Chapter 1

The city air was thick with sirens, a constant wail that had become the new sound of dread. Thirteen murders. Thirteen brutal, messy endings that had everyone locking their doors a little tighter. I never thought the fourteenth would be mine.

The call came just after midnight. A clipped, professional voice on the other end.

"Mrs. Miller? This is the police. There's been an incident at your residence."

I knew. Before he said another word, I knew David was gone. A cold, empty space opened up inside me, a vacuum where fear and relief swirled together.

When I arrived, the street below our penthouse was a chaotic mess of flashing red and blue lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the building, and a crowd of neighbors stood in their pajamas, whispering and pointing up.

A uniformed officer stopped me at the tape.

"I live here. Sarah Miller. My husband..." My voice broke, a perfectly practiced tremor.

He nodded grimly and let me through. Another officer escorted me towards the building's entrance. That' s when I saw him. Detective Mark Johnson. He was older, with tired eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He watched me approach, his face a hard, unreadable mask.

"Mrs. Miller. I'm Detective Johnson."

He didn't offer condolences. He just stared.

And then, a scream from the crowd cut through the air. Everyone's head snapped up.

High above, on the balcony of our penthouse, a figure stood silhouetted against the night sky. Susan. My mother-in-law.

For a heartbeat, she just stood there, a dark shape against the city's glow. Then she leaned forward and simply stepped off.

The fall was horribly silent until the end. The sound that followed was wet and final, a sickening thud that echoed off the pavement. It splattered across the clean, sterile crime scene, a graphic, final punctuation mark on the night's horror.

I felt a genuine shock ripple through me, a physical jolt. My knees buckled and I reached out, grabbing the detective' s arm for support. Tears, real this time, streamed down my face. My husband dead upstairs and my mother-in-law a broken thing on the concrete below.

It was the perfect picture of a woman shattered by tragedy.

Detective Johnson didn't move. He didn't comfort me. He just looked down at my hand on his arm, then back up at my face. His voice was low and steady, cutting through my manufactured sobs.

"You did this."

I froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. My breath caught in my throat.

"What?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"Your husband. Your mother-in-law," he said, his eyes drilling into me. "The other thirteen. You killed them all, didn't you, Sarah?"

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A certainty that was so absolute, so unexpected, it almost knocked me off my feet for real.

My mind raced, but my face remained a mask of bewildered grief. This was not part of the plan. No one was supposed to see past the grieving widow.

Inside, a cold, hard knot of something that wasn't fear, but fury, began to tighten. This man, this stranger, was looking at me and seeing the truth. Or at least, a version of it.

"How can you say that?" I cried, pulling my hand back as if I'd been burned. "My husband... my... Susan... they're dead! I just lost everything!"

I let my voice rise, pitching it with hysteria and pain. I poured every ounce of my acting ability into the performance. The performance I had rehearsed in my head for years.

"Detective, have you lost your mind?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "I was at my sister-in-law's house. All night. Call her. Alice. Alice Brown. She'll tell you."

The crowd of onlookers shifted. I could feel their sympathy, a warm wave of pity directed at the poor, tragic woman being harassed by a callous cop. A few people muttered, shaking their heads at Johnson's cruelty.

"Ma'am, maybe we should get you away from here," a younger officer said gently, trying to lead me away. "Let's get you a blanket."

He was buying it. They were all buying it.

But Johnson didn't even blink. He waved the other officer off without looking at him. His gaze was still locked on me, intense and unwavering.

"I don't need to call anyone, Sarah," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, for my ears only. "I've been on this case from the beginning. Thirteen victims before tonight. A city in fear. But now I see the pattern. They all lead back to you."

His certainty was terrifying. It was a solid wall I hadn't expected to hit so soon. He wasn't guessing. He wasn't just a cop with a hunch. He knew something.

And in that moment, under the flashing lights, with the scent of death hanging in the air, I knew this was just the beginning. The game was on.