Autopsy of a Monster Volume 1

Rain fell softly over the city, not violently, not dramatically, but with that cold, exhausting persistence that coated the streets in a dirty sheen and turned the neon lights into trembling stains of color.

It was a little past four in the morning, that strange hour when ordinary people were still sleeping soundly beneath warm blankets while the city revealed its true face.

The clubs were slowly emptying.

Addicts searched for their last fix in poorly lit corners.

Sirens echoed more clearly between the rain-soaked buildings.

And the Criminal Investigation Division was receiving, as usual, its ugliest calls precisely when the night seemed ready to fall apart.

In the underground parking garage, the black engines of the division's vehicles roared to life almost simultaneously, their white headlights reflecting off the wet concrete floor between the pillars while the hurried footsteps of officers echoed through the structure.

Cassian Ward came down last.

His black overcoat hung open, revealing a dark shirt stretched neatly across a body forged by years of discipline. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain he had walked through only minutes earlier, and those gray-blue eyes seemed even colder beneath the fluorescent lights of the garage.

People always noticed him when he entered a room.

Not because he tried to draw attention to himself.

Because his presence filled a space effortlessly, carrying a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore.

One of the sergeants, a broad-shouldered man named Marcus Hale, shut a car door and shoved his hands into his pockets.

— Has the victim been confirmed already? Cassian asked calmly.

— Male. Around forty. Found near the old southern docks, Marcus replied.

— Patrol says the scene is ugly.

— Witnesses?

— A homeless guy who called emergency services. He seems drunk.

Cassian gave a brief nod.

There was nothing unusual about that.

The important murders always came with people who were too frightened, too high, or too broken to provide anything useful.

Another officer approached carrying two coffees.

Ryan Mercer was blond, tall, and almost permanently sarcastic, the kind of man who seemed far too relaxed for his profession, as though jokes were the only thing keeping death at a safe distance.

He handed one cup to Cassian.

— Black coffee. No sugar. Exactly how you like it so you can stare into a killer's soul without blinking.

Cassian accepted the cup without reacting to the joke, and Ryan smiled, already accustomed to that impossible wall of calm.

— One day you'll actually laugh at something I say.

— Doubtful.

Marcus snorted.

Cassian lifted his gaze toward the group.

— Anyone know where Morel is?

That was enough to make Ryan laugh immediately as he leaned against the hood of the car.

— He's definitely late again. That guy would sleep twenty-four hours a day if he could.

Marcus shook his head in amusement.

— I don't know how the hell he manages to be exhausted all the time and still work better than half the division.

— Because he's probably not human, Ryan muttered.

— I think he's powered by nicotine and cheap coffee.

Cassian lowered his eyes to the cup in his hand.

For almost a year they had worked with Elian Morel.

During that year, the young man had solved impossible cases, noticed things no one else saw, fallen asleep in the archives three separate times, and arrived late more times than anyone could count.

He was a walking paradox.

Ryan pulled out his phone.

— I called him, boss. He's on his way to the docks.

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

— And?

Ryan grinned.

— He answered on the fifth call, and I think he was still half asleep.

Marcus burst into a short laugh.

— I swear one day he'll show up to a crime scene wearing slippers.

Cassian opened the car door.

— If he solves the case, he can show up wrapped in a blanket.

The southern docks smelled of stagnant water, diesel fuel, and cold rain.

The sky was still almost black, and waves slammed against rusted metal structures while yellow police tape cordoned off the crime scene and flashing lights painted the shipping containers in shades of blue and red.

When Cassian stepped out of the vehicle, every officer in the area instinctively turned toward him.

— Boss...

— Where's the body?

An agent immediately guided him down one of the narrow alleys between the containers, where the victim lay sprawled across the wet concrete.

He was a large man.

His face was swollen beyond recognition.

His abdomen was open.

Ryan cursed softly behind them.

— Jesus...

Cassian slowly crouched beside the corpse, and his expression became instantly cold and attentive.

The incision was precise.

Far too precise to be the result of rage.

— Doesn't look rushed, Marcus murmured.

— Because it wasn't, Cassian replied calmly.

Rain tapped softly against his coat as he studied the faint trails of blood leading toward the drainage channels, the position of the victim's hands, and the frozen expression on his face.

An impulsive killer left chaos behind.

This scene held control.

Method.

Patience.

Something told him the man had died terrified.

Truly terrified.

In the distance, an engine approached far too quickly.

Ryan turned his head.

— And there he is. The exhausted ghost of forensic medicine.

A yellow taxi screeched to a stop beside the police tape.

The door flew open almost immediately.

Elian Morel climbed out in a hurry, trying to pull on his coat while simultaneously searching his pockets for his identification badge.

His hair was completely disheveled.

His eyes were still clouded with sleep.

The navy-blue medical uniform beneath his black coat was badly wrinkled.

And in one hand he carried a coffee that had nearly spilled entirely.

Ryan burst out laughing.

— My God. You actually slept.

Elian completely ignored him and crossed the tape, nearly tripping over his own feet.

— Sorry... I'm really sorry, he muttered between breaths.

— My phone was on silent and...

He stopped when he reached Cassian.

The commander was watching him closely.

Not angrily.

Just intently enough to make Elian feel like a student again, caught unprepared before the one professor he never wanted to disappoint.

Rain slid slowly down Cassian's jaw.

— Morel.

That low, calm voice made Elian swallow hard.

— Yes...

— You're twenty-one minutes late.

Ryan discreetly held up two fingers toward Marcus.

— New record.

Marcus shoved his hand down before Cassian noticed.

Elian ran a tired hand through his hair.

— I know... I'm sorry. Seriously.

Cassian continued looking at him for several seconds.

— Did you sleep at all?

Elian blinked, surprised by the question.

— About... two hours.

Ryan nearly laughed again.

— Wonderful. Exactly the guy we want standing next to a dissected corpse.

Elian shot him a tired look.

— Thanks for the moral support, Mercer.

Cassian sighed very quietly.

— One day you're going to learn that if you fall asleep with your phone on silent, someone is going to break down your apartment door.

Elian lowered his eyes slightly, almost embarrassed, and for a moment looked much younger than twenty-five.

— It won't happen again.

— He's lying, Ryan muttered.

Cassian glanced at him briefly.

Ryan raised both hands.

— What? We all know he's lying.

A tired smile tugged at Elian's lips as he pulled on a pair of gloves.

— Fine. Next time I'll set five alarms.

— Seven, Marcus said.

— And keep the phone on the other side of the room, Ryan added.

Elian exhaled slowly.

— You're all incredibly annoying at four in the morning.

Cassian stepped aside, allowing him access to the body.

— See what we've got.

The professionalism returned instantly to his voice.

That was always how it worked between them.

Sometimes they spoke almost normally, with a familiarity built from months of cases, sleepless nights, and reports written side by side.

Then a corpse appeared, and everything became cold, precise, and methodical again.

Elian crouched beside the victim.

The second his eyes fell upon the body, something inside him changed.

The exhaustion vanished almost instantly.

His golden eyes became completely focused, calm, and silent.

Cassian noticed immediately.

He always noticed.

Elian touched the edges of the incision with his latex-covered fingers before shifting his attention to the ribs and the marks around the wrists.

— He was restrained before he died, he murmured.

— How do you know? Marcus asked.

Elian didn't even look up.

— Subcutaneous hemorrhaging. He tried to get free.

Cassian crossed his arms as rain continued falling around them.

— Anything else?

Elian remained silent for several seconds.

— The killer understands anatomy.

Ryan immediately looked toward Cassian.

The silence between them said everything.

They all knew what that meant.

Worse.

Much worse.

Elian continued calmly:

— The incision... avoided the vital organs. He wanted to keep him alive longer.

The silence became oppressive.

One of the officers discreetly turned away and vomited beside the containers.

Elian didn't even react.

He slowly pulled out a cigarette and lit it beneath the rain, his gaze still fixed on the victim.

— Strange...

Cassian studied him carefully.

— What is?

Elian exhaled smoke slowly.

— There's no anger here.

His eyes remained fixed on the corpse.

— Only intention.

The rain continued to fall over the docks, turning the asphalt into a dirty mirror where the flashing lights trembled endlessly, while paramedics and forensic technicians had already begun the process of removing the body.

The black zippers of the body bags rasped softly through the silence of the morning, and the air seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute as dawn crept closer.

Elian Morel slowly removed his gloves, one finger at a time, never taking his eyes off the victim.

The corpse was carefully lifted onto a stretcher, while rainwater mixed with blood trickled toward the drains between the containers.

One of the younger officers instinctively turned away.

Another immediately lit a cigarette.

No one ever got used to scenes like these.

They simply learned how to breathe through them.

Elian absently rubbed the back of his neck and drew in the cold morning air.

He didn't feel the cold.

Or at least, most of the time, he no longer noticed when he was cold.

His mind remained trapped inside details.

Cuts.

Blood.

Tissue.

Expressions.

The final seconds of a victim's life.

That was what consumed him.

And he probably didn't even realize it anymore.

— Morel.

Cassian Ward's voice came calmly from behind him.

Elian turned his head slightly.

Cassian gave him a brief gesture, silently indicating that he should follow him.

No explanation.

No dramatics.

Just that short, controlled movement everyone in the division understood immediately.

Elian took one final drag from his cigarette and followed.

They walked several meters away from the rest of the team, toward the edge of the docks where the wind struck harder and the crashing of waves against rusted metal created an almost hypnotic rhythm.

For several moments neither of them spoke.

Cassian stared out over the water.

Elian had shoved his hands into the pockets of his rain-soaked coat.

— Boss... I know I was late.

His voice was quieter now.

Less sarcastic than usual.

— I stayed up finishing the Riverside apartment murder file.

Cassian slowly turned his gaze toward him.

Rain dampened his dark hair, while the rotating police lights carved his face into cold shadows.

— I know.

Elian blinked in surprise.

— Ryan told me you submitted the report at one twenty this morning, Cassian continued calmly.

Elian released a slow breath through his nose.

Of course he knew.

Cassian always seemed to know everything that happened inside the division.

Laughter echoed faintly from farther down the docks, probably because Marcus had said something stupid again.

Elian lowered his eyes slightly.

— It's still not an excuse.

Cassian watched him for several long seconds.

Carefully.

The way he always did whenever he tried to determine whether the young man standing in front of him was simply tired or completely exhausted.

Because there was a difference.

And Cassian had begun noticing that difference more and more often.

The dark circles beneath Elian's eyes had become more pronounced over the past few months.

He had lost weight.

He smoked more.

And sometimes it seemed as though his mind functioned several seconds ahead of his body.

— You're young, Cassian said at last.

Elian lifted his gaze.

— I know you need time to breathe.

— Time with your friends.

— Nights out.

His tone wasn't harsh.

It wasn't even close to a genuine reprimand.

It was calm.

Too calm.

And somehow that made Elian feel even more guilty.

— I don't expect much from you, Cassian continued.

— But at the same time... I do.

Instinctively, Elian dropped his gaze again.

Exactly like a student caught making a mistake in front of a professor he respected far too much.

The wind stirred the damp strands of hair across his forehead.

Cassian immediately noticed the deep exhaustion in his eyes.

Not just lack of sleep.

Something else.

Something that suggested Elian's mind never truly knew how to stop.

— Look, Cassian continued more quietly.

— You're twenty-five years old.

Elian listened without interrupting.

— You're the youngest person ever accepted into a forensic division at this level so quickly.

In the distance, ambulance doors slammed shut.

The body was already on its way to pathology.

— You have a brilliant mind, Morel.

The words were simple.

Direct.

Without any dramatic emphasis.

Perhaps that was precisely why they struck so hard.

Elian swallowed discreetly.

He wasn't used to compliments.

Not sincere ones.

— You've solved cases that sat cold for decades, Cassian continued.

— You've noticed details detectives with twenty years of experience completely overlooked.

Elian tightened his jaw slightly.

Cassian took a step closer.

Not threatening.

Just enough to keep his voice from being swallowed by the rain.

— Don't give satisfaction to people who think they're better than you simply because they're older and have more years in the field.

Elian's golden eyes slowly lifted toward him.

For the first time that morning, he no longer looked sarcastic.

Or exhausted.

Or detached.

He simply looked young.

Very young.

— Some of them are already waiting for you to fail, Cassian continued.

— To be late.

— To show up hungover.

— To look disorganized.

Elian exhaled slowly.

Because it was true.

He had felt those stares for months.

The stares of people who thought he was too young.

Too thin.

Too much of a kid.

And then he solved their cases.

Which only made them resent him more.

— I know, Elian murmured.

Cassian studied him silently for several seconds.

— You don't need to prove to anyone that you're brilliant.

A cold gust of wind passed between them.

— But you do need to prove that you can survive here.

The words lingered between them.

And Elian immediately understood what he meant.

This division destroyed people.

Not all at once.

Not in a month.

Not even in a year.

It broke them slowly.

One corpse at a time.

One dead child.

One victim.

One sleepless night.

Cassian knew that better than anyone.

Because he had seen people collapse.

Alcohol.

Panic attacks.

Divorces.

Suicides.

Forensic work didn't kill quickly.

It killed slowly.

Elian wet his lips.

— I can handle it.

Cassian held his gaze for several seconds, as though trying to decide whether he believed him.

— Don't convince me.

— Convince yourself.

Silence settled between them.

Then, somewhere in the distance, Ryan shouted something at Marcus and immediately burst into laughter.

Elian absently rubbed the back of his neck.

— I promise I won't be late again.

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

— That's what you said last month.

A tired smile appeared instinctively on Elian's face.

Small.

Almost boyish.

— This time I mean it.

— Mm-hm.

Elian looked at him for a few seconds.

— You don't believe me at all, do you?

For the first time, something almost imperceptible appeared in Cassian's expression.

A faint trace of amusement so brief it might have been imaginary.

— Not at all.

Elian sighed theatrically and pulled out another cigarette.

Cassian noticed immediately.

— What number is that?

— I don't know.

— You're a terrible liar.

Elian lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

— That's because I'm tired.

Cassian shook his head ever so slightly.

Then his gaze shifted back toward the docks, toward the people still moving around the crime scene.

His voice turned cold and professional once more.

— I want a full report by noon.

— You'll have it.

— And Morel...

Elian looked up.

Cassian held his gaze for several seconds.

— Go home after the autopsy and get at least a few hours of sleep.

The words came so naturally that Elian was genuinely caught off guard.

Because in his own cold and controlled way...

Cassian Ward had just taken care of him.

"Not all light is good.

Not all darkness is evil."