In the light of morning, every crime scene is still alive.

  November 10, 2035

  The elevator doors parted without a whisper, a breath of chilled, conditioned air escaping into the cabin. Sarah stepped through, her boots finding the familiar stretch of Javier Montejo’s polished oak floor.

  The condo had always greeted her with the hush of intimacy, glass, steel, muted light, but this morning, the space felt invaded. PNP uniforms dotted the living room like a rash, their movements brisk but slightly awkward, as if unsure how much to touch. The low murmur of radios and clipped voices replaced the usual quiet.

  Her eyes found a point of orientation in the crowd: Mannuel, the building’s Officer in Charge. He stood near the kitchen counter, a pillar in his neatly pressed security uniform, speaking to a younger man whose bearing screamed fresh-from-the-academy.

  She crossed the room, slipping between officers cataloging scratches on the doorframe.

  The younger man turned as she approached. “Jessie,” he introduced himself, tone polite but guarded.

  “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Montejo,” Sarah said, her voice even but not cold. “He’s tied up in Manila.”

  Jessie’s hesitation was visible, the half-second pause before speaking, the faint narrowing of his eyes. Then she slid her NBI badge from the inside pocket of her blazer, its polished crest catching the condo’s recessed light.

  That broke the seal.

  “Silent alarm tripped last night,” Jessie began, his words picking up speed now. “Security footage confirms a break-in. Without Mr. Montejo here to verify what’s missing, we can only classify this as unlawful entry for now. We’re still combing through the scene.”

  “And what have you found so far?” she asked.

  “Too early to say. We’ve only just begun.”

  Sarah turned to Mannuel. “Have you checked all visitor logs? Not just for this unit, every unit.”

  He nodded, the motion heavy with fatigue. “We did. Nothing unusual on paper. But.. ” He glanced toward the living room windows, as if replaying the night in his mind. “Yesterday was busy. One tenant hosted a party. And…”

  “And?”

  “Ongoing renovation on the 40th floor. Crew was in and out all day.”

  The second detail lodged in Sarah’s mind like a tack on polished wood. Her lips parted, ready to push further, but the elevator chimed behind her.

  She turned.

  Out stepped a woman who seemed to rewrite the room’s proportions. Approximately two meters tall, she carried herself with the unthinking authority of someone used to towering over a crowd. A three-piece suit in charcoal grey cut a severe silhouette, softened only slightly by the sheen of her high heels. The room stilled, as if measuring her arrival.

  Sarah’s gaze tracked the newcomer’s approach, the clean strike of heel against wooden tile.

  “Who is she?” Sarah asked, voice pitched low toward Mannuel.

  He opened his mouth, but the woman’s voice cut in, smooth as polished brass. “I can introduce myself just fine, Mannuel”

  She reached into her jacket, the movement crisp, unhurried, and drew out a business card between two fingers. The matte stock looked expensive, the typeface precise.

  “Sabina Reyes-Hartwell,” she said. “Chief of security for Mr. Marius Zhu, who lives upstairs. Mr. Montejo and Mr. Zhu have been close business partners and neighbors. This burglary has naturally caught Mr. Zhu’s attention.”

  Sarah accepted the card, turning it once before slipping it into her blazer. “Sarah Borja. Special Investigator, NBI. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Montejo in a personal capacity, he’s preoccupied with a more pressing engagement.”

  “Yes,” Sabina replied with a faint incline of her head. “His weekly painting session with Enrico. He wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know a lot about Javier.”

  “Mr. Zhu’s security is my utmost concern,” Sabina said evenly. “And Mr. Montejo’s proximity to him makes it my job to know his whereabouts as well.”

  Sarah didn’t say it, but the conclusion was obvious: if Sabina tracked Javier this closely, she likely knew about Sarah’s own more private connection to him. The thought landed like a pebble in her shoe, small, but impossible to ignore.

  Then Sabina’s expression shifted, a glimmer of recognition. “You look familiar. Weren’t you the one interviewed by GMA about the Tatiana Tiamzon… meat totem in Las Pi?as?”

  “I was,” Sarah said slowly. “And how did you know the victim was Tatiana? That detail was never public.”

  Sabina’s reply was effortless. “Tatiana Tiamzon is the chairwoman of one of the Philippines’ largest mining conglomerates, and is a friend to most families in Manila’s gated villages. In the upper circles of Manila, gossip travels fast and true.”

  Her gaze swept the room, taking in the officers, the tape, the quiet buzz of investigation. “In any case, your work here has been cut out for you. My team has already identified the intruders.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “Oh? So fast?” The words came with the faintest edge of irony.

  “Yes,” Sabina said, unbothered. “Six construction workers from the 40th floor. We are certain they’re the ones.”

  Sabina’s hand dipped back into her jacket, this time producing something far sleeker than the business card, an object folded neatly into itself. With a subtle flick, it unfolded into a tablet no bigger than a hardcover book, the hinge smooth as if it had been poured from a single piece of metal.

  She tapped the screen, and it came alive with muted security footage.

  The first video showed a bright lobby, one Sarah recognized as the service lobby of this very building. Six men stood in line, all somewhere in their thirties or forties, their faces worn by years of labor. Construction helmets hung loose in their hands, vests dulled from worksite grime. One by one, they stepped toward the lens, each tilting their chin up to show their face as if following an instruction from someone just outside the frame.

  A few taps later, the image shifted.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Now the same six men were packed into an elevator, the harsh overhead light flattening their features. Sarah’s eyes tracked the bags slung over their shoulders, not the faded, empty tool bags from the first clip, but bulkier ones, cleaner, the kind meant to carry something worth guarding.

  “I’ve been coordinating with Mannuel’s team,” Sabina said, her voice as crisp as the video feed. “These are our likely intruders.” She glanced at the screen, then back at Sarah. “This was taken an hour after the lobby footage. For construction workers, they seemed in a remarkable hurry to finish the job.”

  Her nail tapped the image, the frame freezing on the bulging shape of one bag’s zipper.

  “I believe these contain whatever was taken from Mr. Montejo’s condo.”

  “I’ll need copies of that footage,” Sarah said, glancing from the frozen elevator frame to Sabina. “Officer Jessie here will, too.”

  Sabina didn’t miss a beat. “Mannuel’s team can handle the handover.”

  She shifted her gaze toward the security chief, and Mannuel gave a short nod. “We’ll see to it.”

  Sabina turned back to Sarah, a faint, almost courteous smile touching her lips. “Looks to be an open and shut case. I’m sorry you came all the way here for nothing.”

  Sarah studied her for a moment, then let the skepticism bleed into her voice. “If these were the intruders, why would they knowingly have their faces logged into the building’s system? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “In my years of intelligence and security,” Sabina replied, the cadence of her words almost instructional, “I’ve found that people like this are usually desperate. They have limited resources, and worse yet little understanding of how surveillance works. You can’t expect them to be careful with their footsteps.”

  She tilted the tablet just enough for the light to catch on its edge. “We can verify it easily, run their faces, pay them a visit. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it. But I’m willing to bet they’ll have whatever they took from Mr. Montejo on them.”

  Sarah said nothing. She didn’t like the neatness of it, the way the answer slid into place too quickly. But without anything else to work with, she had to admit there was nothing here she could pull apart. At least, not yet.

  Sarah stepped away from the group, motioning for Jessie to follow. They stopped near the window, far enough from Sabina and Mannuel that their voices wouldn’t carry.

  “Keep doing the rounds,” Sarah said quietly, her tone sharpening into something instructional. “Every room, every corner, swab for fingerprints, note any broken objects, anything out of place. That footage may be close to a smoking gun, but this investigation needs to be thorough and by the book. No shortcuts. Understood?”

  Jessie’s eyes flicked toward the others before returning to her. “Understood,” he said, though the word came out a touch too quickly, too compliant.

  She clocked the unease immediately. It wasn’t just in his voice, but in the way he held his shoulders, tight, ready to fold under pressure.

  “Don’t let Sabina intimidate you,” Sarah added, her voice low. “If she tells you or your precinct anything, new evidence, a new lead, anything at all, you call me first.”

  She drew a card from her blazer and pressed it into his palm.

  Jessie glanced at it, then nodded. “Got it.”

  Sarah gave him a final look, the kind meant to leave no room for misunderstanding, before stepping back toward the others.

  Sarah turned and walked back to Mannuel and Sabina. “I’ve just instructed Officer Jessie to continue looking for more evidence, fingerprints, broken items, anything. But as for me, there doesn’t seem to be much else I can do here. I’ll be on my way.” She offered Sabina a polite nod. “It was nice meeting you.”

  Sabina’s gaze sharpened, her voice slipping into something almost conversational. “May I ask, just out of curiosity, how’s the Tatiana Tiamzon investigation going? It has gotten most of Mr. Zhu’s friends spooked, and they’d want to hear some assurances.”

  Sarah’s answer came as reflex, her tone cooling a degree. “Details of the investigation are classified. Follow the NBI’s official accounts for updates. Bust rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to catch the culprit.”

  A corner of Sabina’s mouth lifted. “Good luck then, in catching the killer. We leave our safety to you brave men and women of the force.”

  Sarah nodded, but didn’t linger, she turned for the elevator, her pace deliberate, wanting the exchange to end there.

  * * * * *

  The dim light of the parking basement wrapped around her as she slipped into her car. She shut the door, sealing herself in a cocoon of quiet. Down here, she was beyond the condo’s walls, beyond its cameras, and far enough from curious ears.

  She unlocked her phone. Renz lit up the screen, and she hit call.

  The line clicked alive to the hum of overlapping voices, the analyst room in full swing.

  “How’s the team’s progress?” she asked.

  “We need more coffee and Red Bull,” Renz said without missing a beat. “You should join us, you’d have fun in the bull pen.”

  “I’m heading back to the office later,” she replied. “Just had to handle a personal matter first.” She hesitated, then added, “Speaking of, can you do me a personal favor? I need to look someone up.”

  “You got it,” Renz said instantly. “Could use the distraction anyway. The Tatiana case has us smashing our heads against a wall. Change of scenery might be nice.”

  “Sabina Reyes-Hartwell,” Sarah said. “Works for a man named Marius Zhu. I just met her today, something about her rubbed me the wrong way.”

  She could hear Renz’s keyboard firing up even before she finished. “Filipino-British,” he said after a moment. “Thirty-six. Mother’s Filipina, father’s English. Ex-Navy, then ISAFP. Jumped to the private sector about five years ago.”

  He didn’t stop. “I’ll dig deeper. Might have more for you by the time you get back.”

  “Thanks, Renz,” Sarah said, then ended the call, the low thrum of the basement settling back in around her.

  Sarah then scrolled through her contacts, thumb hovering for a moment before tapping Javier.

  It rang longer than usual. She pictured him mid-stroke, brush in hand, colors bleeding into one another while Enrico barked at him from across the studio.

  When he finally answered, his voice carried the easy warmth of someone pulled from a pleasant task. “Hey Sarah, how’s my condo doing? And thanks again for doing me such a big favor.”

  “Glad to help,” Sarah said. “PNP’s handling the case. They’ve already got likely suspects, so this could be a short investigation.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Without you there to confirm what’s missing, though, they can only treat it as a break-in,” she reminded him.

  “That’s fine. My secretary’s already gone through the place early this morning, thankfully nothing critical was lost. I’ll handle the rest tomorrow.”

  There was a small pause before Sarah spoke again. “Do you know a Sabina Reyes-Hartwell?”

  Javier didn’t hesitate. “Yes, met her a few times. She’s Marius’ chief of security, he’s my upstairs neighbor.”

  “Do you think there’s anything… odd about her? Or Marius?”

  “Not really. Sabina’s just… there. In the background. As for Marius, he’s an oddball, sure, but transparent enough about his business if you ask him.” A note of curiosity crept into his voice. “Why the questions?”

  Sarah leaned back in her seat. “It’s nothing. She came by your condo earlier and handed us evidence that gave us the likely suspects. My gut says something’s off.”

  Javier was quiet for a stretch, the line filled only with faint ambient noise from his end. “You’re sure something didn’t feel right?”

  “Yes. The way she pushed a slam dunk onto the table so quickly… it’s suspicious.”

  “Ok, then I’ll give you full authority over the building’s security team,” Javier said. “Get to the bottom of it. I trust your judgment. If you say something’s off the something’s off.”

  Sarah let that sit for a moment, the weight of his trust as deliberate as his words.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “And seriously, thank you for helping out. I need to get back to painting; Rico's already ranting about me being lazy again.”

  Sarah allowed herself a faint smile. “Alright. I’ll look into it further.”

  She ended the call, the image of Sabina’s folded tablet still fresh in her mind.

  Sarah eased the car out of the slot, tires whispering over smooth concrete as she navigated toward the ramp. The basement’s fluorescent light gave way to the dim orange of the evening, and then, suddenly, Makati’s roads opened before her, neon and headlights stitching the city into restless motion.

  Half a block in, the thought clicked into place. A thread, thin but unmistakable.

  “Call Boss,” she told the voice assistant.

  The line picked up before the first ring was done.

  “Boss,” she began, “Tatiana’s house was broken into a month ago, correct?”

  Lino’s voice came low and tired, as if he’d been in meetings all day. “Yeah. Her security team never really followed up on it.”

  Sarah’s eyes stayed on the road, weaving between slower cars. “And I remember the De Vega family’s house was broken into two months ago.”

  “You think there’s a connection?”

  “Just a hunch,” she admitted. “Could be nothing. But I just came back from helping a friend, his place was broken into too. And something about it felt wrong.” She paused, letting the weight of her next words hang. “This friend was also one of the potential victims we shadowed before Severino went for Tatiana. Profile matches.”

  On the other end, there was a moment of silence, then Lino said, “Follow it. Any clue’s a useful clue in finding Severino, and stopping his next murder.”

  “Got it,” she said. “I’ll be in the office later.”

  The call ended with a soft click, as Sarah drives deep through Manila, deep in thought and doubt.