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

The Maw yawned before them, a great chasm that exhaled a breath of stagnant air. Ian stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, where the faintest glimmers of spirals etched into the rock disappeared into darkness. Evelyn checked her gear, while Clara clutched Eleanor's notebook tightly, flipping through its brittle pages one last time.

"There's no turning back after this," Evelyn muttered, tightening the strap of her pack.

Ian nodded, gripping his flashlight. "Then we keep going."

A narrow, crumbling staircase wound along the cavern's walls, its steps uneven and slick with condensation. With each step, the light above them grew fainter, swallowed by the weight of the earth pressing in from all sides. Shadows stretched unnaturally, whispering in languages that had no words.

Ian forced himself to focus on the stone beneath his feet, but the air itself seemed to pulse, alive with something unseen. The deeper they went, the more distorted reality became—rock formations twisted at impossible angles, walls seemed to breathe, and time itself felt sluggish, as if they had stepped outside of its reach.

Clara gasped, halting mid-step. "Did you hear that?"

Evelyn froze, hand hovering near her weapon. "What?"

Ian turned, following Clara's gaze. In the darkness beyond, a shape flickered—a figure, tall and draped in tattered robes, its face hidden behind a mask of bone. It stood motionless, watching.

"Keep moving," Ian whispered, his voice barely audible.

The figure did not follow, but its presence lingered, stretching through the cavern like an unseen tether.

At last, the staircase ended, giving way to a vast chamber. The ground beneath their feet shifted—not solid stone, but sand, endless and pale beneath the weak light of their flashlights. The cavern had opened into something much larger than they had imagined.

"A desert?" Clara breathed, kneeling to run her fingers through the fine grains. "Underground?"

Evelyn scanned the horizon, where jagged pillars of rock rose like ancient monoliths. "This place shouldn't exist."

Ian didn't respond. He was staring at the largest of the pillars, where carvings spiraled upward like veins. At its base, partially buried in the sand, lay something familiar.

His breath caught. If this was here, then they weren't the first ones to descend this far. And whoever had come before them… had never returned.

"We keep moving," Ian said, stepping forward. "We find out what happened."

The wind howled through the endless expanse, carrying the echoes of voices long since lost.

The Descent