crucifyheaven

Detective Ian Wren thought he had escaped the ghosts of his past, but the murder of Eleanor Montgomery pulls him into a web of deceit that threatens to unravel Hollow’s Edge. Eleanor was more than a philanthropist—she was the keystone of the town’s power dynamics. Her death exposes dark secrets tied to the elusive Crimson Hour Society, a shadowy group with ties to corruption and betrayal.

As Ian investigates, he uncovers layers of lies, each piece revealing deeper connections between Hollow’s Edge’s elite and Eleanor’s tragic demise. But the closer Ian gets to the truth, the more dangerous the game becomes. With each passing hour, Ian faces threats, red herrings, and the ghosts of his unsolved case—forcing him to confront his own failure and unravel the darkness hiding in plain sight.

In a town where trust is fleeting and redemption comes at a price, Ian must uncover the truth before the Crimson Hour strikes again.

The Crimson Hour

Chapter 8: The Ritual Begins

The air in Hollow's Edge felt heavier that night, as if the town itself was holding its breath. Ian Wren sat at his desk in the study, the cellar's discoveries and Clara Montgomery's haunting words swirling in his mind. "They wanted her dead. I was supposed to be next."

The photograph of the masked figures stood out among the evidence scattered before him. Eleanor Montgomery had been part of something far darker than just a society of power brokers. The Crimson Hour Society wasn't just pulling strings—it was orchestrating fear, control, and, perhaps, bloodshed.

Sheriff Evelyn Cross entered, her expression grim. "We've analyzed the blood on the dagger. It's animal, not human. But that doesn't make it any less disturbing. Whatever they're doing… it's ritualistic, and it's not some harmless tradition."

Ian nodded, his gaze fixed on the spiral symbol in the photograph. "Rituals have purpose," he said. "They have meaning. Eleanor wasn't just a victim—she was a sacrifice."

Evelyn's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. Instead, she placed a file on the desk. "We've looked into the names in Eleanor's ledger. Most of them check out—local figures, mostly, with clean records. But one name stands out: Victoria Hale. No official records, no known address, just a name tied to Crimson Hour."

Ian's curiosity sparked. "Who is she?"

"We don't know," Evelyn admitted. "But she's connected to the society, and Eleanor's notes suggest she held influence."

Before Ian could respond, the sound of distant chanting broke through the silence. He froze, his ears straining to pinpoint the source. The sound was faint, almost inaudible, but unmistakable—a rhythmic, low hum that sent chills down his spine.

"What the hell is that?" Evelyn asked, her hand going to her sidearm instinctively.

Ian stood, moving toward the window. The chanting seemed to emanate from the woods, the area marked on Eleanor's map. His pulse quickened as he realized what this could mean. "They're starting something," he said. "We need to move. Now."