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 18: The Hour Strikes

The mansion was alive with shadows, flickering and twisting in unnatural patterns that seemed to move of their own accord. Ian Wren held the black box tightly as he, Sheriff Evelyn Cross, and Clara Montgomery bolted through the halls, their footsteps echoing against the wood-paneled walls. Behind them, the whispers grew louder, rising to a crescendo of guttural voices that made the air itself vibrate with menace.

"They won't stop!" Clara cried, her voice breaking as she stumbled. "They'll come for the box—they always do!"

Ian reached out, grabbing her arm to steady her. "Not if we keep moving!" he said, his own voice strained against the tension pulling at him.

Evelyn was several steps ahead, her gun held high as she scanned the halls for threats. "We need to make it to the basement," she shouted over the cacophony of whispers. "It's the only defensible spot left."

Ian nodded, pushing Clara forward. "Go!"

The three of them turned sharply down a side corridor, the shadows growing darker and thicker around them. Ian's flashlight flickered, the beam struggling against the oppressive blackness. He glanced down at the box in his hands—it was cold, pulsing faintly, as though responding to the chaos around it.

"What's happening?" Evelyn demanded, her voice clipped as she fired a warning shot into the shadows. The bullet hit nothing, vanishing into the dark.

Ian shook his head, his chest tightening. "I don't know, but the box is reacting to them. It's like it's alive."

Clara whimpered, her wide eyes fixed on the glowing spiral symbols that began appearing along the walls. "It is alive. That's what my mother said. She said it feeds on them—on us."

Ian didn't have time to process her words. The whispers suddenly turned into a roar, and the shadows coalesced into figures—hooded, looming, and hungry. They moved with unnatural speed, their forms distorted as they lunged toward the group.

"Go!" Ian shouted again, his grip tightening on Clara's arm as they sprinted toward the basement door. Evelyn fired another shot, the noise deafening in the narrow hall, but it only slowed the figures for a moment.

They reached the basement door, and Ian shoved Clara through before slamming it shut behind them. Evelyn quickly bolted the lock, her breath coming fast and shallow as she braced herself against the door. "That won't hold them for long," she said grimly. "What now?"

Ian placed the box on a nearby table, his hands trembling as he studied it. The spirals on its surface were glowing faintly now, pulsing in time with the roars and whispers outside. "We have to figure out how to open it," he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. "If it's tied to the pact, breaking it is the only way to stop them."

Clara hesitated, her gaze darting between Ian and the box. "She said… she said it can only be opened willingly. Someone has to choose to unbind it."

Ian frowned, his mind racing. "What happens if we unbind it? What happens to the hour?"

Clara's voice trembled as she answered. "It ends. But everything it's touched… changes."

Evelyn turned sharply to face her. "Changes how?"

Clara shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know! She never told me! But she said it would destroy the society. It would destroy everything."

The basement door shook violently, the sound of fists—or claws—slamming against it echoing through the room. Ian tightened his jaw, his gaze fixed on the box. "We don't have a choice," he said finally. "Whatever happens, we can't let them keep this. We have to end it."

Evelyn nodded, her grip tightening on her gun. "Do it."

Ian reached out, his hand hovering over the box. It pulsed under his fingertips, cold and alive, as though daring him to make the choice. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed himself to open it.