niranart, the SVU’s cybersecurity expert, entered with a laptop tucked under his arm. Barely twenty-six, and already a prodigy, Shin wore an oversized hoodie and a laser-focused expression. “You are going to want to see this,” he said, striding straight to the conference table.

Rain gave him space. Shin placed his laptop down, connected to the room’s projector, and the screen flickered to life. “I have been comparing the online activity of both victims, Kanokwan Saetang and Kanyarat Ubonchai, across the last sixty days. Looking at login locations, third-party app access, shared platforms.” “And?” Phayu asked. “They both received messages through encrypted emails from the same masked domain. One week apart.” The room went still. Shin tapped the keyboard, bringing up a screenshot. “Here’s the metadata, Kanokwan’s message came on May 21st, Kanyarat’s on May 28th. Same signature hash. That means same sender, same encryption protocol. Untraceable. Military-grade spoofing.” “What did the message say?” Rain asked.

“We don’t know,” Shin admitted. “Both victims used browser-based email clients. The message was viewed, then manually deleted. I have retrieved fragments of text, though. And it’s enough to raise alarms.” He enlarged the segment on the screen. “Exclusive opportunity. Private proposal. Confidentiality required.” Pai’s voice was cold. “Lure bait.” Sky rubbed his jaw. “This guy’s casting nets and seeing who bites.” “Exactly,” Shin said. “And he’s covering his tracks with serious tools. Not your average scammer.”

“Can you find anyone else who got similar messages?” Phayu asked. “Already started cross-referencing. The sender used fake domains, but the fragments are distinctive. If he reused phrasing or metadata, I will find it.” Phayu nodded once. “Good. Keep it silent. Don’t alert anyone.” Rain looked at the corkboard, where two victims’ photos stared back at him. “He’s hunting. With a pattern. And now we know what kind of bait he’s using.” The room fell quiet again, a brief moment of grim satisfaction amid rising dread. “Two solved,” Sky said softly, “Four to go.” “Unless there’s more,” Pai muttered.

Phayu turned to the screen. “Shin, bring every digital thread. Backtrace whatever’s left. We find that message, we find him.” And in that room, surrounded by still images, notes, and grief condensed into data points, the team leaned forward together. They didn’t have a name. Not yet. But now, they had a path.

The sky had begun to change as Phayu turned into the quiet residential lane that led to the house he used to call home. Dusky hues crept across the evening sky, casting the world in a soft gradient of orange and pale blue. The air smelled faintly of mango leaves and concrete cooling from the day’s heat. The old gate creaked when he pushed it open, its familiar metallic groan tugging something loose inside him. The garden looked well-kept, probably Ple’s doing, she always liked things tidy and growing. The porch light was already on, its warm yellow hue spilling out like a welcome mat across the tiled steps. The house itself looked the same. The edges had softened in his memory over time, but standing here, it struck him how little had changed.

He knocked once, out of habit more than necessity. A second later, the door swung open. “Phayu,” Saifah said with a wide grin, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t say you were coming.” Phayu stepped in and took a deep breath, letting the scent of lemongrass, soap, and old wood ground him. “Didn’t feel like talking on the phone.” “You okay?” “Yeah.” He paused. “Just needed home for a bit.” Saifah didn’t question it further. He simply squeezed Phayu’s shoulder and led him toward the living room, where soft jazz played from a speaker tucked under the bookshelves. A warm light hung over the sofa, and a half-read medical journal lay open on the coffee table. One of Ple’s sweaters was folded neatly on the armrest.

“Ple’s on call tonight,” Saifah said as he poured water into a couple of glasses from the jug on the sideboard. “You want something stronger?” Phayu shook his head. “Water’s fine.” They sat side by side on the sofa. Neither spoke for a long moment. The silence wasn’t strained. It was full of history, two people who had shared more than just a womb. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. “You look tired,” Saifah said at last, turning to study his twin. “I am,” Phayu admitted. “But it’s not the kind of tired that goes away with sleep.”

Saifah didn’t press. He waited. “It’s Rain,” Phayu said eventually. “He’s… handling too much. Taking in too much.” “His mind still wide open?” Phayu nodded. “We have been practicing the shields. The ones Mom taught us, and the layers we built together. But sometimes he forgets. Especially in the middle of a scene or after an intense interaction. And when he drops the shields….” He hesitated. “It’s like everything rushes in. All the noise. All the people. Dead and alive.” Saifah’s expression sobered. “And you?” “I can shield him in short bursts. You know that. But if I hold it too long, I start losing focus. It messes with my own perception.”

“So you are playing catch with your senses while trying to solve serial murders.” He shook his head. “That’s a nightmare.” Phayu ran a hand through his hair. “He’s brilliant, though. He always knows when someone’s lying, always sees more than we do. But lately, I have seen him go quiet in the car. He won’t say it, but I know he’s getting overwhelmed. The second body shook him.” Saifah’s tone softened. “Have you told him?” “I try. I remind him to shield, to breathe, to let me ground him. Sometimes I think he does it just to make me happy.” “But he doesn’t believe in protecting himself first.” “Not yet.” Saifah gave a long exhale. “That reminds me of you, you know. When we were younger.” “I know.” “You took on every angry spirit, every fragmented voice in the ether. Refused to sleep until they passed on.” “Mom said it would be our gift or our burden.” “It’s still both,” Saifah said quietly.

They lapsed into silence again. Outside, a few birds chirped half-heartedly as the world gave way to night. “I needed to see you,” Phayu said eventually. “All of this, the murders, the messages, the pressure, it’s starting to close in. I needed to remember something simple. Something safe.” “You don’t have to explain, Phi. This is still your home.” Phayu’s eyes softened at the nickname. It was what Saifah had called him since they were children. “I was looking through that old photo album last week,” Saifah said, leaning back. “The one where we are six and you are trying to build a wall with plastic blocks between our beds because you said I snored like a demon.” “I stand by that assessment.”

Saifah chuckled. “You kept reinforcing it every night like it was your sacred duty.” “Sounded like exorcising a banshee. And Mom still blamed me when you woke up crying.” “Because you accidentally hit me with the blocks!” They both laughed, the sound easing something heavy from Phayu’s chest. “She’s proud of you, you know,” Saifah said when their laughter faded. “Mom. She tells everyone she meets that both her sons became men of purpose.” Phayu let that sit. “You have done more than me. Saving lives every day.” “Not the same thing,” Saifah said. “You walk into hell to bring justice. That’s not easy.”

They sat in companionable silence again until Phayu glanced at him and grinned. “So when were you going to tell me you were planning to propose?” Saifah blinked, then gave a sheepish smile. “You felt it, didn’t you?” “Didn’t need to. I can’t read anyone, but then, I don’t have to. After all, you are my twin. The twintuition is never wrong.” Saifah groaned. “Damn it.” Phayu chuckled. “Relax. I won’t twll anyone, especially Rain. It’s your thing to do.” Saifah shook his head with a grin. “I was going to wait until her residency ends. It’s in six months. She’s almost there, exhausted, but close. Once she becomes a full doctor, I want to ask her properly. Something nice. Maybe that restaurant by the river she likes.” “She will say yes.” “I hope so.” “She will,” Phayu said firmly. “You two are good for each other.”

Saifah turned toward him. “And you? Planning something?” Phayu’s gaze dropped for a second. “Yeah. I have been thinking about it.” “Seriously?” “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said softly. “Rain walks into chaos and brings clarity. He makes people feel seen. And he knows me, not just as a man, or a cop, but as someone who hears the dead and shields the living. He doesn’t flinch.” “Then do it,” Saifah said. “You have already moved in together. You are building something. And have been wearing promise rings since the second week you got together!” “I want to give him something constant. Something that anchors him.” Saifah smiled. “You are already that for him.” Phayu looked down at his hands. “Still. I want to give him more.”

“I never thought we would find this, you know?” Saifah said. “I always figured we would be alone. Two weird twins who talked to spirits and dodged questions.” “And now here we are. You with Ple, me with Rain. People who love us anyway.” “No,” Saifah corrected gently. “People who love us because of who we are. Not in spite of it.” Phayu looked around the room, at the books on the shelves, the faint scratches on the coffee table from when they used to do homework here, the photo frames that still held pictures of their younger selves with their mother and father, now even of Ple and Rain scattered around. “This place carries so many memories.” “It’s still yours,” Saifah said. “Come back whenever you want. Stay overnight if you need to. Bring Rain too. He can spend time with Ple. That will ground him as well.” Phayu smiled. “I might take you up on that.” Saifah stood. “Come on. Let’s make something. I have got frozen dumplings and leftover khao soi.” “Now you are speaking my language.” As they headed to the kitchen, Phayu felt a strange lightness in his chest. The case was still unsolved. The killer was still out there. But for one evening, inside these walls, he was just a brother, not a lieutenant. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The lights were already set up when Phayu and Phupha stepped onto the platform erected just outside the Metropolitan Police Bureau. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through heavy clouds, but the assembled media didn’t seem to notice the dimness in the sky. Microphones jutted forward like curious snakes. Camera flashes popped. Reporters stood bunched together, eyes sharp, notepads ready, and phones recording. Phupha’s presence alone carried gravity. Dressed in full uniform, his posture straight as steel, the insignia on his shoulder gleamed with authority. Beside him stood Lieutenant Phayu, equally composed, his expression carved from granite. His hands were behind his back, stance firm, radiating control.

There was no podium today, only a temporary riser, a row of microphones clipped to a stand, and a backdrop bearing the insignia of the Royal Thai Police. It was the Bureau’s choice to keep things minimal, to show transparency but avoid theatrics. Phupha stepped forward and adjusted the mic slightly. The low hum of feedback was quickly silenced by a technician. He gave a single nod and began. “Good afternoon,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “I am Captain Phupha of the Metropolitan Police Bureau. We thank you all for being here today. I will read a prepared statement, following which we will take a few questions. Please remain professional. We will not respond to speculation.”

A murmur passed through the crowd, but silence quickly resumed as Phupha pulled out a small slip of paper. “On the evening of June 9th,” he began, “a second body was discovered in a service alley off Lat Phrao Road. The victim was a woman in her twenties. She had not even been reported missing by her family before she was discovered. The circumstances of her death, and the similarities in presentation with a previous homicide currently under investigation, lead us to believe this is the work of the same individual.” He looked up, eyes steady.

“As of now, the investigation is ongoing. We have a dedicated task force comprised of officers from multiple departments, including Special Victims Unit, Forensics, and Cybercrime. While certain media outlets have begun to refer to this suspect as the ‘Copycat Killer,’ I would like to stress that this designation is not an official label used by the Royal Thai Police.” A ripple moved through the press pool, camera shutters clicked faster, pens scratched more urgently. “We urge the media to exercise discretion and responsibility. Sensationalising ongoing cases can compromise both the investigation and public safety. I will now take a few questions.”

The air crackled as the journalists burst into motion. “Captain Phupha! Is it true the killer left a message for Lieutenant Phayu again?” Phupha didn’t blink. “We are not releasing specific details of the crime scene. The integrity of the investigation is our highest priority.” Another hand shot up. “Is there a link between the victims? Can you confirm if they knew each other?” “At this time, we are investigating all possible connections between the victims,” Phupha replied smoothly. “We cannot confirm any link until the analysis is complete.”

A third reporter, from one of the national dailies, pushed forward slightly. “Lieutenant Phayu, sir, do you believe this is a personal challenge? The messages seem addressed to you.” Phayu met the man’s eyes. His face betrayed nothing. “I will not comment on unverified claims,” he said, voice steady. “Our focus is to bring the perpetrator to justice. Not to speculate on motive through the press.” “But the tone of the message….” “Again,” Phayu cut in, “I would caution all media outlets against assuming anything not confirmed by this task force. Rumours and narrative framing are dangerous in active investigations. The facts are not for public dramatisation.”

A female journalist raised her voice slightly. “Lieutenant, can you confirm whether the methods used in this crime mirror those of any known serial killers?” Phayu drew in a measured breath. “We are aware of similarities. However, we do not confirm details that could inspire copycat behaviour, mislead the public, or hinder the investigation. Our team includes qualified analysts and forensics experts who are evaluating all variables.” “Sir, any comment on the psychological profile?” another asked quickly. Phupha responded before Phayu could. “That information, if compiled, will be used internally to assist in narrowing suspects. We do not release criminal profiles to the public unless absolutely necessary. Premature disclosure only fuels speculation.” “Have there been any suspects brought in yet?”

“We are reviewing several persons of interest,” Phupha answered calmly. “No arrests have been made. The public will be informed should that change.” “What can the public do to stay safe?” asked a soft-voiced reporter near the back. “Be alert. Travel in groups when possible. Report any suspicious behaviour. And above all, do not spread misinformation.” There was a momentary pause. Then the questions surged again. “Is this the work of a local suspect, or do you believe they are operating across multiple provinces?” “Have you consulted with international profiling experts?” “Is there any forensic evidence linking both crime scenes?”

Phayu remained impassive as the tide of questions built, then quieted, then surged again. When a reporter from a popular online tabloid stepped up with a camera running live and asked, “Lieutenant, do you think the killer is watching this right now?”, Phayu finally responded again, his tone firmer this time. “I do not indulge hypothetical commentary,” he said. “Our work is evidence-based. This investigation is not a stage.” Phupha gave him a quick glance, approving, firm, and then raised his hand. “That will be all for today,” he said. “We appreciate your cooperation. Further updates will be delivered through official channels only.” Several voices shouted follow-up questions, but neither officer responded. They stepped off the platform in silence, walking with deliberate purpose as cameras continued to flash behind them. As they re-entered the Bureau, the glass doors shutting out the noise, Phupha exhaled slowly. “You did well.” Phayu didn’t look at him. “They will speculate anyway.” “They always do,” Phupha said. “But at least we’ve made the line clear.” “They have already given the killer a name. That’s dangerous.” “I know,” Phupha said grimly. “And it only makes the bastard bolder.”

They continued down the hallway toward the secured elevator that would take them to the seventh floor, where the task force's operations room was located. The air felt cooler inside the Bureau, almost sterile compared to the noisy frenzy outside. Phayu flexed his hands once, then stilled them. “He’s playing a long game,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And he wants an audience.” Phupha glanced sideways. “And?” “And we can’t give him one.” The elevator doors opened with a low chime, and they stepped in, the mirrored interior reflecting two men who bore the weight of a city’s rising fear. Neither spoke again until the doors closed behind them.

At precisely 7:03 AM, Sam’s phone rang. She was halfway through her second cup of coffee, feet propped up on the desk in the bullpen. The precinct was unusually quiet for a weekday morning, just the background hum of fluorescent lights and a few murmured conversations between detectives wrapping up overnight cases. "Detective Sam," she answered, the call already flagged as Dispatch. "Ma’am, you and Detective Mon are needed at a potential, corner of Soi Naradhiwas 15 and Chan Road. Caller is a civilian, says there's a body in the alley near the dumpsters. Uniforms are en route." Sam stood, motioning to Mon with a jerk of her head. "Got it. We are rolling."

Mon didn’t ask questions. She grabbed her coat, slinging it on as they headed to the elevator. They reached the scene in under ten minutes. Two patrol cars were already parked at odd angles, lights flashing silently. A line of yellow tape cordoned off the entrance to a grimy alleyway sandwiched between a closed noodle stall and an apartment complex with crumbling balconies. The early morning light was barely filtering through the gaps between buildings, throwing the alley into a murky half-shadow. Sam ducked under the tape, squinting at the figures huddled near the far end. "Status?" she asked a uniformed officer, who nodded toward the dumpster. "Female vendors headed to the market found him. They are shaken up, but one managed to call us before passing out." Mon had already knelt beside the body. "Male. Looks mid-to-late twenties. Extensive mutilation. This isn’t just a mugging."

Sam approached slowly. The victim’s shirt was torn open, his chest carved with eerie precision. Blood pooled beneath him in a drying halo, but what drew her attention was the small, rectangular piece of paper pinned to the left side of the chest with what looked like a meat skewer. She crouched beside Mon and read aloud, her voice low: "'You are still running, and I am right in front of you. Sad. But he was nice. I liked him.'" Mon looked up at her sharply. "Shit. This isn’t random." Sam nodded. "Third victim." They stepped away from the body, Sam immediately pulling out her phone. She tapped Phayu’s number. It rang once before he answered. "We have got a third," she said, brisk and professional. "Male victim. Found ten minutes ago. Alley off Soi Naradhiwas 15. We didn’t realise until we saw the note." There was a pause. Then Phayu’s clipped reply: "We are on our way. Text the exact location." "Already sent. Get P’Bun and P’Tian, too. You are going to want everyone on this."

Phayu closed the call and looked toward Rain, who was standing in front of the boards, but already turning around. Rain’s expression changed the moment their eyes met, he had felt the shift before the words came. “Another?” Rain asked. Phayu gave a single nod. “Third victim. Sam and Mon confirmed the note.” Pai and Sky were waiting near the parked SUV. Without a word, all four climbed in, and Phayu took the wheel, weaving out of the lot and onto the main road, siren clearing the morning traffic. Tian and Bun were already en route when they arrived. The alley was darker than the morning should have allowed, and the thick scent of blood lingered in the still air. Rain winced as they approached. He reached subtly for Phayu’s pinkie, linking their fingers in a familiar gesture. The mental shield snapped into place like a door slamming shut. Rain exhaled.

Sam met them at the perimeter. "Victim’s male, mid-to-late twenties. Vendors found the body around 6:45. Cause of death is likely exsanguination, but there’s clear evidence of post-mortem mutilation. The note was pinned directly into his chest." Phayu crouched beside the body, pulling on gloves. Pai moved to stand opposite him, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the visible wounds. "This isn’t just murder," he murmured. "It’s mimicry." “Dahmer,” Rain confirmed quietly. “The note even has that eerily conversational tone.” Sky stepped closer. His fingers hovered just over the victim’s wrist, then slowly descended until they made contact. His breath caught. Rain placed his hand on the victim’s shoulder. Nothing. Then….

Pain. Confusion. Darkness. Flashes of light, a knife, a dull ache behind the eyes, and a voice, not loud, but insistent. Sky pulled back first, his face pale. "He was lured. The killer used familiarity, maybe pretended to know him. Took him somewhere first, maybe drugged him. Brought him here after." Rain’s eyes remained distant, wide with vision. "He was kind. Trusted too easily. The killer took his time. Wanted him to be awake, aware. But he didn’t fight. He kept asking... why." Phayu exhaled. "Did you get a face?" Rain shook his head. "It’s fog. He was drugged. His last memories are blurred. But there was music, something old. 80s, I think."

Phayu stood and nodded to Tian, who was already snapping photos from multiple angles. Bun knelt with him, setting down his kit. “Let us finish up here,” Tian said. “We will have to do the autopsy to determine the exact method, but there are signs of invasive procedures. Possibly organ removal.” Sam added, “The vendors are still here. Shaken up, but they agreed to talk.” “I will go with P’Pai,” Sky offered, rubbing his temple.

The two women sat on a low stoop, each clutching a cup of sweetened tea an officer had fetched. Sky crouched down in front of them while Pai sat beside one, his hand resting gently on the woman’s arm. "We are detectives," Sky began softly. "We just want to understand what happened. Can you tell us what you saw?" The older of the two, a woman in her fifties, nodded shakily. "We come through here every morning. Shorter than walking around. We... we smelled something, and I thought a dog had gotten into the bins again. But then we saw him." The younger woman was trembling. Pai’s hand squeezed hers lightly. "Did you see anyone else? Hear anything unusual?" "No," the older woman replied. "But... I thought I heard music when we were further up the alley. Old music. Radio-like. It stopped as soon as we screamed." Pai and Sky exchanged a look.

Back at the body, Bun looked up as Phayu approached. "We will get him back for a full examination, but this is calculated. Whoever did this knows anatomy. And they are leaving him in plain view, which tells me the killing wasn’t about disposal. It’s about message." Phayu nodded, then looked at Tian. "We need to ID him quickly. Check facial recognition, missing persons, anything. Time is narrowing." Tian gave a nod. "Already running comparisons. But if he’s new in the city or has no criminal record, it will take a bit longer." Rain knelt beside Phayu again, his fingers ghosting the edge of the victim’s shirt. "He was so lonely," he whispered. "The killer pretended to be someone who understood. Took advantage of that." Phayu placed a steadying hand on Rain’s shoulder. "We will find him. Before he does this again."

As the scene wrapped, the team regrouped beside the SUV. Sky returned with Pai, nodding toward the patrol officers now escorting the witnesses to a precinct car. "They heard music. 80s. The killer must have been waiting, maybe even watching them find the body." "Which means he’s confident," Phayu said. "And close." Rain tilted his head slightly. "And he’s watching us, too." They stood in silence a moment longer, the city slowly waking around them, unaware of the predator moving quietly through its streets. "Let’s go," Phayu said finally. "We will regroup at the station. And this time, we don't wait for the next note. We find him first." They left the alley behind, the weight of the third victim pressing heavy against their backs.

Chapter Text

The precinct had not quieted since the third body was found. There was no illusion of calm anymore, everyone was moving with a sharpened edge. The mood had shifted, as if the city itself knew it was being stalked by a predator no one could see. At the heart of it all were Phayu, Rain, Pai, and Sky, the core four, as the department had started calling them, pushing against the limits of sleep, focus, and endurance. Tian was the first to break through the fog.

"Got an ID," he called out, entering the main conference room where Phayu, Rain, Pai, Sky, Sam, and Mon had gathered. His tablet was in one hand, and his coat hung from his shoulders like a forgotten burden. "Victim’s name is Apinan Kraiwichai. Age twenty-eight. No prior convictions, lived alone in Lat Phrao. Worked part-time at a small tech consultancy. Quiet, off-grid kind of guy." Mon scratched her jaw. "Anyone report him missing?"

"No," Tian said. "I checked. But he hadn’t shown up to work for two days. Boss thought he was sick." Sam rose, already reaching for her coat. "We will take the family. See what they know." Phayu nodded. "You and Mon go. Pai and Sky can run background on his workplace, see if anything flags." Rain stood, but Tian held up a hand. "One more thing. The note. We have been trying to trace the paper used. This isn’t your average notepad stock, it’s limited edition. Handmade Thai mulberry paper, dyed with natural indigo. Only three suppliers in Bangkok." That turned every head. Tian continued, tapping the screen. "One supplier only sells to artists and collectors. Very small batch release last year. They sold only twenty full packs of this type. I have names."

He flicked the screen and mirrored it on the projector. Three names appeared. "First buyer: Chatchai Wattanapanich. Died of a heart attack six months ago. Billionaire, apparently bought it on a whim. Never used it. His household confirmed the paper was buried with him as part of a ritual." "Strange ritual," Sky muttered. "Second buyer: Anan Niratkul. Retired professor. Teaches part-time at Chulalongkorn now. Known collector of handmade paper and inks." "Third?" Phayu asked. "Surasak Thawin. Mid-thirties. Reclusive. Runs a boutique antique bookstore in Phra Khanong. Lives above the shop." Rain leaned forward. "Both are possible. We split up." "Rain and I will take the bookstore," Phayu said. "Pai and Sky can head to the university." Phupha, who had just entered quietly at the back, said nothing for now. He watched with narrowed eyes as the team split assignments without pause, exhaustion shadowing all four of them.

Sam and Mon found the Kraiwichai family in a modest two-story home in Bang Kapi. Apinan’s father, Supachai, was a lean man in his fifties with weary eyes and a stiff posture. His second wife, Marisa, appeared brittle, high-strung. The younger step-brother, Thana, was a university student, shoulders hunched like he expected blame. Sam introduced herself and Mon with clipped professionalism, holding out their badges. "We are here about Apinan," she said. "May we come in?" Supachai’s face fell instantly. "He’s dead, isn’t he?" Sam exchanged a glance with Mon. "May we sit down?"

They were led into a sparsely furnished living room. Thana sat on the edge of his seat, eyes darting. "When was the last time you spoke to your son?" Mon asked. Supachai rubbed his face. "Three weeks ago. He came for dinner. He’s... he was quiet. Kept to himself." "Did he seem worried about anything? Unusual behaviour?" Sam pressed. Marisa shook her head. "He never said much to me. I always had the feeling he resented me." "Did Apinan have close friends? Partners? Any recent conflicts you are aware of?" Thana finally spoke, voice thin. "He didn’t talk much. But there was one guy who came around a few times. Tall. Glasses. Real intense. They argued last time. Apinan told him not to come back." Sam’s interest piqued. "Do you remember his name?" Thana hesitated. "I think... I think it was Surasak." Sam and Mon simply exchanged a glance.

At Chulalongkorn University, Pai and Sky found Anan Niratkul in a faculty lounge, sipping tea and leafing through a notebook filled with calligraphy. His workspace was obsessively neat. Pai introduced them and showed the paper sample. "We are tracking this specific paper stock. Limited batch. You purchased a set last year?" Anan peered at it through reading glasses. "Yes. I have used it for my haiku series. Beautiful texture. But I keep strict inventory. None of mine are missing." Sky asked gently, "Anyone else have access? Students, assistants?" "No. I don’t trust others with my supplies. If you are investigating a crime... I assure you, Detective, I value my tools too highly to be careless." Pai studied him a moment. "Can we see the remainder of your stock?" He led them to his private office. Everything was accounted for. Sealed, labelled, carefully indexed. Sky gave a faint nod. Not their man.

Phayu and Rain arrived at the bookstore just after noon. The exterior was quaint, its wooden sign hanging from rusted chains. Inside, the space was dim and fragrant with old paper and incense. Surasak stood behind the counter, tall and lean, with dark-rimmed glasses and a faintly amused smile. "Detectives," he said, after they showed their badges. "How unexpected." "We are investigating a murder," Phayu said plainly. "We are tracing paper used in a message left by the killer. You purchased the same stock last year." "Ah, the indigo mulberry," Surasak said. "Yes, I still have some." Rain stepped forward. "We would like to see it."

Surasak nodded and turned, opening a cabinet behind the counter. He removed a lacquered box and opened it to reveal carefully stacked sheets. "I assure you, I haven’t sold or shared them." Phayu took one and compared it to a swatch Tian had sent them. Identical. "Where were you two nights ago?" Rain asked. "Here. As always. I close at 8 PM. I was reading until midnight." "Anyone who can verify that?" Surasak smiled. "Customers, perhaps. I run a small poetry reading on Tuesday evenings. I keep a guest list." "We will need that list," Phayu said. Surasak handed it over without complaint. "Tell me, Detective, are you looking for someone who obsesses over the written word?" Rain narrowed his eyes. "We are looking for someone who takes pleasure in death."

Back at the precinct, Tian and Bun, with Shin’s help, had already compiled Apinan’s digital footprint. Socials scrubbed clean. Phone records showed last call to an unknown number two nights prior. "We are running a trace," Tian said. "But it’s bouncing through a proxy." Bun entered the room with his notes. "Preliminary autopsy confirms extensive post-mortem mutilation. But what’s interesting is the drugs in his system. Traces of ketamine. Enough to knock him out but not kill him. The killer wanted him semi-aware." Sky grimaced. "Sadist." Pai nodded. "And precise. He left no fingerprints, no hairs. Whoever this is, they are clean. Professional."

Sam entered with news. "The family confirmed Apinan had an argument with someone named Surasak. Description matches." Phayu’s face darkened. "That makes him more than just a paper enthusiast." "But we still don’t have anything we can arrest him on," Rain said. "No prints, no forensics." "Let’s see what we can squeeze out of the guest list," Sky offered. Phupha stepped forward, arms folded. "Enough," he said firmly. "You have all been running on fumes since the first body dropped. That’s four days straight. No real sleep, no downtime."

Phayu opened his mouth, but Phupha raised a hand. "I don’t want excuses. You are no good to the case if you collapse in the middle of it. I am ordering all four of you to stand down for the next twelve hours. Go home. Eat. Shower. Sleep. Regroup. We will resume in the morning." Rain looked reluctant, but Pai touched his arm. "He’s right. We’re no use like this." Phayu finally nodded. "We will head out. But if anything breaks…." "You will be the first I call," Phupha promised. As they left the precinct, the exhaustion finally caught up with them. The city outside buzzed on, indifferent to the battle unfolding in its shadows. But for the first time in days, the core four allowed themselves to exhale, even if just for a moment.

Rain exhaled as the apartment door closed behind them with a soft thud. The weight of the last few days pressed down on his shoulders like concrete. Phayu dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entrance and turned to him, eyes gentle but tired. Neither spoke for a moment. They didn’t need to. The apartment was dimly lit, quiet, wrapped in the familiar scent of lavender and clean linen. A sanctuary. Phayu reached out first, brushing his fingers over Rain’s wrist. The touch grounded them both.

Without a word, Rain followed him into the bathroom. The steam from the shower soon clouded the mirror, the sharp line between heat and exhaustion blurring. Phayu tugged his shirt over his head, Rain following suit. They stepped into the warmth together, and for a while, the water washed away the silence. Phayu gently pushed Rain’s hair back, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Rain leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut as Phayu’s touch steadied him. Phayu took that time to kiss him deeply. Rain moaned into his mouth. Phayu pulled him closer, their cocks rubbing each other. “Phi!” Rain whimpered, as Phayu’s hands slipped down his back and kneaded his ass. “Baby,” Phayu moaned, his lips moving down Rain’s jaw, down to his neck, softly sucking the spot. He pulled back and took the lube that was always stashed there, taking generous amounts into his hand, before sliding his fingers into Rain’s hole. Rain plastered himself to Phayu’s body, allowing him to do as he liked, his own body completely pliant. Once he had been in three fingers, he immediately pulled out and turned Rain around, spreading his legs, and entering him in a single thrust. He moved in and out, and it was not long before they were both coming, groaning as they did. “Are you okay?” Phayu asked softly, voice low, nearly lost to the water. Rain nodded, resting his forehead against Phayu’s shoulder. “I am now.” They stayed like that for minutes, touch and warmth, heartbeats syncing back into something calm.

Later, in bed, Rain lay curled into Phayu’s side, one leg hooked over his partner’s. Their fingers were entwined under the sheets, the late afternoon light filtering through the curtains. Rain had melted into Phayu’s side once more as the two of had gotten into bed after. Phayu turned slightly, pressing a kiss to Rain’s temple. “Sleep.” Rain hummed. “With you here? Always.” Sleep came swiftly. Dreamless, deep, and healing.

By the time they returned to the precinct the next morning, the core four were sharper. The haze of exhaustion had lifted, replaced by fresh resolve. Phayu looked sharp, Rain’s curls were still damp, and both wore the clean-cut authority that always made people in the precinct instinctively get out of their way. They reconvened in the conference room with Sky and Pai already seated. “Morning,” Sky greeted, sipping coffee. “Feels like we missed a year,” Rain muttered, dropping into his chair. Phayu pulled up the screen and tapped into the digital board Tian and Shin had compiled. “Let’s look at Surasak. Something about him feels... deliberate.”

Sky nodded. “I went through the guest list from his poetry night. Most of them check out as regulars. But I flagged three names as odd. All three have no social media footprint, no digital presence, and two are aliases.” “Which means he’s hiding someone,” Rain said. Phayu already had his phone out. “Let’s pull Shin in.” Minutes later, Shin patched into their call from Cybercrimes.
“I ran facial recognition on the CCTV footage from Surasak’s poetry nights. Cross-referenced it with his guest lists. He’s been deliberately omitting one person,” Shin said. “A man named Thanaboon Rattanachai. Mid-thirties. Former psych major at Mahidol University. He attended with Surasak during undergrad. I dug a little deeper.” Shin sent a file across. Phayu opened it, frowning. “During his college years, Surasak authored a thesis proposal on the psychological evolution of serial killers, Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy, Ramirez. He focused on behavioural emulation, compulsive mimicry, and idolisation. It was flagged by his faculty as ‘deeply disturbing’ and he was required to revise it.”

Sky’s brows rose. “He was studying the same people the killer is copying.” “Exactly,” Shin confirmed. “And here’s the kicker: Thanaboon was his research partner. They co-wrote an early paper—‘Obsession and Identity: The Allure of the Monster.’” Pai leaned forward. “So either Thanaboon is the killer, or Surasak is feeding someone who is.” Phayu nodded grimly. “We need context. Let’s track down the lecturer who flagged his thesis.” Professor Anong Wetchakul, retired but still sharp as a tack, agreed to speak to them from her small garden home in Dusit. The woman wore glasses and a jade pendant over a blue linen blouse, her tone brisk and firm. “Ah. Surasak Thawin,” she said. “I remember him well. Polite, articulate, but cold. Too cold. He wrote as if fascinated by the darkest corners of humanity. He submitted a proposal that made even my most seasoned colleagues uneasy.” Rain sat forward. “What was in it?” “Methodical breakdowns of serial killers. But not from a detached scholarly perspective. There was admiration. Even aspiration. He suggested that to understand them fully, one might have to mirror them.” Phayu frowned. “He wanted to emulate them?”

She nodded. “Exactly. We made him revise it. But I always wondered if we just pushed the darkness underground. Thanaboon was quieter, but I never trusted the combination.” Rain’s voice was tight. “Do you think they could have followed through?” “I think one of them is now. Or both.” As they left her house, the air felt heavier. Back at the precinct, they called an emergency huddle with Sky, Pai, and Phupha. “Thanaboon isn’t on any recent records,” Rain said. “Not legally. But we found a partial match on facial recognition, man using the name Kritsada Lertwisut, employed at a private security firm. Changed his identity two years ago.”

Phayu paced. “So Surasak knows exactly who he is. He’s hiding him, maybe even helping him. Whether he’s the killer or just an enabler, we don’t know yet.” Sky glanced toward the screen. “If Thanaboon is the one acting out these murders, he’s using Surasak’s paper obsession to frame the narrative. Surasak may be writing the script.” Phupha folded his arms. “We will need to move carefully. Any arrests before we can prove direct involvement will spook them.” Rain rubbed his temples. “Then we need a witness. Someone from those poetry nights who saw something. Someone who may have met Thanaboon without knowing it."

Phayu looked over at Pai. “Start contacting everyone who attended. One of them may have spoken to him. Keep the questions subtle.” Pai nodded and pulled out his phone. The web was tightening. Somewhere between ink-stained paper and bloodied flesh, the killer’s pattern was unravelling, and now, finally, the team had a real chance to follow the thread to the end.

Chapter Text

The precinct buzzed with a tense, quiet focus. Phayu sat at his desk, eyes locked on the digital board projected onto the wall, showing every scrap of data they had pulled so far on Surasak and Thanaboon. Rain leaned over his shoulder, scrolling through a university alumni database, while Pai and Sky combed through archived academic journals and yearbooks. "Found it," Pai murmured. He turned his laptop to show Sky. "Obsession and Identity: The Allure of the Monster. Mahidol University Undergraduate Psychology Journal. Volume 13." Sky skimmed the abstract. "They wrote this when they were just twenty. It’s disturbingly articulate. It’s not just about understanding serial killers. It’s about glorifying them."

Rain nodded grimly. "The paper's structure matches what’s happening now. Bundy, Dahmer... if they’re following this chronologically, the next would be Gacy." Phayu stood. "Let’s figure out how Thanaboon became Kritsada. What triggered the change?" They started by digging into Thanaboon’s college records. Academic performance, attendance, course history, all unremarkable. But a news clipping from 2016 finally cracked the surface. "Here. Look at this," Rain said. A scanned article from a student newspaper reported the death of a fellow psych student, Nattapong Sirikul, age 22 years. Cause of death: suicide. Found in his dorm, no foul play suspected. The article barely made a paragraph. "Nattapong was in three classes with Surasak and Thanaboon," Rain said. "He was a friend. Maybe more."

Sky pulled up Nattapong’s social media archive. "He tagged both of them frequently. Photos show them inseparable. There’s nothing after March 2016, three months before the death." "That’s when Thanaboon’s academic performance dropped," Phayu said. "And three months after the suicide, Thanaboon legally changed his name and disappeared." Pai tapped his pen against his notebook. "So Nattapong’s death wasn’t just trauma. It was the catalyst." Rain frowned. "He disappears. Surasak doubles down on writing. They go underground. That’s when they started refining this fantasy."

Phayu moved toward the whiteboard. "Let’s profile them." He wrote two names side by side: Surasak Thawin. Thanaboon Rattanachai / Kritsada Lertwisut. "Surasak is the architect. Detached, articulate. Obsessed with structure and control. Likely the strategist." "And Thanaboon is the actor," Rain added. "More emotionally volatile. Likely the one physically executing the murders." Pai pointed to the timeline. "Each murder is ritualistic, theatrical. A performance. Which means they’ve planned this down to the last detail." Sky added, "We need to know who the Gacy victim will be. Gacy killed teenage boys and young men, often under the pretence of employment or mentorship."

Phayu’s brow furrowed. "So the next victim could be a student, an intern, or someone looking for guidance. Someone vulnerable." They pulled Surasak’s recent social media. Poetry readings, writing workshops, book clubs. Rain circled one. "This workshop here, ‘Dark Verses’, took place last week. The participants were mostly students and young creatives. It was hosted in Surasak’s private studio." Pai searched the event listing. "Twenty names. Let’s run background checks on all of them." Sky got up and walked to the board. "What if they are using these events to hand-pick victims?" Rain nodded slowly. "Like an audition."'

An hour later, Shin entered the room without knocking. He looked pale, holding his tablet like it was radioactive. "You need to see this," he said quietly. Everyone turned. Shin tapped the screen and projected an audio waveform onto the monitor. "I got this off a dark web audio forum. A user with an encrypted identity posted a monologue three days ago. I was scraping for voice prints when I came across it." He pressed play. A distorted voice crackled through the speakers, slightly masked but still disturbingly calm: "There is a kind of clarity in decay. In the moment where breath leaves the body, and you are the only witness. They don't understand that. But he does. He watches like I do. He writes it down. Every detail. We bring art to chaos." The room went silent. "That’s Thanaboon," Shin said. "I matched the cadence and word choice to his old vlogs from when he was a student."

Rain felt ice settle in his chest. "They are talking to each other in code." Sky whispered, "And enjoying every second." Phayu inhaled slowly. "This confirms that Thanaboon is the killer. Surasak is the chronicler. One acts, the other preserves." Shin nodded. "And he left metadata in the audio file. It was recorded in the same district as Surasak’s studio. They are still close. Possibly even living together." Phayu turned to the board. He drew a circle around the names, connecting them to the three confirmed victims. Then he wrote one word beneath it: "Next." They had to move faster. The clock was already ticking.

The morning air was already thick with heat as Phayu adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and stepped out of the precinct beside Rain. Across the lot, Pai and Sky climbed into an unmarked car, already inputting the first address into the GPS. They had split the list of individuals who had attended Surasak’s poetry evenings. From a starting group of twenty-three, they had narrowed it to eleven individuals who had interacted with either the victims or Surasak more than once. Today’s task was to visit each of them, ask the necessary questions, observe reactions, and identify possible patterns.

Phayu and Rain’s first stop was a bookshop tucked into a quiet street near Thonglor. The space smelled of old paper and coffee grounds. Their interviewee, a young editor named Joong, had attended at least three of the poetry nights. He looked startled as he sat behind the counter. "I knew Surasak from an event last year. We weren’t close. I just liked his work. He was very... unique." Phayu leaned forward. "Do you remember Kritsada? He went by Thanaboon in university." Joong frowned. "That name doesn’t ring a bell. But there was this guy who always showed up with Surasak. Quiet, intense eyes. Barely spoke. Just... watched everyone." Rain studied him. "What kind of poems did Surasak read during those nights?" Joong scratched his beard. "Dark stuff. Violence, decay, identity. People thought it was edgy. I thought it was pretentious." They left Joong’s shop with a feeling of unease.

Meanwhile, Pai and Sky found themselves in a fourth-floor walk-up apartment where the soft-spoken university student, Apinya, served them tea in chipped ceramic cups. Her place was filled with plants and literature. "Yes, I remember Kritsada," Apinya said. "He was always with Surasak. They never spoke much to the group, but I once caught them whispering before one of the sessions. The mood between them was... strange." "Strange how?" Pai asked. Apinya toyed with the edge of her sleeve. "Like... he was scared of him. But also devoted. It was like watching someone slowly drown, and not mind." Sky scribbled in his notebook. "Do you remember any guests who stood out? Newcomers who maybe interacted a lot with Kritsada or Surasak?" She nodded slowly. "There was this boy, Rattana. Young. Barely twenty. He read something once, a poem about monsters hiding behind human faces. Surasak applauded for the first time."

Back on the other side of the city, Phayu and Rain entered a minimalist condo owned by a graphic designer named Chaipong. He greeted them in jogging clothes, hair still damp from a shower. "Yeah, I went to three of those readings. They were intense. Not my usual scene, but Surasak had this... pull." Rain watched him closely. "Did you talk to Kritsada?" Chaipong’s eyes flickered. "No. He gave me the creeps. He once stared at me for fifteen minutes. Didn’t say a word. Just... stared." "Did you know any of the victims personally?" Phayu asked. Chaipong hesitated. "Kanyarat. I worked with her briefly at a marketing firm. She was kind. A little intense." Rain’s voice dropped. "Did you ever mention her at the poetry events?" He blinked. "I might have. Why?" Phayu didn’t answer.

Pai and Sky’s last stop was a modest shared office used by aspiring writers. The woman they were meeting, Pornthip, had submitted work to Surasak’s magazine. "Yes, I met Kritsada," she said calmly. "He didn’t speak much. But his eyes never stopped moving. I once saw him sketching while someone else was reading. The drawing was of a body. A dead one." Sky exchanged a glance with Pai. "Did anyone interact with him more than usual?" "Jira," Pornthip replied. "He was obsessed with Surasak’s work. Said it felt like someone had pulled the words straight from his nightmares."

By late afternoon, the four of them reconvened in the conference room. The whiteboard was covered in photographs, names, and arrows. The list had been narrowed to four: Rattana, Chaipong, Jira, and a newcomer named Supot who had only attended one evening but had messaged Surasak repeatedly after. Phayu stood with arms crossed, staring at the board. Rain sat nearby, reviewing the poetry readings transcripts they had recovered. Pai and Sky added notes from their interviews. Then the room fell suddenly cold. Phayu froze. A whisper brushed his ear. He turned sharply. Behind Rain, the ghost of the first victim, Kanyarat, stood, her eyes locked on his.

She raised one hand and pointed at the board. Her lips moved but no sound emerged. Then, in a rush of wind, a single word echoed in his mind. "Repetition." And she vanished. Phayu stumbled back, catching the edge of the table. Rain was beside him in seconds. "What did you see?" He managed to speak. "Kanyarat. She pointed at the board. Said... 'Repetition.'" Pai stepped forward. "Could be a pattern. A cycle."

Sky’s eyes widened. He flipped through his notebook. "Wait, Jira read the same poem as Kanyarat. A week after her. Surasak had asked for it. Said he wanted to hear it from a male perspective." Rain was already typing. "If they are choosing victims based on echoed performance, that poem might be the trigger." Phayu straightened, still pale but recovering. "Then Jira’s in danger." Sky tapped on his tablet. "He’s a teaching assistant at a university. He should still be on campus." Phayu was already moving. "Let’s go." They had no time to waste.

Rain’s phone buzzed as the four of them were strapping into their vehicle, tension already thick in the air from Phayu’s encounter with Kanyarat’s ghost. He picked it up immediately. "Shin?" "Got it," Shin said, voice clipped. "Jira’s last known location pings from a residential building in Phra Khanong. I am sending the exact coordinates to you now." Rain relayed the location to Phayu, who slammed the gear into drive without a word. Pai and Sky sat in the back, both unnervingly silent, their faces taut with anticipation and fear.

The ride was tense. No one spoke, each lost in their thoughts as the city blurred past them in muted tones. Rain kept checking the map Shin had sent, while Phayu’s jaw clenched tighter with every passing block. The apartment complex was a clean, modest ten-story building in a quiet neighbourhood. They parked hastily, jogged through the lobby, and took the elevator up to the eighth floor. Unit 805. Phayu knocked sharply. "Jira? Police. Open the door." Nothing.

Rain pressed his hand to the door, eyes fluttering closed. Nothing clear came. No energy. No fear. Only silence. "He’s not here," he said. "Let’s get a warrant," Phayu muttered. He stepped away and immediately dialled Charn, the public prosecutor attached to their unit. Charn’s voice came calm but firm. "Give me ten minutes. I will push it through emergency protocol." As they waited, Pai stood near the door, fingers trembling slightly. Sky touched his wrist. "You okay?" Pai’s breath hitched. He wasn’t. His pupils dilated as his body tensed. Then a vision slammed into him.

Dark. Wet. A flickering bulb overhead. A sound, gasping. Choking. A low, amused voice murmuring something Pai couldn’t hear clearly. Then Jira’s face, contorted in terror, mouth gagged, eyes wide as a rope tightened around his throat.

He stumbled back with a cry. Sky caught him. "What did you see?" "Jira," Pai gasped. "He’s next. No doubt. He’s not dead yet... but he will be." Charn called them seconds later. "Warrant approved. Go." Phayu didn’t hesitate. He kicked the lock. The door gave way after the second strike. They entered fast and methodically, guns out, clearing the space. The living room was neat. Almost too neat. "Clear," Phayu said. Rain lowered his weapon and stepped forward, eyes scanning. He placed his fingers on the back of a chair. Cold. Something residual lingered, something twisted. Sky knelt by the coffee table, brushing a hand over the stack of papers. Then both of them gasped at once.

Rain saw blood. A table. Plastic tarp. Cleaned. Bleach smell. Ropes, a mask, and the sense of terrified submission. He clutched his head. "There was a rehearsal," he whispered. "A practice. He planned to kill Jira here. Or bring him here." Sky stood. His face had gone pale. "There are drawings. Ropes, hoods, people kneeling. It’s like he was fantasizing, mapping it out." Rain opened a drawer. Inside were dozens of printed photos. Faces. Eyes circled. Some crossed out. He pulled one out, it was the third victim, the man killed Dahmer-style. "He stalked them," Rain said. "These weren’t random victims. He selected them, watched them."

Pai found a small notebook under the bed. It was locked, but Sky broke it open gently. Inside were pages filled with names, dates, annotations. Some were crossed out. A few were underlined in red. Phayu leaned in. "These are people who went to the poetry nights. Look. This name, Pornthip. Apinya. Joong." Rain turned to him. "He’s ranking them. Prioritising based on... something." Sky murmured, "He’s building a pattern. A path."

In the closet, they found a box. Inside were student essays, old photos, and a pamphlet titled Understanding the Mind of John Wayne Gacy. Rain’s hands trembled as he held it. "This was always his goal. Not just mimicry. Reverence." Phayu turned, face grim. "He’s going to kill Jira the way Gacy did. Strangulation. Binding. Psychological torment." Just then, Rain’s phone rang again. It was Dispatch. He answered with dread already sinking in. "Yes?"

A pause. Then the operator said, "Lieutenant. A body matching Jira’s description has just been found." The room went completely still. Rain closed his eyes. Phayu didn’t need to ask. "Let’s move." They left the apartment like a silent storm, hearts heavy with the weight of a man they hadn’t been able to save.

Chapter Text

The alley behind the decrepit warehouse in Lat Phrao reeked of rot and stale water, the cracked pavement slick with algae and oil. When the unmarked SVU vehicle skidded to a halt, the four detectives spilled out, already tense from the call. Jira's body had been found.

They moved as one, wordless and professional. Phayu took point, his expression carved from granite. Rain flanked him, sharp eyes scanning every detail. Sky and Pai took the rear, alert to movement, energy, echoes of horror left behind. The alley led to a padlocked service door. It hung open, lock sawn clean. Inside, darkness coiled like a waiting beast. Rain's flashlight beam sliced through it, catching on the unmistakable form of a human body, half-shrouded under a stained tarp, propped up grotesquely in a parody of kneeling prayer.

Jira. The stench hit them next. Decay, metal, sweat. Death. Phayu knelt first, steady hands lifting the tarp. The young man's lifeless face stared up at them. Duct tape sealed his mouth. Bruising wrapped around his neck and wrists. Ropes still dug into his skin, his hands bound behind his back, legs folded beneath him. The light revealed signs of suffocation, facial petechiae, and the unmistakable trauma marks of sadistic restraint. Rain swallowed bile. Phayu pointed. Pinned crudely to Jira’s chest with a piece of broken wire was a folded piece of expensive parchment paper. The killer’s signature. He plucked it free with gloved hands and read aloud: "You are still too late. He was so beautiful, so warm. You tried, but you can't catch me."

A moment of silence fell like a hammer. Pai took two steps back, fingers already dialling Bun and Tian. "P’Tian, it's Pai. We are at the scene. Jira’s gone. Murder matches the pattern. Get here now. Bring P’Bun and the team." Rain crouched beside Phayu and began a preliminary survey, muttering details for their internal recorder. "Male victim, mid-twenties. Ligature marks on neck and limbs. Gagged, eyes open. Defensive wounds minimal."

"Suggests restraint from the beginning," Phayu murmured. "Controlled entry. Victim knew the killer." They moved efficiently, cataloguing details. Rain used his abilities sparingly, brushing the body, touching the ropes. His body jolted once, then steadied. "He was terrified," Rain whispered. "Begging. The killer was calm. Intimate. Almost... reverent." Sky had hung back, giving them space. He spotted a man pacing at the edge of the scene, near the alley’s mouth, shifting his weight nervously. He approached slowly. "Sir? Detective Sky. SVU. Were you the one who called it in?"

The man nodded. He was in his late thirties, glasses fogged, school uniform shirt untucked. He gripped a folder tight to his chest. "Yes. I was walking to the bus stop, early shift at the high school. I…. I saw the lock on the gate hanging open. And a tarp. I thought maybe kids or a junkie. Then I saw the feet. I called right away." "Name?" "Sorn. Sorn Wattanaphan. I teach biology." Sky nodded. "Do you know the victim? Jira?"

"No. Never seen him before. But…" Sorn hesitated. His eyes dropped. "I have seen someone here. Not the victim. Maybe a week ago. Tall, very thin man. Looked... unwell. Like he hadn't slept. I only noticed him because he was talking to himself. He was saying... weird things." Sky’s eyes sharpened. "What kind of things?" "He was pacing, talking to the wall. He said... 'They never cared for me, so why should I?' And then something like, 'He will see how warm flesh rots. Like the rats.'" Sky’s skin went cold. "Did he say anything else?"

Sorn looked around, voice dropping. "He said a name. ‘Jira.’ He repeated it. ‘Jira smiles like he knows he’s safe. No one is safe.’ And then he laughed. A horrible, gurgling laugh. Like he was already planning something." Sky’s breath hitched. That voice. That laugh. The detail. He gripped his notepad tighter, scribbling fast. "Did you report this to anyone?" "No. I…. I didn’t know who to tell. I didn’t even know who he was. I just assumed it was someone having an episode. But now..." Sky nodded, jaw clenched. "You did the right thing calling us today. We will be in touch." He turned back to the scene just as Rain and Phayu wrapped up their sweep. Phayu looked up, questioning.

Sky relayed what Sorn had said. Rain closed his eyes briefly. "He stalked him. Jira didn’t even know." Phayu stood. "He’s spiralling faster now. The last kills were spaced days apart. This one came right on the heels of the Dahmer victim." "He’s feeding on the chaos," Rain muttered. "Feeling invincible." Moments later, sirens flared at the edge of the alley. Tian’s van rolled in first, followed by Bun’s vehicle. Forensics spilled out quickly. Tian approached first, lifting his gloves as he took in the scene. "Same signature?" "John Wayne Gacy," Phayu confirmed. Bun joined them, grim-faced. "Don’t move the body. We will handle it."

Phayu nodded. He stepped back, giving them room. Rain turned to Sky. "You okay?" Sky didn’t answer for a moment. Then: "That man, Sorn, he heard the killer say Jira’s name. Before the murder. He practically narrated what he would do." Phayu swore under his breath. Rain looked sick. Behind them, Tian began snapping photographs, his team setting markers. Bun pulled on his face shield, examining the bruising. Pai stood at the alley’s edge, arms folded tightly, watching the whole thing like it was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. The killer had struck again. And they were still chasing shadows.

The mood in the conference room was grim, yet pulsing with urgency. Rain, Phayu, Sky, and Pai sat around the table, faces taut with exhaustion and intensity. The evidence board had grown more cluttered; photographs of the four victims now stared down at them, cold and accusing. Pins, strings, handwritten notes, and printouts framed their faces. Jira’s image, newly tacked onto the far right, was fresh and raw.

Rain stood by the window, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline. His body was still, but his mind moved with a thousand threads. When he finally turned to face the room, his voice was steady. "I think Supot is next," he said. Phupha, who had been quietly observing from the back of the room, narrowed his eyes. "That's a specific name. What makes you so sure?" Rain hesitated for a beat too long. Phayu, seated beside Pai, leaned forward and spoke before Rain could answer.

"We have been cross-referencing poetry night attendees with the known timeline of the killer’s movements. Supot matches several variables, he fits the profile of previous victims, lives alone, and has no immediate family in the city. Rain’s been tracking behavioural patterns from the last three events. It’s a strong probability." Phupha tilted his head slightly, unconvinced, but nodded. "We will proceed as if it’s confirmed." Rain shot Phayu a grateful look, but there was still tension beneath his calm exterior. He had seen something, felt it in the pit of his stomach. Supot’s terrified eyes, a broken window, the stench of rot. But there was no explaining that without opening up about the depths of his abilities. And now wasn’t the time.

The door opened and Tian stepped in, his tablet in hand, eyes sharp. "We have something solid," he announced. "Thanaboon left a partial print in Jira’s apartment. We lifted it from the inner rim of a bookshelf. It’s a match. We finally have Thanaboon’s fingerprint in the system." Sky straightened. "Was it already in the system, or….?" "No," Tian said. "We got lucky. There was a record buried in a university archives database that had a match, a student application from eight years ago. Took Shin’s help to uncover it, but it confirms Thanaboon’s identity beyond doubt." "That’s a break," Phupha said.

Bun entered right behind Tian, removing his glasses and cleaning them before settling down in the seat next to Phupha. "I have got something on the second victim," he began. "Kanyarat’s tox screen came back. She had elevated levels of hCG, human chorionic gonadotropin." Sky looked up sharply. "She was pregnant." Bun nodded. "Approximately two to three weeks along. Not far enough for anyone to have visibly noticed, but it’s conclusive." A beat of silence fell over the room. Sky exhaled. "The baby had to be either Thanaboon’s or Surasak’s. That’s why she was targeted. But that doesn’t explain the others." Rain muttered, "Unless they all served a purpose beyond what we are seeing." "Which brings us to the psychological profile," came a calm voice from the door.

Dr. Tinn, their senior profiler, entered, adjusting the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. Dressed in a charcoal suit with a pale lavender tie, he radiated quiet intelligence. Charn, his partner and the SVU's attached public prosecutor, followed in behind but stayed silent, arms folded, eyes scanning the board.

"Thanaboon’s behaviour aligns with traits consistent with antisocial personality disorder," Tinn began, tapping the screen of his tablet. "However, that’s not the whole picture. Based on his background, early trauma is probable. He likely experienced extreme loss or witnessed a violent death, probably his college years. This could have triggered a psychological disintegration, forming a bond with Surasak built on mutual isolation and obsessive thought."

"You think Thanaboon is the dominant one?" Pai asked. Tinn shook his head. "Not necessarily. Surasak shows signs of malignant narcissism. His poetry readings were a front for intellectual validation, but beneath that, we are looking at a man who views himself as culturally superior. If Surasak encouraged the killings, framed them as artistic expressions, it’s likely that Thanaboon carried them out to preserve their bond." He walked to the board and gestured toward the pinned note left with Jira’s body.

"This phrasing… ‘He was so beautiful, so warm’, speaks to Thanaboon’s voice. The previous note, ‘You are still running, and I am right in front of you’, that reads more like Surasak. Cold. Strategic. This is a tandem pathology. Not a clear leader-follower dynamic, but interdependence born of shared delusion. We call this folie à deux."

Rain leaned against the table, frowning. "So the killings serve different purposes for each of them?" Tinn nodded. "Precisely. For Thanaboon, it’s emotional. Attachment, jealousy, perhaps even a warped sense of love. For Surasak, it’s performance. A game. A chance to be immortalized by fear." Sky looked up from his notes. "That means Supot might represent a new pivot."

"Exactly," Tinn said. "If Supot was close to either of them, or even dismissed one of them publicly, he could be the next target. Ramirez, the next emulation, was nocturnal. He entered homes through open windows or unlocked doors. Supot lives on the top floor of a walk-up building."

Phupha frowned. "Vulnerable." "Very," Phayu said. Bun added, "We will update you with what we find on Supot’s background. I have already sent someone to check for any unusual hospital records or police complaints." Phayu nodded. "Good. Let’s not waste any time." Pai, who had been silent for a few minutes, suddenly spoke. "Thanaboon’s university thesis, have we read it completely yet? The paper he and Surasak co-authored?"

Sky pulled up a PDF on his tablet. "I did. They discussed serial killers. BTK was the last, Ramirez is next. Which means the next method has been set,” Sky said. “It was not a passing thought?” Phupha asked. Rain narrowed his eyes. "It wasn’t passing. It was a seed." Phayu rubbed his temples. The hours were catching up with him. He looked at Phupha. "We are running out of time." Phupha folded his arms tighter. "You’ll have what you need. Just bring them in."

They all returned to the evidence board. Supot’s image was centred now, surrounded by red markers. Rain stared at it for a long time. Phayu turned to the room. "We move fast. Thanaboon left a fingerprint. That means he’s getting careless. Or confident. Either way, we use that. No more victims." A quiet agreement settled over the room. There was no margin left for error. Only a clock, ticking toward another brutal scene. And they were going to stop it.

The air in the conference room was heavy with tension, each officer in the core team moving with grim determination. A whiteboard now displayed timelines, photos, notes, crime scene photos, psychological profiles, and the names of victims and suspects: Thanaboon and Surasak stood out in bold red.

"We found out why Thanaboon changed his name," Pai said, glancing up from the file he held. He passed it to Rain, who read it silently, brows drawing low. Phayu leaned in to read over his shoulder, Sky watching them all intently. Rain exhaled sharply. "His original name was Thanaboon Intharachai. When he was seventeen, he was tried as a juvenile in the accidental death of his younger cousin, Prawit Intharachai. The cousin drowned in a river during a school trip. No foul play could be proven, but Thanaboon had been the last to see him." "Parents covered it up," Sky muttered. "Probably paid their way through everything." "He changed his name to Thanaboon Pattanajak when he entered university. Complete identity reset." "Explains a lot," Phayu murmured. "The need to disappear, start over." "And maybe a deep-seated guilt," Pai added quietly. “And then Kritsada after the death of the other boy,” Sky said. “Maybe he feels that changing his name can erase his past, can just close doors on it,” Rain said. Phayu nodded slowly. "Which could have fed into Surasak’s influence over him."

The information shifted their perspective. With profiles now mapped out, Thanaboon as a psychologically repressed, emotionally vulnerable follower and Surasak as a charismatic narcissist with manipulative tendencies, they were more convinced than ever that the killers were working in sync. The next probable victim, as Rain had suggested earlier, was Supot. They drove to Supot’s apartment in Sathorn, one of the older buildings tucked behind a high-end bakery. Supot, in his late twenties, opened the door in shorts and a faded university t-shirt, surprised but trying hard not to appear unsettled. Rain stepped forward. "Mr. Supot, we are from the Special Victims Unit. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?" Supot’s eyes flicked from Rain to Phayu, then to Pai and Sky. He hesitated. "Uh, sure. Come in."

The apartment was spartan. A bookshelf of psychology and poetry titles lined one wall. A record player sat unused in a corner. He didn’t offer them drinks. He didn’t sit either. "How do you know Surasak Thawin?" Phayu asked, voice flat and direct. "We were in the same poetry circles," Supot answered. "Met him at a reading maybe a year ago." "What about Thanaboon or Kritsada as he is known?" "I… only vaguely know him. He used to come with Surasak. They were kind of a set. Quiet guy."

Rain watched him closely. His empathic sense prickled uncomfortably. Supot’s responses were overly measured, too restrained. He was lying, or at the very least, withholding. "You were close to the first victim, weren’t you? Kankowan?" Sky asked. "No," Supot replied quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, I saw her sometimes. She came to the events, that's all." "She mentioned you to friends," Rain lied. Supot blinked. "She did?" "Said you introduced her to Surasak." Supot didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the floor. "That might be true," he finally admitted. "She liked his poems. She thought he was brilliant."

Phayu watched his reaction carefully, then made a snap decision. "Mr. Supot, I am taking you with us. You are not under arrest, but we need to make sure you don’t contact either Surasak or Thanaboon. We believe your life may be in danger." "Wait, what? I didn’t do anything!" "We are not accusing you of anything," Phayu said smoothly. "This is for your own safety. Get your phone and ID." Supot hesitated, then obeyed.

Back in the conference room, Phayu locked eyes with Rain as he dropped into his chair. "We now have the victim in protective custody," he said. "Let’s go over Ramirez’s pattern." Sky brought up the Night Stalker’s file on screen. "He entered homes at night, often through unlocked windows or doors, sometimes even through skylights or vents. He attacked both men and women, very indiscriminate. His killings were sexual, violent, frenzied. Often, he left Satanic symbols behind." "He was also known for sudden blitz attacks," Rain added. "Most of his victims had no idea he was there until it was too late." "Which makes it harder for us," Pai said. "We can’t predict how he will do it, only that it will be random, frenzied, and horrifying." Rain was quiet for a moment, then said, "I will do it."

Three heads turned to him. "Do what?" Phayu asked, tone already wary. "Be the bait," Rain said. "He thinks we’re one step behind him. Let’s use that. I am close enough in height and build to Supot. If we stage me at his apartment, it might draw them out." "Absolutely not," Phayu said immediately. "You are not a decoy, Rain." "We have run out of leads," Rain said. "We know he’s coming for Supot. They are just not sure when. If I am there, I can fight back. And with you nearby…." "You are not doing this alone," Phayu cut in. "You can’t even block out your mind properly when you are under stress."

"But I will be protected Phi," Rain said. "You will be there. So will P’Pai and Sky. We will wire the place, have officers posted in nearby buildings. It’s not reckless if it’s calculated." Sky looked at him gravely. "You are sure about this?" Rain nodded. "Yes. I can do this." Phayu sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but he also couldn’t deny that Rain was right. It might be their only shot. Phayu rested his hand briefly on Rain’s back. "Then we prepare. Tonight, we draw them out." And the hunt continued.

Chapter Text

Shin had never been more precise. Inside Supot's sparsely furnished apartment, his team had already spent hours running cables, setting up concealed surveillance, and triple-checking redundancies. Every room held at least two hidden cameras, embedded in light fixtures, air vents, and even a false smoke detector. A bug was planted under the table, and tiny omnidirectional mics dotted the corners of the room. The bedroom had its own infrared camera with a wide-angle lens. The hallway outside was also covered by a camera posing as a peephole from the opposite unit. Audio feeds were synced into both the main surveillance truck and portable units.

Motion sensors were placed along the floor edges and door frames, programmed to alert the team if anyone entered or moved too quickly. The apartment’s Wi-Fi network was cloned and locked, and a signal jammer on standby could be activated in case of an unauthorized external device trying to tap in. "Any breach, physical or digital, we will know in under a second," Shin said confidently as he handed Rain a small, flesh-toned lapel mic, fitted securely under the collar of his loose sweatshirt. "Audio recorder too. It’s already transmitting live. Batteries are full, backup cell is prepped." Rain nodded, his eyes calm but wary.

Phayu stood quietly by the window, watching the early night sink its teeth into Bangkok’s skyline. He hadn't spoken much since they arrived. His arms were crossed, his whole stance coiled, like a spring under pressure. The tension in the air was a live wire running through all of them. When Shin excused himself to finish sync protocols, Rain stepped toward Phayu and leaned gently into his chest. Phayu caught him automatically, strong arms wrapping around Rain’s waist. “I will be fine,” Rain murmured. "You are going to be nearby the whole time." Phayu tightened his grip. "Doesn’t mean I won’t worry." Their foreheads touched, breath mingling. For a few moments, everything outside the room, the monitors, the risk, the killer, ceased to exist. There was just the warmth between them. “I trust you,” Rain said. “And I trust the team." “Still,” Phayu said, voice low, “if he lays a finger on you before I get there, I swear….” “You will get to him,” Rain interrupted softly. "You always do."

The moment was broken gently by a knock at the door. It was Sky and Pai. Sky offered a quiet smile, but his eyes were troubled. "You good?" Rain nodded. Pai looked from Rain to Phayu, then reached out and took Rain's hand. “You have got this,” Pai said. "Just… stay focused. If anything changes, if your instincts so much as twinge, get out." “I will."

Behind them, Shin returned, running final checks on the feed. Then he crouched beside Rain with a strap of black cloth and a tiny adhesive strip. “Final rig,” he said, securing the backup transmitter around Rain’s thigh beneath his pants. "In case the lapel is damaged or dislodged. All synced." Rain stood in the middle of the apartment as the others began to file out, his form almost too still. Phayu lingered last, fingers brushing Rain's cheek before stepping back. Then the door closed.

In the unmarked van parked across the street, five sets of eyes stared at monitors showing every angle of the apartment. Phupha was standing behind Shin, arms folded, watching the feeds with his usual commanding silence. Sky sat beside Phayu, still as stone. Shin’s hands danced across his laptop keyboard. “Audio clean. Visual clear. No background anomalies," Shin said. "Team Bravo and SWAT are in place."

Across the street, SWAT lieutenant Mhok gave the quiet signal over the comms. His men were already positioned, rooftop snipers, stairwell interceptors, rear exit coverage, and an armoured team hiding in the maintenance closet of the adjacent building. At 20:54 hours, the first motion sensor pinged. "We have got movement at the west stairwell," Shin reported. "Single male. Gait matches Thanaboon’s last seen footage."

Everyone leaned in. On the thermal feed, a tall, lean figure climbed slowly, deliberately, stopping once to adjust his sleeve. He wore all black, hoodie pulled low. His gait was smooth, unnervingly calm. He paused on the third-floor landing. Then proceeded. “Triggering floor relay,” Shin said, typing rapidly. “Motion sensors active. Confirmed: he’s heading straight for Rain." In the apartment, Rain sat on the couch, a book open on his lap, his hoodie almost covering his face, feigning interest. He heard the first knock.

Three soft taps. Then silence. Another two, slower. Rain took a deep breath and rose, heart hammering against his ribs. He opened the door halfway. Thanaboon stood there. His eyes were wide, dilated, the kind that didn’t quite focus on you, but through you. His smile was pleasant, almost sweet. “Supot,” he said, voice smooth. “I… I thought we were meeting later." Rain tilted his head, affecting confusion, hoodie still covering his face. “You are early." "I couldn’t wait,” Thanaboon replied. He stepped in.

Behind the van’s tinted glass, every set of shoulders tensed. SWAT reported all green. Mhok confirmed final positions. Thanaboon took a slow turn through the living room, his eyes scanning everything, but not like a man checking decor. He was assessing. Mapping. Hunting. Rain returned to his seat, hand loose by his thigh. The transmitter was warm. Thanaboon remained standing. “Do you like poetry, Supot?” he asked. "I write a lot when I am alone." Rain didn’t answer. Just watched. Thanaboon laughed quietly. “You are prettier in person." Behind the screen, Phayu’s fist clenched. Thanaboon moved toward Rain.

First step.

Second.

Third.

He reached out. Touched Rain’s shoulder. “Contact!” Shin barked into comms. Phayu and Mhok were already moving. The door to the van burst open. Rain tensed, not flinching, staying still just long enough. Then the charge exploded. SWAT swarmed from every direction. The apartment door blew inward, and in seconds, Thanaboon was on the ground, knees pressed into his spine, wrists wrenched behind him. The room was a chaos of shouted orders and tactical gear.

Phayu was the first to reach Rain. “You okay?!” Rain nodded, chest rising and falling. “I am fine." Thanaboon lay motionless, smile still stretched across his face even as Mhok read him his rights. The man didn’t struggle. Didn’t flinch. Just watched Rain as they cuffed and hauled him up. “He touched you,” Phayu growled, voice dark. “He did,” Rain said. "But we got him."

Mhok nodded. “Confirmed identity: Kritsada Lertwisut. No weapons found. But he was wearing gloves." “Test them,” Sky said. “And the sleeves. We need to know what he planned." As the suspect was hauled away and the team began clearing the area, Phupha clapped a hand on Phayu’s shoulder. “You all did well. But it’s not over yet.” Phayu nodded, then turned to Rain, eyes softening. “You sure you are okay baby?” he asked, his voice only for Rain’s ears. Rain leaned into him just a little. “Let’s go finish this.”

The atmosphere in the Special Victims Unit was tense. Despite Thanaboon’s arrest, no one was celebrating. The weight of everything they had seen, everything Rain had risked, sat like a stone in the center of their shared silence. Rain, Sky, Pai, and Phayu sat in the conference room, its fluorescent lights casting long shadows as the late hour crept into early morning. A whiteboard stood behind them, still filled with photos, crime scene notes, and timelines. Both of Thanaboon’s names, now circled in red, stood out against the clutter of leads and theories.

Phayu leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. "We have him. But it’s not over. We need to get him to talk. Not just confess, but tell us everything. Especially about Surasak. We get nothing from Thanaboon, and Surasak disappears." Sky nodded grimly, rubbing at his temples. He looked exhausted. They all did. Four days of chasing shadows, digging through horror, facing their own limits, and each other’s. "He’s not going to break easy," Sky said. "He’s obsessed. I saw it when he came in. That look in his eyes, he believes in what he’s done."

Rain glanced at Phayu, then looked down at his lap. Phayu’s voice was steady but laced with conflict. "I don’t want to ask this of you, Rain. But I think you are the one who has the best chance." Rain's gaze rose, eyes soft with understanding. "You want me to go into his mind." Phayu's jaw clenched slightly. He nodded once. "We can’t lose the trail now. Surasak is still out there, and God knows what he’s planning. We have to find him before he takes another life."

Pai folded his arms, speaking for the first time in minutes. "If we break Thanaboon down correctly, he will give up everything. And we will stop Surasak before he kills again." Sky drummed his fingers on the table. "Thanaboon won’t respond to fear or threats. He’s not scared of consequences. He thinks he’s part of something greater, something righteous, maybe even sacred. We have to break that belief."

Rain nodded slowly. "We need to dismantle his delusions. Piece by piece." "Exactly," said a voice at the door. Dr. Tinn stepped in, his sleeves rolled up, files tucked under one arm. "We will never reach him with logic. He’s too far gone for that. But he has weaknesses." "What kind?" Phayu asked. Dr. Tinn placed the files on the table and sat down. He opened one to reveal notes, typed and hand-written, cross-referenced with images from Thanaboon’s past.

"He has a dual complex. Narcissistic personality overlaying a dependent identity structure. He idealises Surasak, sees him as a saviour or prophet, and is willing to execute his fantasies for approval and validation. But, and this is important, there’s guilt buried beneath that. Thanaboon still feels guilt." Pai leaned forward. "He knows what he’s done is wrong."

"Exactly," Dr. Tinn confirmed. "And Surasak feeds off that. Uses it to control him. Thanaboon is both victim and perpetrator in his own mind. If we exploit that guilt, fracture his perception of Surasak, we can reach him." Sky’s brow furrowed. "How?"

"Expose the lie," Tinn replied. "Show him that Surasak doesn’t care about him the way he believes. We lean into that. Build rapport, push guilt, dangle redemption, but always with the idea that Surasak is manipulating him." Rain let out a breath. "So you want me to read him while we do that. Get a sense of what’s working, what’s not." Phayu’s shoulders tensed. "Only if you are up for it." Rain reached out and touched Phayu’s hand gently. "I am. Don’t feel guilty. You have been protecting me since day one. Let me do this."

Phayu gave a short nod, pressing their fingers together. Sky watched the exchange with quiet solemnity, then turned his attention back to Tinn. "We do it together. Me and Rain. He reads. I talk. We switch if needed." Tinn nodded. "Good. You two have the kind of connection that can keep him off balance. Don’t go in as good cop–bad cop. Go in as curious, calm, confident. Let him feel like he’s in control. The moment he feels cornered, he will either shut down or get violent." "And what if he does?" Sky asked. Phayu answered. "We will be behind the glass. Me, Pai, Phupha, Charn. The moment anything happens, we are in." Rain’s expression was unreadable for a moment, then he stood. "Then let’s see what he has to say."

Phayu watched him walk toward the observation room. His heart was heavy, but pride gleamed in his eyes. Rain had grown since his transfer, stronger, bolder, more certain of who he was and what he could do. In the hallway outside the interrogation rooms, the fluorescent lights flickered slightly. The air was still, and the silence between the four of them, Rain, Sky, Phayu, and Pai, was a pact in itself. A promise. Rain turned to them, his voice soft but steady. "We go slow. We stay calm. And we listen." Sky nodded. "We listen. And we guide."

Inside the small, sterile room, Thanaboon sat alone. His wrists were cuffed to the table. He stared at the wall, unmoving, as though lost in thought, or trance. His eyes were hollow, but something flickered there, something unreadable, dangerous. Behind the two-way glass, Phayu and Pai watched. "You ready?" Sky asked Rain. Rain stared into the glass, focusing. "I am already in."

He reached out, palm against the glass, and closed his eyes for just a second. Darkness. Cold. Echoes of screams. Hands shaking. A warm touch followed by pain. Shame. Rage. Sorrow. The blur of a face; Surasak. A god, a saviour. A voice: "He needs me." And then another voice, his own: "What am I becoming?" Rain pulled back. Sky placed a hand on his back. "What did you see?" "He’s breaking," Rain whispered. "He just doesn’t know it yet." Phayu’s voice came through the intercom. "Then let’s make him fall." Rain and Sky opened the door together. Thanaboon looked up. And the game began.

Chapter Text

The hum of the fluorescent lights above was the only sound in the cold, sterile room as Sky and Rain stepped into the SVU interrogation chamber. Thanaboon sat slouched in the lone metal chair, his hair hanging limp over his pale forehead. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his upper lip, despite the chill. His fingers twitched restlessly against the cuffs. Across the two-way mirror, Phayu and Pai stood in silence, every sense honed to pick up even the faintest sign of emotion.

Sky led the way, his gaze unreadable. Rain followed closely behind, his senses already opening, letting in Thanaboon’s emotional signature, a sickening cocktail of fear, resentment, guilt, and something darker, something sticky and unnatural. It settled on Rain’s skin like oil, crawling in slowly. They sat down without a word. Sky placed the manila file on the desk with deliberate slowness.

Thanaboon sneered. “So, the pretty boys are here to play mind games.” Rain tilted his head, studying him. “No games. We want the truth. You know why you are here.” Thanaboon’s smile faltered just slightly. Sky leaned forward, calm and deliberate. “We have gone through everything. Your movements, your prints. We know the victims, Thanaboon. We know how they died. What we don’t know is why.” Thanaboon laughed, though it cracked halfway through. “Why? What do you care? They are dead. They got what they deserved.”

Rain flinched. Phayu, from behind the glass, clenched his jaw. Pai placed a hand on his arm. Rain kept his voice low. “You told yourself that, didn’t you? You repeated it over and over. That they deserved it. But did they, Thanaboon? Did Jira deserve it?” Thanaboon’s expression flickered. A memory, vivid and raw, rippled through Rain’s open mind, the gleam of terror in Jira’s eyes, the smell of sweat and blood, a scream muffled by a hand. Rain exhaled, chest tight.

“You liked him,” Rain said softly. “You thought he was beautiful.” Thanaboon looked up sharply. “I can feel it. I see the echo of your memory.” Rain’s voice was quiet, too quiet. “But you didn’t want him to scream. You didn’t want to hurt him that badly. You wanted to feel something from him. Something real.” Thanaboon’s hands trembled. “Shut up.”

Sky’s voice remained calm. “We spoke to your university lecturer. Dr. Wetchakul. She told us about your paper, the one you wrote with Surasak.” Thanaboon paled. Rain felt the spike of panic, sharp and cold. “You studied Ramirez, didn’t you? Dahmer. Gacy. Bundy. Jack the Ripper. You memorised their methods.”

“And their fantasies,” Sky added. “Their patterns. You didn’t just study them. You admired them.” “I didn’t..,” “Yes, you did,” Rain interrupted. “And you followed them, one by one. Starting with Jack the Ripper. Then Bundy. Then Dahmer. Then Gacy. And now… now you tried to become Ramirez.” Thanaboon’s eyes darted around the room. Sweat gathered in beads on his temples. “But that wasn’t your idea, was it?” Sky pressed. “Surasak. He fed it. He nurtured it. He made you feel like you were chosen.”

Rain felt the surge of conflicting emotions hit him again, adoration, need, guilt, rage. “He made you believe that hurting them was love. That their deaths had meaning.” Thanaboon barked a laugh, broken and bitter. “You don’t understand anything.” “I understand you feel used.” Thanaboon froze.

Rain continued, “He never loved you. Not the way you loved him. He let you take the fall. He watched from the shadows while you got your hands dirty.” “I did what I had to do.” “Did you, Thanaboon?” Sky opened the file and began laying out photographs, the victims, the crime scenes, the notes. “You killed Kankowan, Kanyarat, Jira. You planned to kill Supot. Why them?” Thanaboon’s eyes flicked to each image. His jaw clenched. “They lied. They all lied. They said they cared. But they were like everyone else, empty.”

Rain’s voice softened. “Kanyarat was pregnant, Thanaboon. Two weeks along. Was that your child?” Thanaboon’s breath hitched. “Was it yours or Surasak’s?” Sky asked. “She said she loved me.” Thanaboon’s voice was hoarse. “She said it was mine.” “But you didn’t believe her,” Rain said. Thanaboon blinked rapidly, a twitch forming in his cheek. “I wanted to. I tried. But she started pulling away. Then I saw her with him. Surasak.”

“So you killed her,” Sky said. “And the others?” Rain felt the weight of Thanaboon’s mind crack, not a snap, not sudden, but a slow fracture. Years of anger, rejection, self-hatred and a desperate need to belong. A mind pushed to the brink and pulled further by someone far crueller. “They were all his,” Thanaboon whispered. “Every one of them. Kankowan. Kanyarat. Even Jira. He chose them. He told me to.” “You executed the killings,” Rain said. “But the intent. The manipulation. That was him.” “I wanted to stop.” Thanaboon’s voice shook. “After Jira, I wanted to stop. But he said I couldn’t. That we were too far in.” “Too far into what?” Sky asked.

“The performance. The story.” Thanaboon laughed bitterly. “It was always a story to him. A masterpiece. He wrote it. I painted it with blood.” Rain closed his eyes. “Where is he now?” Thanaboon hesitated. His guilt slammed into Rain like a wave. “He said if I was caught, I had to keep quiet. That if I told anyone, he would disappear. That no one would find him.” Phayu stepped out of the viewing room and entered the interrogation room without a word. He placed a calming hand on Rain’s shoulder before sitting beside him. “We will find him, Thanaboon,” Phayu said. “And we need your help to stop him. Because he will kill again.”

Thanaboon swallowed, his eyes darting between Rain, Sky and Phayu. “There’s a warehouse,” he whispered. “Near Bang Kachao. He keeps… he keeps things there. Trophies. Evidence. I have only been once. I wasn’t supposed to go.” Rain and Sky exchanged a look. They had what they needed.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Thanaboon murmured. “I just… I wanted someone to love me.” Rain stood, the burden of the truth weighing heavy on his heart. “And he used that. Just like he used everyone else.” Sky closed the file and nodded toward the mirrored wall. “We are done.” As they walked out, Phayu joined them, his face tight. “You did good,” he said quietly to Rain, squeezing his shoulder. “Let’s bring the bastard in.” From inside the room, Thanaboon sat alone again, his shoulders slumped, the shadows under his eyes deepening as the enormity of what he had done finally settled in. But now, at last, they had a lead. And the final hunt was about to begin.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic tapping of Shin’s fingers on his keyboard. The digital map on his screen updated every few seconds, tracking signals and data pings across Bangkok. His team worked quietly around him, each member focused on their specific feed. Then a small notification popped up in the lower corner of Shin’s screen. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Got him," he muttered. The signal pinged from a residential block in Bang Kapi. Surasak was home. Without wasting a second, Shin called Charn. "Send me everything you have got," Charn said, voice low but sharp. "If it holds, I will get you the warrants. All three locations."

Shin did. Within the hour, the Public Prosecutor had gotten a judge to sign off on warrants for Surasak’s arrest, and raids on both his shop and the warehouse Thanaboon had mentioned in his confession. The approvals came through the official channels as well as directly to the SVU team. Phayu checked his sidearm as he stood beside Pai. Both were suited in tactical vests over their standard issue, faces grim. SWAT, led by Lieutenant Mhok, assembled around them, their voices clipped and efficient. "We go in silent," Mhok briefed. "Main entrance and two side windows. Phayu and I take the front. Pai, you and Na move in through the rear balcony."

The convoy moved swiftly to the residence. No lights on the street were out of place, no dogs barking, too quiet. Phayu felt the charge in the air, the stillness before a storm. He exchanged a glance with Pai, who nodded once, ready. On Mhok’s signal, the SWAT team breached. The door gave way with a loud crack. Shouts rang out. "Police! On the ground! Hands where I can see them!" Surasak was in the living room, a book on his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. He blinked once as Phayu stormed in, gun raised, and then stood up too slowly. "On your knees, hands behind your head!" Phayu barked. Surasak didn’t resist, but a strange smile curved his lips. "Ah. So Thanaboon failed." Pai cuffed him. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent." Surasak chuckled softly. "But where’s the poetry in silence, Lieutenant?" Phayu didn’t respond. He nodded at Mhok. "Secure the premises. We are taking him in."

Rain stood outside the rusted door of the warehouse, the heat clinging to his back, sweat already tracing down his spine. Sky was beside him, head bowed, fingers twitching with the anticipation of touch. "Shin said this was where Thanaboon mentioned the trophies were stored," Sky murmured. Rain nodded, lips pressed together. A pair of officers pushed open the heavy doors, and the smell hit them first, musty, old wood, something rotting just beyond perception. Inside, the warehouse was mostly empty, save for a central area where a few heavy metal cabinets stood. Rain stepped forward, hand brushing the edge of one. The moment he made contact, images exploded in his mind.

He gasped. Blood. Photographs. Souvenirs. A set of earrings. A lock of hair. The killer’s thoughts flooded him, vivid and chaotic, moments of euphoria followed by bursts of guilt, then more darkness. Sky, touching a leather-bound notebook, flinched. "They catalogued everything. Surasak wrote descriptions. Thanaboon provided the kill notes. They were… keeping score." Rain opened the drawers. Inside were boxes labelled by initials. Victim names. "This one’s K.S.," he murmured. Kanokwan Saetang.

Sky opened another. Inside, a single red ribbon and a photograph of Jira. Marked with the date of death. Rain stepped back, bile rising in his throat. "It’s a goddamn shrine." They collected the evidence. Box after box, every one of them sealed in plastic. A team from forensics arrived minutes later, cataloguing under Tian’s remote supervision. Sky stood in the middle of the warehouse, breath shallow. "Rain... it was never about the kills. It was about the legacy. The fame. They wanted to be remembered." Rain clenched his fists. "They will be. But for the right reasons. And then they will rot."

Phupha stood before the modest storefront in Chatuchak, flanked by Phon and Kaen. The outside was plain, books and antiques in the window, but the aura was off. Too curated. Too quiet. "Let’s go," Phupha ordered. They stepped in. A small bell jingled above the door. No one was there. Phon moved toward the counter while Kaen checked the back rooms. Phupha studied the shelves, books on serial killers, rare editions on forensic psychology, abnormal behaviour theory. Behind the counter, he found a ledger. "Kaen! Come here."

Kaen returned with a small lockbox. Inside were receipts, items purchased from overseas. A scalpel set. Restraint cuffs. "He bought the tools months ago," Kaen muttered. Phon reappeared from the back, pale. "Sir. You should see this." They walked to a hidden alcove. Behind a fake panel, a closet was filled with newspaper clippings. About the murders. The victims. The team. "He was documenting everything," Phupha whispered. "Like a journalist. Or a fan."

Kaen pulled out a journal. Pages filled with neat handwriting. "Day thirty-six since our first. Thanaboon worries. I calm him. The world will understand us soon. The stars will align." Phupha's jaw tightened. "Get all this to evidence. Every word. Every file. I want a full report to the core four by tonight."

Rain stood at the center of the warehouse, his expression grim, the dust-heavy air thick with memories and darkness. Around him, Sky moved silently, photographing the room from every angle, cataloguing every item that had once belonged to the victims. Tian, efficient as ever, gave instructions to his forensic team who were moving systematically through the dim, cavernous space. "Everything goes on record," Tian said. "We need chain of custody intact, every label precise, every log entry time-stamped."

The warehouse had the echo of a shrine twisted by evil, a shrine to the crimes Surasak and Thanaboon had committed. There were lockers against the walls, some open, others still sealed. Inside were small boxes, containers, mementos. Photographs, strands of hair, scraps of clothing, and worst of all, pages from journals, handwritten notes from the victims. Sky picked one up with gloved hands and immediately paled. "This belonged to Jira," he said quietly. "I can see it. I can see it in his apartment when he would use it. He used to write morning pages."

Rain gently placed a hand on Sky's shoulder, grounding him. The connection gave Rain a brief flash, Jira's final moments, confused, terrified, alone in this very place. He took a breath and focused. "Let’s get everything to Tian. The faster it’s catalogued, the faster we can use it," Rain said, stepping back.

Tian’s team worked like clockwork, cataloguing each item with barcodes, digital photos, and handwritten logs. They boxed everything in secure evidence crates, each sealed and numbered. Tian personally oversaw the tagging of a bloodstained piece of cloth found in one of the boxes, comparing it to preliminary results from Jira’s DNA sample. "This will match. I will bet my microscope on it," Tian muttered, handing the evidence to his technician. "Get it logged and sent to the lab immediately."

Sky’s voice cut through. "Rain, look at this." It was a list, printed, highlighted in places, hand-annotated. A roster of attendees from multiple poetry nights. Some names were crossed out. Some had stars. Rain studied it. "This is how they chose," he said. "This is the selection process. Based on some… criteria they invented. And look here, Supot’s name is circled in red." "They were planning ahead," Tian said. "That adds premeditation and intent. With everything else, it ties the noose tighter."

Rain tapped his comms. "P’Phayu, it’s Rain. You and Pai will want this before you start questioning him. P’Tian’s sending over the list, the roster, and the DNA evidence right now." "Got it," Phayu replied through the static. "We are ready." Sky moved to the corner of the warehouse, where a small locked cabinet was being forced open by one of the forensic specialists. Inside were several USB drives and a digital camcorder. Tian leaned in.

"I want these secured and encrypted immediately. We will need Shin to go through them. If they contain what I think they do, it will be damning." "Should we play them?" Sky asked. Tian shook his head. "No. Not until we have the entire chain-of-custody secure. We will do it in the forensics lab. With Phupha, Shin, and Charn present." Rain’s hand lingered near one of the crates. The moment he brushed it, a sickening wave of energy surged through him, fear, anguish, betrayal. He staggered slightly. Sky caught him. "You okay?" "I felt… everything," Rain said, shaken. "That one, label it high-priority. It’s soaked in residual emotion. It was important to the victims."

They pressed on. Tian’s team finished the logging, boxing, and securing. Every item, every shred of evidence, was now in transit. Rain looked at Sky. "Let’s head back. P’Phayu and P’Pai will need backup." Sky nodded. "Let’s bring this to an end." Phayu sat across from Surasak in the cold, sterile interrogation room. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting stark shadows across the suspect’s pale, angular face. Beside Phayu sat Pai, his hands folded calmly, his eyes unblinking. They were prepared for a battle of minds.

Surasak looked defiant. His gaze flitted from one detective to the other, his lips curled in a faint, mocking smile. He leaned back in the metal chair, arms crossed. "Why am I here?" he asked, his voice flat. Phayu didn’t rise to the bait. "You know why." Pai slid a file across the table. It contained images, photographs from the warehouse, screenshots from the USB files Shin had decrypted minutes earlier, DNA reports, and the handwritten list.

"We have all this, Surasak," Pai said evenly. "But what we want is the truth. You have got one chance to give your version. Before the prosecutors lay it all out in court." Surasak snorted. "That list proves nothing. Just names. Poetry nights are public events." Phayu leaned forward. "But you circled Supot. And the others who are now dead. That shows intent." "Thanaboon did the killing," Surasak said, almost lazily. "Not me." Pai kept his tone calm. "And yet we found your DNA on personal items of Jira, on a piece of cloth from Kanyarat’s apartment. You think that can be dismissed in court?" Surasak flinched, just slightly. Phayu noticed it.

"You were part of this," Phayu said. "You didn’t stop Thanaboon. You helped him. Enabled him. Fed him names, justified their deaths." "He was sick. I tried to help him. I didn’t kill anyone." "You enjoyed it," Phayu said, voice like a blade. "Don’t lie. We read your university papers. Your obsession with serial killers, your theories about morality and art. This wasn’t about helping him. It was about creating your own twisted masterpiece." Surasak’s jaw clenched.

Pai added, "Dr. Tinn’s profile pegs you exactly. Narcissistic, manipulative, morally disconnected. But what he also sees is that you are vulnerable to one thing, being discarded. Thanaboon may have done the killing, but he was using you too." Phayu leaned in closer. "He confessed. He told us everything. Said you planned the victims together. That you convinced him they had to die. Said you were the mind, he was the hand."

Surasak’s face changed. For the first time, a flicker of panic. "That’s a lie. He’s lying. He always needed me!" Pai picked up the thread. "But he’s talking. Every word he says makes your chances smaller. You can try and spin your version. Maybe shave a few years off your sentence. But only if you talk. Now." The tension in the room crackled. Phayu waited. "Fine," Surasak said, his voice suddenly bitter. "He wasn’t supposed to go that far. I told him, just scare them. Just make them remember. But he wanted more. Said pain was the only truth left."

"You chose the victims together?" Phayu asked. Surasak nodded. "We had lists. Based on betrayal. Hypocrisy. We thought we were cleansing the filth." "You manipulated him," Pai said. Surasak shrugged. "He needed direction. I gave him purpose." Phayu’s voice dropped. "You gave him death." The air in the room tightened. Surasak finally dropped his eyes. "Jira was his final offering," he muttered. "He said after that, we would be done. That he wouldd be free." "But you weren’t going to stop," Pai said. Surasak laughed once, hollow and bitter. "There’s always another name." Phayu rose slowly. "And now there’s only yours." He walked out, Pai at his side. They didn’t need to hear more. They had enough. Justice had begun its final descent.

Epilogue, six months later

Warm light spilled across the open-plan living area of Phayu and Rain’s condominium, soft lamps, strung fairy lights, and flickering candles casting a golden glow over well-polished floors. The late afternoon breeze drifted through open windows, carrying in the scent of grilled vegetables and fresh jasmine from the balcony outside.

Inside, laughter and murmured conversation masked the hum of a carefully curated playlist: mellow jazz, interspersed with nostalgic pop. Rain moved among the small clusters of guests, drink in hand, a huge load lifted from his shoulders. Tonight celebrated more than the end of a terrible chapter, it marked Ple’s residency completion, a milestone Rain and she had all waited for a long time. Everyone was scattered around, as Rain moved around, making sure that his guests were well-fed. Near the windows, Ple leaned toward Saifah, whispering with a grin that made Rain’s chest tighten. He caught a familiar curl of hope in Ple’s eyes, tonight they would affirm so much more than her new title.

Rain stepped back for a breath, listening to laughter and easy conversation he had previously thought extinct. He spotted Ple glancing around, absorbing the moment too. She turned, and he waved. She saw him, her face lighting up. He pulled her close. “You did it,” he murmured. “Residency done.” She leaned into him. “Thanks to you, organising this, supporting me.” He touched her temple. “We did it together.” Ple glanced at Saifah, whose smile never wavered. Rain recognised that smile, tonight, too, would be a gift.

Five minutes later, Rain tapped a spoon on a champagne bucket. Glasses were at the ready: crystal flutes catching light, filled with golden bubbles. The chatter simmered down. He cleared his throat. In every eye, he saw theirs: a team spared by unity, by perseverance. He raised his glass for a toast. “To Ple,” he began. “Congratulations on your residency. The long hours, the countless nights, the brilliant work. You have earned every minute of this moment.” Guests cheered. Rain lifted his glass with reverence. “Here’s to you, and all of us who have held the line through dark times. May we stay stronger together.” Champagne glasses met. Shared warmth rippled across the circle.

Saifah stepped forward, glass in hand, eyes locked on Ple. He took a measured breath. “I met you on the worst possible afternoon,” his voice cracked poignantly. “When fear and sorrow were all around. But you... you brought light into it. You brought healing, healing to hearts I didn’t know needed it.” He paused, looking to the assembled team. As he inhaled, he drew out a small box. Ple’s breath caught. “Tonight, I ask you to walk further with me. In joy, in trials, in quiet and in celebration.” He opened it, revealing a slender ring of pale gold, set with a tiny gemstone. “Will you marry me?” Tears welled in Ple’s eyes. She nodded, voice caught in tears: “Yes.” Saifah slid the ring on her finger. Then, slowly, they leaned in and kissed. A hush fell across the group, then applause rose, heartfelt and warm. Rain caught Phayu’s eye across the room. A quiet smile. Both men felt the weight of all they had endured settle into calm gratitude.

Later, under a starlit balcony, Rain and Phayu lingered, holding hands lightly on the railing. “Six months,” Rain said softly. “It’s been six months since we… closed it.” Phayu nodded. “And I can’t believe how quiet it’s been since.” Rain smiled at him. “Your flowers are still alive.” Phayu chuckled. “Barely.” Rain leaned into him. “To us, to them, to all of them.” Phayu squeezed Rain’s hand. The night breeze carried scents of night-blooming jasmine and distant traffic, reminders of a city that had nearly lost itself to darkness. But on the other side stood these survivors: friends, lovers, colleagues, changed yet unwavering.

They turned to watch the last guests drift away; Ple and Saifah walked hand in hand toward the lift, stickers of promise and happiness adorning their faces. Rain and Phayu lingered on the balcony until the lights dimmed. And so, six months after the nightmare ended, in a condominium bright with candles and gentle music, beloved friends raised their glasses, danced in celebration, held each other close, and witnessed a love that survived it all. The final toast, offered in quiet spoken promise rather than words, lingered: to healing, to laughter, to connection, no longer shadowed by fear, but brightened by enduring love. And as the last candle flickered, nothing else mattered but the warmth of hope reborn in a world they had fought for, and in each other.