DAY 2

At 4:45 AM, Jack pulled into the office driveway. The streets were still wrapped in darkness, the city barely awake. He reached into his pocket, fishing out the spare key he always carried. But as he slid it toward the keyhole, he noticed something odd—the door was already open.

"Did Jake forget to lock up?" he muttered under his breath, instantly alert. He reached for his Glock and stepped inside cautiously. The office was silent, the air thick with unease. Room by room, he searched, but there was no sign of forced entry—just an unsettling stillness.

Then, a noise. A soft thud from the back room.

Jack tightened his grip on the gun and moved swiftly, rounding the corner with precision. "Freeze!" he barked.

A sharp gasp filled the air. "Ahhh! You scared me!"

Jack lowered his gun. "Bernice? What the hell are you doing here?"

Bernice placed a hand on her chest, catching her breath. "I could ask you the same thing!" she countered. "I came early to report yesterday's findings to Jake."

Jack sighed and tucked his gun away. "Same. Guess we're both impatient."

She chuckled lightly and moved toward the bench near him. As she stepped forward, her foot caught on the uneven carpet, sending her tumbling—straight into Jack. They collapsed onto the floor, Bernice landing on top of him.

A long, awkward silence followed before Jack shifted, clearing his throat. "Uh, you okay?"

Bernice scrambled off him, her face burning. "Yeah—sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine." Jack quickly sat up, his body rigid. He needed a distraction. "So... how was your night?"

Bernice hesitated before answering. "It was... restless."

Before she could say more, the front door creaked open, breaking the moment. They turned in unison as Jake entered, stretching his arms with a yawn.

"You two are here early," Jake noted, raising an eyebrow.

"We have an update on Shadow," Jack replied. "He left us another clue."

As they settled in Jake's office, Jack recounted the events from the previous day—the fake name, the cryptic notes, the frustrating chase. Jake listened intently, his fingers steepled in thought.

"So let me get this straight," he finally said. "He applied for a job at the same place he sent you, left abruptly, then left a taunting note?"

"That's right," Bernice confirmed. "It's almost like he wants us to find him—but on his terms."

"Or he's toying with us." Jake exhaled. "Damn psychopath."

Before they could continue, a commotion erupted outside.

The trio rushed to the driveway, where officers had gathered, murmuring in hushed voices. The sight before them sent a cold chill down their spines.

Sergeant Alexander lay motionless on the pavement. His back was riddled with knives—twenty-three in total, still embedded in his flesh. His expression was frozen in agony, eyes staring into nothingness.

A note, smeared in blood, was pinned to his chest.

Jack read it aloud. "Mr. Alexander."

Bernice paled. "That's the alias Shadow used yesterday."

Jake swore under his breath. "He's naming his next victim in advance." He turned to Jack and Bernice, his face hard. "You two—find the next target. Now."

They nodded, racing to the car. Jack started the engine as Bernice unfolded the latest note.

"'Just like mom's cooking,'" she read. "What the hell does that mean?"

Jack smirked slightly. "I think I know just the place."

They drove for nearly an hour before pulling into a Wendy's parking lot.

Bernice frowned. "A fast-food restaurant? Seriously?"

"Wendy's slogan is all about home-style cooking. Shadow's clues aren't always direct," Jack explained.

They stepped inside and took a seat. A young waiter approached. "Good morning! What can I get you?"

Jack ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit combo. Bernice opted for a sausage, egg, and Swiss croissant. When asked about drinks, she answered before Jack could open his mouth. "Two Cokes."

Jack gave her a look. "I was gonna get coffee."

"Too bad," she said with a smirk.

Fifteen minutes later, their food arrived. Jack unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. As he was about to take another, something odd caught his eye. He pulled apart the bun and found a neatly folded paper wedged inside.

"Seriously?" Jack muttered, unfolding the note.

Bernice leaned in. "What's it say?"

Jack read aloud. "'You're late again, James. Just like always. Did you like my present this morning? Let's keep the game going. Take this riddle and catch me if you can.'"

On the back of the note was a new riddle:

'I'm a place where the wild things Play, But also where humans come to Kill some stress. I have lakes, and hills, and trees that Raise so tall, And a famous statue that stands at All. What am I?'

Bernice scanned it. "Look—some letters are capitalized: P, K, R, A. That spells PARK."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Crystal Park."

They drove with urgency, reaching the park within forty-five minutes. As they split up to search, Jack wandered near a playground when a small boy approached him.

"Mister, mister!" the child called, handing Jack a folded note. "Mr. Ryan told me to give this to you."

Jack's stomach twisted. "Ryan? The park caretaker?"

The boy nodded. "Yup. But he said I can't tell you where he is. That's cheating."

Jack exhaled. "Figures."

Meanwhile, Bernice sat on a bench, lost in thought. A man approached. "Rough day?"

She nodded. "You could say that."

"If I may," the man continued, "sometimes it's best to stop trying so hard. Let things come naturally."

Bernice frowned. "That's oddly specific advice."

The man chuckled. "Maybe I just know people. I mean... I know James."

Bernice stiffened. "Wait—what did you just say?"

The man smirked and turned to leave. Instinct kicked in. Bernice lunged, but before she could grab him, he swiftly wedged a broom between the bench slats, pinning her in place.

By the time Jack arrived, the man had vanished.

"Where is he?!" Jack demanded.

"Gone," Bernice admitted, frustrated.

Jack pulled out the note he'd received earlier and handed it to her. "This was how I knew he was with you."

Bernice read the message aloud. "How WAS your girlfriend?"

Jack clenched his fists. "And the worst part? I know who's dying next."

A gust of wind blew past them, causing another paper to flutter against their windshield. Jack plucked it off and read it, his heart sinking.

"'James, James, James. You're just as slow as ever. Say goodbye to Officer Ryan.'"

Silence hung between them before Jack started the engine.

They drove off, neither saying a word, the weight of failure pressing against them like a vice.