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In a city that never sleeps — and never dreams — a series of mysterious murders begins to unfold. No witnesses. No fingerprints. No clues. Only one sign left behind: the number 17.

Detective Soren Blackwell, known for his cold logic and piercing eyes, is assigned to the case. But the deeper he digs, the more he realizes… the truth is watching him, too.

Secrets of the Night!

Sweat dripped down Soren's brow as his eyes scanned the chaos around him, desperate for a way out. He whispered to himself, anxiety sharp in his breath:

"I need a way… a way out of this hell."

Suddenly, a hail of bullets rained down on the police car they were using for cover. One officer, overwhelmed by fear, broke into a panicked run—

A single, precise shot split his skull, dropping him instantly. The team of five was now down to three.

Thick black smoke poured from the remains of Victor's house, spreading the stench of ash and danger.

On the other side, five men moved forward—clad in tight black suits, their faces masked with dark visors, revealing only merciless eyes.

From one of them, a deep and raspy voice boomed, echoing like thunder from a cave as he raised a long-barreled pistol:

"Come on… You're making this boring."

Suddenly, a dense white fog billowed over the area like a ghostly curtain.

The vehicle surged forward through the storm of bullets, as if death itself were chasing them at full speed.

Inside, Soren sat in the passenger seat, catching his breath. He turned sharply toward the bound servant in the backseat and growled:

But the servant only smirked. His expression twisted into something unnatural.

His skin began to twitch, bulge—something was moving beneath.

"Jump out! It's a trap… he's rigged!"

The car exploded into a fireball. Steel and glass tore through the air. The silence afterward was deafening.

One Day Later – In a Half-Lit Room

A mysterious man sat in a wheelchair facing a massive screen. The news echoed from the speakers:

> "Terrorist attack on a residential estate kills two officers, three missing. A burnt vehicle believed to belong to one of the victims was found—but no bodies were recovered."

A cruel smile curled across his lips. His shoulders trembled with a quiet laugh.

"Just as I predicted... no one can think like I do."

A tall man entered, dressed in an immaculate black suit. His face was sharply defined, eyes cold with military precision.

"Gather the men. I want Soren… alive or dead. That bastard won't escape this time."

The man in the wheelchair slammed his armrest with his fist.

"Understood, sir," his subordinate replied, then turned and left with no hesitation.

The manhunt for Soren intensified.

Special units deployed—drones, thermal scanners, satellite feeds… all for one man.

Soren knew this wasn't just another chase.

It was war. A hidden war woven with lies, betrayal, and blood.

Or will the darkness finally catch him?

Chapter Eight – Trails of Smoke