Chapter 67

Chapter 67
Ariel didn’t sleep.

She dragged her feet to the bathroom, pulled off her clothes and walked under the shower.
While she shut her eyes tightly, memories of Freya replayed In her head. Her smiles kept flashing in her mind.
Ariel covered her body with a towel, walked to her draw. On her table was a picture of Freya and her, back in high school. She picked it up, staring at their graduation photo.

Her fingers traced Freya’s smile.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly.

By dawn, her eyes were puffy, red, swollen.

THE NEXT MORNING — AT THE STATION

Ariel walked in early, her steps slow, her hair loosely tied as if she had given up fighting it.

Micheal spotted her instantly.

“Ariel,” he said softly. “You look…exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she replied quietly.

He touched her arm gently.
“No, you’re not.”

Ariel looked down.

His voice was warm.
“You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

She didn’t answer… but she didn’t pull away.

Officer Leon came to announce that Mrs. Jones wants them all at the briefing room



Maps pinned with red dots marked the murder sites, photos of victims lined the walls, and a whiteboard scrawled with notes dominated the center. Mrs. Jones stood at the front, her arms crossed, flanked by a couple of junior detectives and a forensic analyst named Dr. Elena Vasquez.

"Glad you could join us, Detective," Mrs. Jones said as Ariel and Micheal entered. "Take a seat. We're reviewing the pattern."

Ariel slid into a chair, Micheal sat beside her, his hand brushing hers under the table.

Dr. Vasquez clicked a remote, projecting autopsy images onto the screen. Ariel forced herself to look, even as her stomach churned. "All victims are women in their mid-20s to early 30s, connected to nightlife—specifically, clubs like Eclipse, where the fire started six months ago. The carvings—'justice' on the chest and thigh—are done post-mortem with a serrated blade. No sexual assault, but signs of prolonged torture: burns, cuts, asphyxiation attempts."

"They're all linked to the club," Ariel murmured, piecing it together. "Freya was investigating the murders there for her network. She mentioned girls being killed, but it was hushed up."

Mrs. Jones nodded. "Eclipse is owned by Victor Kane, a real estate mogul with ties to politicians. The fire was ruled accidental, but whispers say it was arson to cover something bigger— trafficking, maybe drugs. Kane's clean on paper, but we're digging."

Micheal leaned forward. "Any commonalities beyond the club? Jobs, relationships?"

"Most were dancers or waitresses," Vasquez replied. "A few had records for petty theft or solicitation. The killer might see them as 'sinners' needing 'justice.' Vigilante type."

Ariel's mind raced. Freya wasn't a club girl; she was a journalist poking around. "He's escalating. Targeting anyone who gets close. We need to go undercover at Eclipse—see what the staff knows."

Mrs. Jones raised an eyebrow. "You? No. Too recognizable after the SK case. And too personal."

"I'll do it," Micheal interjected. "I'm not local. I can pose as a patron, get the lay of the land."

Ariel shot him a glare. "And leave me on desk duty? No way."

The room fell silent as Mrs. Jones considered. "Fine. Micheal goes in first. Ariel, you coordinate from here, review Freya's notes, talk to Frank again. No solo moves."

Ariel bit her lips, she didn't like the idea but atleast she was part of it somehow.



That night, Ariel couldn't sleep. She paced her apartment, Freya's journal spread out on the coffee table, a gift from their college days, now filled with scribbled leads.

“Club owner VK—shady deals?" one entry read. "Witness saw man in black coat leaving fire scene." Another: "Girls disappearing after 'private parties.' Justice Killer?"

She picked up her phone and dialed Frank. He answered on the first ring, his voice raw.

"Ariel? Any news?"

"Not yet. But Freya's notes mention private parties at Eclipse. Did she say anything about that?"

A pause. "She was excited about a tip, a source inside the club. Said it could blow the story wide open. I begged her not to go alone, but she laughed it off. 'Just a quick meet,' she said."

Ariel's heart sank. "Who was the source?"

"Didn't say. But she mentioned a bartender named Lila. Freya met her the day before... before everything."

"Thanks, Frank. Hang in there."

After hanging up, Ariel grabbed her coat. Mrs. Jones' orders be damned, she was going to Eclipse.



The club pulsed with bass-heavy music, strobe lights cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat. Ariel slipped in through a side door, her hair tucked under a wig, makeup heavy to disguise her features. She scanned the room, dancers on platforms, VIP booths shrouded in curtains, patrons laughing too loudly.

At the bar, a woman with purple-streaked hair poured drinks. Lila, according to the nametag.

"Vodka tonic," Ariel said, sliding onto a stool.

Lila nodded, mixing it efficiently. "Haven't seen you here before."

"Friend recommended it. Said the parties are... unforgettable."

Lila's eyes flickered with caution. "Depends on the party. Some are invite-only."

Ariel leaned in. "My friend was Freya. She mentioned you."

Lila froze, then glanced around. "Not here. Meet me out back in five."

Ariel nodded, her heart pounding. As she waited, a man in a dark coat brushed past her, his cologne felt…..familiar. She turned, but he vanished into the crowd.

Out back, in the alley behind the club, Lila lit a cigarette. "Freya was asking about the missing girls. I told her about the 'justice' rumors, some creep targeting us because of Kane's side business. He runs escorts for high-rollers, covers it with the club."

"Any names? Descriptions?"

Lila shook her head. "Just that he's connected. Wears a ring with a scales symbol, like justice. Freya said she'd dig more, but then..."

A sudden footstep. Lila's eyes widened. "Go. Now."

Ariel turned to leave, but a figure emerged, the man in the black coat, face obscured by a hood. He lunged with a knife at Ariel.

She dodged, grabbing a trash lid as a shield. "Police! Stop!"

He slashed wildly, carving the air. "Justice for the wicked!"

She swung the lid, connecting with his arm. He grunted, dropping the knife, and fled into the night.

Breathless, Ariel picked up the blade, serrated, just like the murder weapon. And on the handle, etched faintly, 'scales of justice'.

Her phone buzzed— Micheal. "Where are you? Jones is pissed."

"Eclipse," she gasped. "I think I just met our killer."