CHAP: 2 The Silent Walker

Dax didn't sleep that night. Not that he really expected to, not after what he'd seen. The events in the park kept replaying in his mind, a loop of brutality and confusion that refused to let him go. The man, the wolf, the coyote—it was all connected, but how?

His mind ran through every possibility, trying to make sense of the strange encounter. Whatever it was, it was bigger than just an animal attack. The claw marks on the tree had been far too deep, too deliberate. And the wolf, that creature… it had been something else entirely. A primal force, yes, but not a mere beast.

The coyote, though… It wasn't just a wild animal. It had been too intelligent, too purposeful in the way it watched him. Dax had been in this city long enough to know when he was being marked for something, but this? This felt different. The coyote wasn't just observing him—it was sizing him up. As if waiting for him to do something. Or maybe for something to happen to him.

By dawn, Dax couldn't sit still anymore. He got up and dressed, his usual routine now a blur of automatic motions. He grabbed his jacket, slung a bag over his shoulder, and stepped into the cold morning air. The city felt quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that made you feel like something was lurking just out of sight, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

His first stop was the morgue. He knew a guy—Detective Marcus Hale—who owed him a favor. Hale had worked with Dax during his days in law enforcement, and though they'd both parted ways, there was a tacit understanding that they could still rely on each other when the situation called for it.

Dax arrived at the morgue and stepped into the building's cold, sterile interior. The smell of bleach and antiseptic hit his nose, a constant reminder of how far away from the real world the place was. Hale was already waiting, arms crossed, leaning against the counter.

"You look like hell," Hale said, his voice as gruff as always. He was a big guy, his shoulders broad, his jaw squared in the way of someone who'd spent too much time facing danger head-on. His brown eyes, though, were sharp—sharp enough to notice every little detail, every twitch of Dax's movements.

Dax grunted in response. "Just got off a case. Couldn't sleep."

Hale raised an eyebrow. "Something more than the usual?"

Dax nodded slowly, trying to gauge how much he could share without sounding crazy. "I need to see the latest body they pulled in. The one from the park."

Hale didn't ask questions—he just motioned toward the back. They walked through the maze of sterile hallways until they reached the freezer where the body had been stored. Dax could feel the temperature drop as they passed through the metal doors. Hale pulled out the drawer, and Dax's stomach turned when he saw what lay inside.

The body was barely recognizable. There was no blood left in it, just the aftermath of the brutal assault. The man's clothes were shredded, and his flesh was torn in places where the wolf had attacked. But it wasn't just the wounds that caught Dax's attention—it was the mark on the back of the man's neck. A crescent-shaped scar, jagged and raw, like something had branded him.

"That's not a typical animal attack," Dax said quietly. His voice barely carried in the silence of the room.

Hale grunted in agreement. "No. And there's something else you should see." He pulled a folder from his jacket and handed it to Dax. Inside were pictures—clear, detailed shots of the same symbol, carved into the man's wrist, his ribs, and his chest. The marks weren't random. They were deliberate, methodical, like someone—or something—had etched them into his skin with purpose.

Dax's fingers traced the edges of the paper as his mind raced. This wasn't the work of any human. He knew that much. But the question was—who or what had done this?

"Have you seen anything like this before?" Dax asked, glancing at Hale.

Hale hesitated. "Maybe. There's been talk—rumors—about groups operating in the city. People who… play with powers that aren't supposed to exist. They do things to people. Things that leave marks like this. But it's all hush-hush. No one's been able to prove anything."

Dax rubbed his temple. "That's not enough, Marcus."

"I know," Hale replied, his eyes flicking to the door as if expecting someone to be listening. "I'll dig deeper. You need to be careful, Dax. Whatever this is, it's not something you're equipped to handle on your own."

Dax met his gaze, his jaw tightening. "I've handled worse. I'll figure this out."

Hale let out a resigned sigh. "Just don't get yourself killed over it."

The drive back to his office was a blur. Dax's mind was spinning, a tornado of thoughts. The man's brutal death. The strange marks. The wolf. The coyote. None of it added up. But one thing was certain—this wasn't over. Whatever dark force was operating in the city, Dax was going to have to find it.

And when he did, he would make sure it didn't leave a mark on anyone else.

By the time Dax got back to his office, the rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking out at the city. It was deceptively calm, the streets now dry and glistening in the early afternoon sunlight. But Dax had learned long ago that calm could be just as dangerous as chaos.

As he entered, he was met by a strange sight. A coyote was sitting outside his office door. It was the same one from the park—thin, wiry, with those glowing amber eyes. It was staring at him with the same intensity.

Dax froze. He'd thought it was a figment of his imagination, but now here it was, waiting for him.

The coyote didn't move, didn't even flinch. It just stared at him, like it was waiting for him to make the next move.

Dax's hand hovered near his coat pocket, instinctively reaching for the gun he kept hidden there. But then he stopped. The coyote wasn't threatening him. It wasn't attacking. It was simply… waiting.

Without thinking, Dax stepped forward, slowly but purposefully. He'd seen enough in his life to recognize a pattern when it showed up in front of him.

The coyote rose to its feet, the muscles in its body taut. It didn't growl. It didn't bark. It just walked past him, its presence like a shadow, and disappeared into the alley behind his office.

Dax exhaled slowly, his hand still on the gun.

"Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "This is only just getting started."

Dax didn't sleep that night. Not that he ever really did anymore. Sleep had become a luxury for people who hadn't seen the kinds of things he had—things that twisted your mind until even the shadows in the corner seemed to have a life of their own. But last night… the park, the wolf, and that coyote… it was different. It felt like the beginning of something. A countdown ticking louder with every breath he took.

He sat at his desk, staring at the file Eliza had left him. The missing dog case was supposed to be a simple job. Find the dog, bring it back, get paid. Easy. But now, every inch of the file, every detail about Eliza's panic and her claims, seemed like it was a small piece of a puzzle that no one had bothered to solve yet. And the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that this wasn't just some stray animal that had wandered off. Something was hunting. And it wasn't just animals.

A loud bang on the door interrupted his thoughts, followed by the sound of it creaking open. Dax didn't flinch. He'd come to expect the unannounced visits from people he didn't particularly care for. A figure entered the room without knocking, and Dax didn't even need to look up to know who it was.

"Marcus, I hope you've got something better than a wild goose chase for me," Dax said, not bothering to mask the weariness in his voice.

Detective Marcus Hale walked in with his usual swagger, his broad frame filling the doorway as he pushed past the half-open door. He didn't smile, but he didn't need to. The way Hale carried himself spoke volumes about what kind of man he was. He was a guy who'd been through too many tough situations and come out with scars on his soul to match the ones on his body.

"I got something better," Hale said, his voice low and tense. He dropped a manila folder onto Dax's desk. "But you're not gonna like it."

Dax glanced at the folder, then at Hale. His gut instinct told him that whatever this was, it wasn't going to make things easier. He opened the folder, scanning the contents. Inside were pictures of the body from the park—some from different angles, others zoomed in to show the grotesque wounds. What stuck out the most, however, were the symbols carved into the man's skin.

There were more marks than Dax had expected—etched into the man's chest, his forearms, his neck. They were old, the skin around them dark and bruised, as though the marks had been there for a long time. Some appeared freshly cut, while others were weathered and faded. And none of them made sense. They weren't symbols Dax recognized from any organized crime or gang affiliation.

"What the hell are these?" Dax muttered, his finger hovering over the pictures.

"Don't know," Hale replied. He looked grim. "We ran them through every database we could think of. Nothing. But there's a weird pattern, Dax. These symbols—they're showing up on more bodies. Not in the same locations, but the style's the same. It's like someone's marking people."

Dax rubbed his jaw, trying to process the information. "Marking them for what? And why the hell didn't anyone mention this before?"

"That's the thing," Hale said, pulling a chair out and sitting down. "People know. Or at least they think they do. There's been talk about some secretive group. You know, the kind of thing that goes bump in the night—cult-like stuff. They're into rituals, marks, things like that. But no one's ever been able to catch them in the act."

Dax let the words sink in. Cults weren't exactly unheard of in this city, but they were rare. The kind of people who dabbled in the occult were usually careful, too careful to slip up. And even when they did, they tended to operate on the fringe. But this? This wasn't just fringe. This felt like something… primal. Dangerous.

"And the wolf?" Dax asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowed.

Hale hesitated before answering. "I've been asking around about that too. Some of the guys in the local wildlife department have been talking about an unusual number of wolf sightings in the area. Big ones. Too big, they said. There's a rumor that some of these wolves aren't just animals. There's talk about people who can shift—turn into beasts, if you believe the stories."

Dax snorted. "Shapeshifters? Come on, Marcus. You know better than to buy into fairy tales."

Hale's eyes locked with Dax's. "You know better than that too. I'm not saying I believe it, but there's a pattern. The sightings have all been around the places where these bodies have turned up. It's too much to ignore."

Dax's mind went back to the coyote—the way it had appeared out of nowhere, then simply walked away without a sound. The way its eyes had locked onto him as if it were trying to tell him something.

He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, I'll bite. What's the next step?"

"I've got some contacts who might know more about these symbols," Hale said. "People who aren't afraid to speak up. But if this is really as big as I think it is, you need to be careful. This isn't just some random string of killings. There's something bigger happening, Dax. And you're too close to it already."

Dax looked out the window at the city below, his eyes scanning the skyline. He could feel the tension in the air, a creeping sense of unease, as though something was moving just beyond the horizon. Something that wasn't human.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Dax said. "I'll handle it from here."

Hale sighed, standing up. "You always do. Just… don't get yourself killed. And don't say I didn't warn you."

Dax barely heard him as he left. His mind was already elsewhere, piecing together the information Hale had given him. He walked to the window and stared out, his gaze landing on the familiar landmarks of the city—places he'd walked through a thousand times. But today, they seemed different. Darker.

The door to his office opened again, but this time it wasn't Hale who entered.

It was the coyote.

It appeared as if from nowhere, walking silently through the open door as if it had every right to be there. Its amber eyes met Dax's, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The coyote's presence was almost suffocating, like it was aware of everything that had happened in the past and everything that was about to unfold.

Dax didn't move. He just stood there, his breath caught in his throat, watching the coyote as it walked across the room. It paused for a moment, staring up at him, then turned toward the alley behind his office. It didn't make a sound.

Instinctively, Dax reached for his coat and followed it.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with moisture. The coyote was waiting in the alley, its eyes fixed on him. It didn't run or bark. It just… waited.

"What do you want?" Dax muttered, his voice rough, though he wasn't sure if he was asking the animal or something deeper, something hidden in the shadows.

The coyote didn't answer. It just turned and disappeared into the darkness, as silently as it had come.

Dax stood in the alley for a long moment, his hand resting on the handle of his gun. He couldn't shake the feeling that the coyote wasn't just an animal. It was a guide, a messenger. And the message it was carrying was something Dax wasn't sure he was ready to face.

The storm wasn't over. It was just beginning.