Day 7(A week has passed)

James and Bernice walked into the office, hand in hand. The moment they entered, Jake called them into his office.

"I heard what happened to you two at the hospital," Jake began. "Your asthma attack left you helpless, and you could have died. I'm glad you're back."

"Thank you, Jake," Bernice said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Jake blushed slightly, and James felt a pang of jealousy.

"Jake, I have big news," James said. "I know who 'Shadow' is."

Jake's expression turned serious. "Who?"

"Regnald Golcastre," James answered. "We were in middle school, high school, and college together."

Jake's face turned pale. "Wait… you mean 'Poopstar' is 'Shadow'?"

"Yeah," James confirmed.

Bernice turned to look at Jake, who seemed on the verge of a breakdown. "Jake, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, though he clearly wasn't.

At that moment, Johanson walked in, calling out his usual announcement. "Letters! Letters! Get your letters!"

James and Bernice left Jake's office to meet him. "Good morning, detectives," Johanson greeted.

"Morning, Johanson. How are we today?" Jake asked.

"We is fine," Johanson replied with a grin.

James chuckled. "I like your sense of humor."

Johanson handed over a letter. James opened it and began reading aloud:

Dear James,

I see you've recovered, but unfortunately, I'm going on business for the next three days. That doesn't mean you're safe. Six people will die—three to make up for the days you were away, and three more if you still haven't found me by the time I return. See you in paradise.

A wave of panic spread through the office.

"Calm down, everyone!" James said, folding the letter. "I'm sending this for further investigation."

As the crowd dispersed, he noticed something at the bottom of the letter—words written in red ink:

We love ourselves.

Like brother, like sister.

Unstable.

Below them, a final note read: These are my next victims.

James rushed back and called for an emergency meeting. "We need to decode these clues—fast."

"Who could they be?" an officer asked.

A female officer suddenly gasped, her face filled with terror. "Oh, God. It's me. I'm going to die."

James turned to her. "Denise, what do you mean?"

"The first clue—'We love ourselves'—only Doreen and I are openly homosexual in this office. It has to be us."

James exchanged a look with Bernice. "Johanson, bring me Officer Doreen. Now."

Johanson saluted and returned minutes later with Doreen. Denise ran to her, sobbing.

"It's okay, honey," Doreen whispered, holding her tight.

The group sat in tense silence for thirty minutes until, suddenly, Denise bolted for the door.

"Denise, stop!" James shouted. Officers lunged to stop her, but she slipped through their grasp.

She reached the office door and yanked the knob. It was locked. Desperately, she kept pulling.

"Honey!" Doreen called.

Denise turned, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to die."

"No one is going to die," Doreen reassured her, stepping forward. "Just calm—"

A sharp creak echoed from above.

"Denise, look ou—"

CRASH!

The heavy box TV, perched precariously on a loose shelf, came down in an instant. Blood splattered across the floor.

The room filled with screams. Doreen collapsed beside Denise's lifeless body as James pulled her away. "We have to go. It's not safe here."

But before they could react, another eerie creak sounded. A wooden beam snapped, sending a rusted nail plunging into Doreen's left eye.

She shrieked in agony, collapsing into James' arms.

Then, another scream from down the hall.

James and the officers rushed toward the noise. What they saw made their stomachs turn.

Two officers lay in pools of blood—Dominic and Heidi. The ceiling fan had collapsed, slicing them apart.

Jake stumbled into the room, horrified. "Who—who got killed?"

"Dominic and Heidi," an officer muttered.

James inhaled sharply. "'Like brother, like sister.' The second clue."

A single piece of paper fluttered from the ceiling, landing in James' hands.

4 down. 2 more to go. To make this fast—who fights the most in this office but are still best friends?

James' heart stopped. "Where are Richard and Richmond?"

"Fighting as always," an officer said. "In the third lobby by—"

James took off before she could finish.

He sprinted down the hall, nearly knocking over Bernice.

"Where are you going, honey?" she asked, grabbing his arm.

"Not now, Bea!" He tried to free himself, but she held firm.

"James," she said, looking him in the eye. "What's wrong?"

James was too frantic to explain. "I need to find Richard and Richmond."

"Oh, they were just fighting in the lobby."

"Thank you!" James bolted.

When he reached the lobby, he found the two men wrestling on the ground, Richmond's hands around Richard's throat.

"Enough!" James yanked them apart.

"What's your problem?" Richard coughed.

Before James could answer, a loud clang echoed from outside.

Richard stepped to the window and opened it. "Huh? Nothing's he—"

The AC unit dislodged and crashed onto his head.

His body toppled out the window.

Richmond leaned out, peering down. "Oh, God…"

Before James could stop him, a loose wire whipped around Richmond's collar. His screams pierced the air as the wire tore through his shirt, inching him downward.

"Help!" he cried, tugging desperately.

The wire snapped.

Richmond plummeted to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a sickening crunch.

James stared in horror. Blood pooled beneath them, bones twisted unnaturally.

A paper airplane drifted into the room. James caught it, unfolded it, and read the message inside.

A slow smile spread across his face.

Without a word, he turned and walked away to share the news with the others.