SHADOW AND SECRETS

The wrought-iron gates of LOCKWOOD HOLDINGS shook open, revealing a path surrounded by shadows. Detective Eliana Vance put on her trench coat and felt the damp chill from the late afternoon seeping into her bones.

She'd been summoned by Zayden Lockwood, the egoistic son of late Mr. Banky Lockwood, a man shrouded in so much mystery. The initial cryptic, a terse message had been sent through Bilal about a "matter of urgency" concerning the ongoing investigation into the Lockwood family murders. Elana, weary from weeks of chasing dead ends, had agreed.

The imposing oak door creaked open before she could even reach for the knocker, revealing Zayden Lockwood. He was a study in contrasts: sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of a stormy sea, and a shock of unruly black hair that seemed to defy gravity. His tailored suit couldn't quite mask the underlying tension in his posture, a subtle tremor in his hand betraying a nervousness that belied his outwardly composed demeanor.

"Detective Vance," he said, his voice a low rumble, "meet me in my office," he said without sparing her as much as a glance.

Elana's gaze swept over him, assessing before following his footsteps.

Entering the heavy oak door closing with a resounding thud that echoed through the silent halls. The air inside was thick with the scent of old wood and dust, a faint undercurrent of something else… something metallic, like dried blood. Elana's instincts sharpened.

He led her through a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors, each hallway a testament to the family's opulent past. The silence was punctuated only by the rhythmic tick-tack of a grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging like a metronome counting down to an unknown event.

Finally, they arrived in a private study, a room overflowing with books and papers. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows that played tricks on the eyes. Zayden offered her a seat, his movements precise and controlled, yet his eyes held a haunted quality that hinted at a deeper turmoil.

"I called you here, Detective, because I believe there are things the police haven't considered," he began, his voice low and serious.

Elana leaned forward, her interest piqued. "And what might those things be, Mr. Lockwood?"

He hesitated, his gaze drifting towards the fire, Zayden's fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair, knuckles whitening. The firelight cast flickering shadows over his face, deepening the sharp angles of his features.

"You think you know everything about the Lockwood murders, Detective?" he asked, his tone edged with bitterness. "You don't. The police are chasing ghosts while the real threat is still out there, watching."

Eliana held his gaze, unflinching. "Then tell me something I don't know, Mr. Lockwood. Because so far, all I've got is a cryptic message."

Zayden exhaled sharply, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Two nights ago, I received this." He reached into a drawer, producing a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the polished desk, his hand lingering a second too long.

Eliana unfolded it carefully. The note was written in jagged, almost frantic handwriting:

"You were never meant to survive. Neither were they. Soon."

Her jaw tightened. "No signature. No indication of where it came from?"

He shook his head. "It was slipped under my bedroom door while I was asleep. No cameras picked up anything, no one saw a damn thing."

Eliana's fingers tapped against the desk. "And you didn't think to report this to the authorities?"

Zayden let out a hollow laugh. "Right. The same authorities who've spent weeks chasing their tails while my father's body turns cold? Tell me, Detective, how many suspects have you ruled out? How much closer are you to answers?"

Eliana narrowed her eyes. "You think I don't want answers? I've spent sleepless nights combing through evidence, chasing leads that go nowhere, watching the media paint your family as a house of secrets and scandals. So don't stand there in your custom suit and act like you're the only one suffering."

Zayden shot to his feet, knocking over a glass in the process. The crystal shattered against the floor, the sharp crack echoing through the study. His breath was uneven, his hands clenched at his sides. "Then do your job, Detective. Because I'm running out of patience, and whoever killed my father is still out there."

Eliana rose slowly, meeting his glare with one of her own. "Patience?" she repeated, voice cool but firm. "You think you're running out of patience? I'm running out of options, Mr. Lockwood. Unless you have more than a threatening note and paranoia to offer, I suggest you let me do my job."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the steady crackling of the fire. The air between them was charged, a battle of wills neither seemed ready to concede.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll give you what you need. But if you fail me, Detective, I won't just sit back and wait for another body to drop."

Eliana squared her shoulders, gripping the note tightly in her hand. "Neither will I."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door, leaving Zayden standing in the firelight, his expression unreadable.

But as she walked away, one thought clung to the back of her mind, chilling her more than the damp evening air outside:

What if Zayden Lockwood wasn't just a grieving son?

What if he was keeping secrets of his own?