Detective Sarah Broadwell stood at the scene, the pale moonlight casting eerie shadows over the lifeless body before her, an icy grip of dread settling in her stomach. The man lay in a pool of his own blood, his sightless eyes staring up at the starless night sky, a tale of tragedy and despair. She took a deep breath, the dingy smell of alleys and death filling her nostrils, and knelt beside the corpse, a ritual she knew all too well. The man's face was a mask of terror, his mouth frozen in a silent scream, his final moments a testament to the violence of his end. Broadwell's eyes scanned the scene, searching for clues, and landed on a glint of metal caught in the lowlight's glare, a murder weapon discarded carelessly. The Zippo lighter bore an engraving of an eagle, a symbol that stirred a memory, a case from her troubled past resurfacing unexpectedly. She slipped on her gloves, the white latex a stark contrast to the red blood painting the cobblestones, and began her meticulous examination. With each thread of fabric she examined, each piece of hair she bagged, she knew she was closer to unraveling a chilling mystery. The dead man's name was David Reeves, a name Broadwell knew well, and one that meant this case would be anything but simple. Unbeknownst to the detective, this was merely the first piece in a killer's twisted game, a game she had unknowingly become a part of. She rose to her feet, the weight of the task ahead settling heavily on her shoulders, and began to unravel the mystery of Reeves.