Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAMWBZ0PCFSTFD9046FTFJ

Rain slicked the pier as midnight swallowed the sleeping harbor. Detective Mara Quinn arrived, coffee trembling inside a paper cup. Blue lights jittered across wet boards, summoning gulls from shadows. The call had mentioned screams, then only waves and silence. Now an overturned skiff rocked, knocking rhythms against the pilings. A single red scarf drifted, snagging on a rusted cleat. Mara crouched, reading the pier like a book left open. Footprints scalloped the puddles, smudged by haste and returning spray. One set ended abruptly where splinters smiled from a break. She peered into black water, which kept its moonlit secrets. Sergeant Ives arrived late, boots squeaking like startled rats below. He muttered apologies, then noticed the scarf and swallowed hard. That belonged to Lila Bray, the harbor master's missing niece. Mara pocketed the scarf, careful not to wring evidence away. Behind them, shutters clicked, curious windows practicing their alibis early. A gull shrieked twice, echoing something human, then nothing else. Ives said, Coast Guard found her car, engine still warm. Mara exhaled, tasting salt, diesel, and somebody else's fear tonight. She radioed dispatch, voice steady, questions clicking like handcuffs shut. Before help arrived, a bottle rolled, releasing sweet chemical breath. Mara followed it, finding footprints newer than the falling rain. They led beneath the pier, where dark water spoke louder. A whisper answered, metallic, ticking softly inside the tide below. Bomb? Ives mouthed, but Mara shook no, then froze listening. Something scraped barnacles, deliberate as a match struck underwater there. A face surfaced briefly, pale as bait, eyes unblinking wide. It vanished, leaving ripples that counted down in rings slowly. Mara drew her light, revealing crimson staining the pylons nearby. Not blood, Ives said, but paint marking someone else's course. Mara smiled thinly; killers loved breadcrumbs that led backward first. She traced drips inland, toward warehouses sleeping with secrets inside. The third door yawned, padlock snapped, darkness breathing receipts cold. Inside, a desk lamp painted islands on scattered invoices there. On the floor, wet footprints dried toward a locker near. She opened it, finding rope, hooks, and a ledger waiting. The ledger bled numbers that stank worse than the harbor. Ives flipped pages, frowning at names circled in red ink. Lila's name starred twice, beside dates with no shipments logged. Thunder rolled close, as if clapping for the plot unfolding. Mara pocketed the ledger and heard footsteps behind crates nearby. She signaled Ives; lights died, warehouse swallowing their shapes whole. A voice whispered, too cheerful, asking about the weather outside. Mara replied, It rains when debts come due, friend always. The voice laughed, then cocked a gun against darkness near. Ives cursed softly; Mara counted heartbeats to three before moving. On four, lightning flashed, and someone else dropped screaming hard. When lights returned, the gun lay warm, owner absent again. In the doorway, rain framed Lila Bray, very still there. Her eyes begged mercy; her chest withheld any answering rise. Mara stepped forward, tasting copper, realizing the night had started.