Chapter 2: A Bond of Blood

Thea Logan

pushed open the precinct door with more force than necessary, the hinges

squeaking in protest.

Maurice followed behind,

sipping coffee like he hadn't just spent the night tangled in every reckless

decision they'd both ever made.

"Look alive,

lovebirds!" called out Davis from across the bullpen, raising his

mug in a mock salute. "Hope you got all that team bonding outta your

system."

Thea flipped him off

without slowing down, heading straight for the briefing room where the evidence

team had already gathered.

Senior detective Boar

stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, mouth grim.

"You're late,

Logan," he barked.

"Technical

difficulties," Thea shot back.

Maurice coughed to cover a laugh.

Waiting on the table was a plain jewel case — no note,

no signature. Just a CD labeled in shaky red marker:

"Melee Cries: Track

Two."

Thea's stomach twisted.

The room seemed to tighten, the air itself holding its breath.

She slid into a chair, eyes locking with Maurice's

across the table.

Steady. Unshaken. Ready.

"Play it," she

said.

The tech guy, Rico, popped the CD into the laptop

hooked to the speakers.

At first — static.

Then — a low, rhythmic beat. A human heartbeat,

amplified until it filled the room.

Then the cries began.

Men. Women. Children.

Agonizing, discordant — like an orchestra where every

instrument was made of pain.

And woven through it all was a voice — no longer

distorted or hidden.

Clear.

Smirking.

"Tick tock,

Detective Logan. How many tracks until you break?"

"Your twin won't

save you. Your lover won't save you. Listen carefully..."

The sound of heavy breathing filled the room — too

real, too intimate.

Then a scream.

Not random.

Thea froze.

It was her voice.

Screaming.

The room exploded into chaos.

Boar barking orders.

Maurice vaulting from his

chair.

Davis swearing under

his breath.

Thea sat there, numb,

every hair on her body standing on end.

That scream wasn't pulled from the air — it was hers.

But when?

How?

Before anyone could speak, the door slammed open.

Bianca Logan stormed

in, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

A hurricane in designer silk and diamond earrings.

"when life's a mess call

the hairdresser to cover it up" Thea goateed while looking at her sister

rush in.

"Are you kidding

me?" Bianca snapped, glaring at the room full of startled cops.

"Thea, your voicemail sounds like a horror movie. And this is what

you're dealing with?" She jabbed a manicured finger toward the speakers.

"Crying mixtapes and creepy love notes?"

Thea stood, her voice

brittle.

"Bianca,

now's not the time."

Bianca narrowed her

eyes.

 "It's never the time, is it? God forbid

you ask for help. God forbid you act like a Logan instead of some cheap

trick in a badge!"

The room fell dead silent.

Even senior detective boar looked like he wanted to

vanish into the drywall.

Maurice stepped forward, standing slightly in front of

Thea, voice even.

"Ma'am, with all due

respect, we're handling this."

Bianca gave Maurice

a long, assessing look — the kind that could cut a lesser man in half.

"Handling it?"

she said sweetly. "By sleeping your way through the staff roster?"

Maurice didn't flinch.

"Only the best

ones."

A few snickers broke out around the room. Even Rico

tried and failed to stifle a laugh.

Thea rubbed her

temples.

"Bianca,

please. Go home."

Bianca hesitated, the

fight still burning in her eyes.

Then, softer, she said,

"Just... don't get

yourself killed, Thea. You're the only thing mom and I have left."

And just like that, she turned on her heel and stormed

out, leaving behind her usual trail of Chanel No. 5 and emotional damage.

Thea sagged into her chair, feeling every second of

the last 24 hours in her bones. Maurice slid into the seat beside her,

his hand brushing hers under the table.

Just a whisper of touch.

Just enough to say: I'm here.

Senior detective boar cleared his throat.

"Alright, drama

aside — whoever this Recorder is, he's escalated. He's targeting you, Logan.

Personally. Which means we all work this case like our lives depend on it —

because hers damn sure does."

The room rumbled with quiet agreement.

Thea stared at the paused laptop screen, the blinking

cursor hovering over the audio file name.

The precinct buzzed around her — phones ringing,

officers laughing, paperwork shuffling — but all of it blurred into white

noise. Her world narrowed to the slim cassette tape that had been delivered

hours earlier. No return address. No note. Just her name, scratched messily

across the front.

Maurice stood across from

her, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"You don't have to

play it right now," he said, voice low.

She shook her head.

"I need to."

With a deep breath, she clicked the old tape recorder

Maurice had dug out of evidence storage. Static crackled, then—

A scream.

Raw, broken, unmistakably hers.

Thea stumbled back a step, as if punched.

More sounds poured out: ragged breathing, whimpers,

begging... a sickening wet noise, something heavy dragging across concrete.

Then another voice — a young man, panicked — "Please! No! Not him! Take me

instead!"

Followed by laughter. Cold, mechanical.

Maurice clicked it off

before it went further.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Memories — ones Thea had spent years locking

away — clawed back to the surface.

Five of them.

Kidnapped. Trapped.

Forced to endure twisted games.

John — the hotheaded

paramedic who fought back first.

Regina — the quiet one,

calculating every move.

Febian — who cracked

jokes even when they were starving.

Phil — the small,

bookish boy.

Thea clenched her

fists until her nails dug crescent moons into her palms.

They had survived. Not all of them. But they had

survived.

She remembered it vividly — the moment they had a

chance to escape. How they'd run, leaving Phil behind.

He wasn't fast enough. He wasn't strong enough.

And none of them had dared look back.

"I think this...

this isn't just a murder," Thea rasped finally. "It's

personal."

Maurice nodded grimly.

"And whoever sent

this... they want you to remember."

She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the

window — strong, cold-eyed, a detective now. But under that armor, the

terrified girl from all those years ago still lingered.

"Well," she

muttered, standing up and grabbing her jacket, "they're about to find out

— I don't scare easy anymore."

Maurice cracked a small grin.

"Atta girl. Where

you lead, Logan, I follow."

And deep in the pit of her stomach, Thea knew:

This was only the beginning.

The real Recorder was out there.

And he wasn't finished yet.