Trouble In Paradise

The lease agreement lay on the polished oak desk, freshly printed and awaiting signatures. Sunlight streamed through the large office windows, casting long shadows over the bare walls and empty shelves.

The space smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings.

Dylan flipped through the contract one last time, though he already knew every word. Clara sat across from him, arms crossed, tapping a pen against her palm.

"You've read that thing a dozen times," she muttered. "Sign it already."

He exhaled sharply and clicked the pen. The name "Morningstar Firm, LLC" gleamed at the top of the contract, marking the official start of his legal practice.

With a final stroke, he signed his name.

The real estate agent, a middle-aged man in a crisp suit, beamed.

"Congratulations, Mr. Morningstar. You now have your own office in the heart of Chicago."

Dylan leaned back, watching as the agent gathered the paperwork. The moment felt surreal.

From a mere associate to owning his own law firm in the space of a month. If this wasn't happening to him, Dylan wouldn't have believed it was possible.

"Now, for the fun part," Clara said, standing up. "Furnishing this place before it starts looking like a haunted house."

Dylan shrugged absentmindedly, lost in his thoughts.

"I'll leave that to you."

---

The next few days passed in a blur of deliveries, contractors, and furniture assembly. Clara had spared no expense in ensuring the firm exuded professionalism.

The reception area was the first to take shape—a sleek black desk positioned near the entrance, complemented by a comfortable seating area with deep blue chairs. A coffee machine hummed in the corner, already becoming Clara's favorite part of the office.

The conference room was next. A long mahogany table stood at its center, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. The walls were lined with empty bookshelves, waiting to be filled with legal volumes and case files.

A flat-screen TV was mounted for presentations, though Clara insisted it could also double as a good spot for game nights.

Dylan's office, however, took the most care. Left to him, it would have ended up looking boring but thankfully, Clara was not having it.

Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, already stacked with law books and personal memorabilia from his old office. A large desk dominated the space, with a city-view window behind it.

Dylan added a few personal touches—a whiskey decanter and a framed photo of himself.

By the time they finished setting up, the sun had long set, painting the city skyline in hues of deep purple and amber.

Dylan took a step back, surveying the office. It looked real now. It felt real.

Clara dropped onto the couch in the waiting area, groaning.

"I swear, if I have to build one more desk, I'm quitting before we even start."

"You're not even officially hired yet." Dylan smirked.

"Then consider this my first act of rebellion as your future office manager."

He chuckled, walking to the window. Chicago sprawled out beneath him, its lights flickering like distant stars.

Morningstar Firm was ready. Now, it was time to take on its first case. Unknown to Dylan, an investigation was going on around another part of the city.

----

The charred remains of the steelworks still smoldered, filling the night air with the pungent stench of burnt metal and something far worse—something unnatural.

Yellow police tape cordoned off the area, and investigators moved carefully through the blackened debris, their boots crunching over ash-covered concrete.

Detective Harris stood near the wreckage, arms crossed, his face tight with frustration. The fire had burned too hot, too fast, and yet, it hadn't spread beyond the building.

That wasn't how the fire worked.

Then there is the stench. Never has he come across ashes that smell like death. He could barely spend a minute here without feeling nauseous.

A forensic officer shook his head as he sifted through the ashes.

"I've never seen anything like this. The fire didn't just burn through metal; it incinerated bodies, cars, everything—but look at the ground." He pointed at the scorched earth. "No spread. No collateral damage."

According to the testimony of firefighters and eyewitnesses, no amount of water was able to douse the flames. They had simply burned until they stopped.

Standing a few feet away from the main cluster of officers was a man who didn't belong in a crime scene—at least, not in the usual sense.

Father Linus.

Dressed in his black cassock with a simple silver cross resting against his chest, the priest observed the scene in silence. His sharp golden eyes studied the blackened remains with an unreadable expression.

Detective Harris finally noticed him and sighed. He was still wrapping his head around why the Church had been given access to the case, but the higher-ups had insisted.

"Father Linus," Harris called, approaching him. "Since you're here, mind telling me what the hell we're dealing with?"

Linus didn't immediately respond. Instead, he crouched down, running a gloved hand over a section of burnt concrete.

"It wasn't a normal fire." His eyes narrowed.

Harris rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, we figured that much. But what kind of fire burns this hot and then stops on its own?"

Linus stood, dusting off his hands. His gaze flickered toward the detective, then past him, toward the ruins. His expression gave nothing away.

"Something beyond your jurisdiction," he said simply.

Detective Harris' brow furrowed.

"Beyond my jurisdiction? What the hell does that mean? Father, if you know something, you need to—"

Father Linus was already turning away, his black coat shifting with the breeze. He didn't answer. He didn't explain. He simply walked off, leaving the detective and his men standing in confusion.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harris swore under his breath.

A short distance away, Father Linus stepped into the shadows of a ruined support beam, pulling a black phone from his pocket. He pressed a number and held it to his ear.

"It's as expected," he said, his voice low. "Demonic activity in Chicago. I'll be staying longer to resolve it."

A pause. The voice on the other end responded, but whatever was said made Linus' gaze darken.

He ended the call without another word, slipping the phone back into his coat.