The Ciphered city

Chapter Two – Patterns in Blood

The silence in the precinct room stretched long enough that Adrian felt it pulse in his chest. The word Cipher echoed in his head like an old curse, something he had buried years ago and never wanted to unearth. Iris Navarro sat across from him, arms folded, her sharp eyes boring into him.

“You want to explain,” she said finally, “what exactly The Cipher is?”

Adrian closed his notebook, sliding it into his jacket pocket. His fingers itched to keep writing, to map out the fragments he’d seen carved into the victim’s skin. But instinct screamed not to give the police everything—not yet.

“It’s not a thing,” he said, his voice low. “It’s… a language. A system.”

“Of what?”

Adrian hesitated, then leaned forward. “Of control. The Cipher is a way to send messages hidden in plain sight. Symbols layered with meaning—dates, coordinates, instructions. Anyone can look at it and see nothing but noise. But someone who knows the keys can unlock it.”

Iris tilted her head, studying him like she wasn’t sure whether he was a genius or a lunatic. “And you’re telling me the killer carved this… language… into a man’s chest?”

“Not just language,” Adrian said. His hand twitched, almost reaching for his pen again. “It was an invitation.”

Iris leaned back, crossing her arms tighter. “Invitation to what? Some kind of code game? Because last I checked, we’re not dealing with crossword puzzles here. We’ve got a dead man on a slab.”

Adrian met her stare. “You don’t get it. Whoever did this isn’t killing at random. They’re leaving patterns. That means they’ll kill again. The only way to stop them is to solve the sequence before it completes.”

Her brow furrowed. “And the fact that they addressed you directly in a note? That doesn’t bother you?”

“It terrifies me,” Adrian admitted. “Because it means this isn’t random at all. It’s personal.”

Iris let the silence sit a beat before standing. She moved to the door, opened it, then paused. “You’re not a cop, Cross. You’re a consultant, and only because I say so. But if you’re holding something back, if you know more than you’re admitting—”

“Then what?” Adrian asked, sharper than he intended.

Her gaze hardened. “Then I start looking at you instead of the killer.”

She left, the door snapping shut behind her.

Adrian sat alone, heart pounding, the note’s words seared into his mind.

Hello, Adrian.

It was starting again.

By dawn, Adrian was back in his apartment, lights dimmed, the city’s neon glow leaking through the blinds. He pinned the sketches he’d made at the crime scene to his wall. The symbols sprawled across the plaster like a madman’s scrawl, half-complete without the final key.

He poured coffee, black and bitter, then opened his notebook. His handwriting filled pages with substitutions, numeric grids, Latin roots. Patterns began to emerge, faint but undeniable.

It wasn’t just a message. It was a map.

The victim’s chest carving, when transcribed, aligned into a grid. A string of numbers appeared: 17 – 5 – 23.

Adrian froze. Those numbers weren’t arbitrary. They corresponded to letters in an old cipher system he knew too well.

Q – E – W.

He whispered it aloud. “QEW…”

The word meant nothing, but Adrian’s gut twisted. He scribbled faster, working through variations. Each attempt unraveled into nonsense, but his instincts screamed there was a meaning buried inside.

His phone buzzed. A text. Unknown number.

He opened it. Just one line:

“You’re late, Adrian. Check the bridge.”

His stomach dropped.

Halcyon’s East River Bridge stretched like a steel artery across the water, neon advertisements reflecting in the ripples below. By the time Adrian arrived, the area was crawling with police, blue lights flashing against the wet pavement.

Iris spotted him from the cordon, jaw tight. “How the hell did you know to come here?”

Adrian didn’t answer. He was already looking at the scene.

Another body. This one suspended beneath the bridge’s arch, hanging by the wrists, chest bared. Carved into his torso was another grid of symbols.

The press was already circling, cameras flashing. Officers struggled to keep them back.

Iris grabbed Adrian’s arm, pulling him aside. “Talk. Now. How did you know?”

Adrian pulled out his notebook, flipping to the sketch. “Because the first cipher wasn’t complete. It was coordinates. This bridge is part of the sequence. Whoever’s doing this is escalating.”

She glared at him, but her anger couldn’t mask the unease in her eyes. “You’re telling me you cracked the code between midnight and now?”

Adrian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No. I didn’t crack it. They sent me a message. Directly.”

Her eyes widened. “They’re watching you?”

Before he could reply, a uniform called out from beneath the bridge. “Detective Navarro! You’re gonna want to see this!”

They climbed down to the underpass where floodlights illuminated the second victim’s chest. The carvings formed a tighter sequence than the first, as though each killing built on the last.

Adrian stared, his breath quickening.

This one wasn’t just a message.

It was a countdown.

Later, back at Iris’s unmarked car, rain streaked across the windshield. The wail of distant sirens blurred into the hum of the city. Adrian sat in the passenger seat, hands trembling as he transcribed the new cipher into his notebook.

“Explain,” Iris demanded, gripping the wheel.

Adrian scribbled faster. “The first grid gave me coordinates. This one gives me time. Look—” He pointed to the sequence, where numbers translated to a date and hour. “It’s pointing to midnight tomorrow.”

Her jaw tightened. “Tomorrow? What happens then?”

“Another victim,” Adrian said. “Unless we stop it.”

“And how exactly do we do that?”

Adrian’s pen tapped the page, leaving tiny dots of ink. “We solve the next part of the sequence. The Ciphermaster—”

“The what?”

“That’s what I used to call him,” Adrian muttered, almost to himself. “The man who designed these codes. He taught me everything I know. And now he’s using it against me.”

Iris’s eyes narrowed. “So you do know who’s behind this.”

Adrian looked out at the rain, his voice barely audible. “I thought he was dead.”

The car’s silence was broken by the buzz of Adrian’s phone. Another text from the same blocked number. He opened it, his breath catching.

The message contained an image. Grainy. Blurry.

His sister.

Nina Cross, bound to a chair, duct tape over her mouth. Behind her, a wall smeared with symbols.

Beneath the image, a single line of text:

“Midnight. Solve it, or she dies.”

Adrian’s stomach hollowed out. His vision blurred at the edges. He barely felt Iris’s hand on his shoulder.

“Adrian,” she said, her voice urgent, “what is it?”

He showed her the screen with trembling fingers.

Her breath hissed between her teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

Adrian’s grip tightened around the phone, his knuckles white.

“It’s not just a game anymore,” he whispered. “It’s war.”