Chapter 1

The precinct buzzed with the frantic energy of a hive under attack, phones ringing, voices overlapping in a symphony of urgency. I stood in the eye of the storm, my gaze locked on the incident board, a map of the city scarred with colored pins marking crime scenes. My city. My case. My promotion on the line.

“Poppy, you’ve been at it for 36 hours straight,” my partner, Mike, leaned against the desk, his face etched with concern. “Go home, get some sleep.”

I shot him a glare that could freeze lava. “Sleep is for the dead, Mike. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

He raised his hands in surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, boss. Just don’t keel over on me. I don’t wanna explain to the captain why his star detective turned into a zombie.”

I grunted, turning back to the board. “The only thing turning into a zombie will be this case if we don’t close it soon.”

The latest victim’s face, a young woman not much older than myself, stared back at me from a photograph, her eyes frozen in a silent plea for justice. I traced the contours of her face with a finger, the promise I made to her solidifying in my heart. I wouldn’t let her down.

My watch beeped, a reminder of the task force meeting in ten. I snatched my jacket from the back of the chair, the leather worn from years of service. “Let’s move. We’ve got a meeting to attend, and I’ve got a feeling about this lead.”

Mike followed me out, his footsteps echoing mine in the concrete corridor. We emerged into the damp night, the city lights casting long shadows across the pavement. The unmarked car waited, engine purring like a sleeping beast.

As we drove, the city slipped by in a blur of neon and darkness. I was lost in thought, my fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm on the dashboard. Mike shot me a sideways glance but knew better than to interrupt.

The task force meeting was filled with a chaotic blend of voices, each officer eager to contribute, to be the one to break the case. I sat quietly, absorbing the information, sifting through the noise for the one thread that would unravel the mystery.

“We’ve got a witness who saw a suspect fleeing the scene of the last murder,” one of the officers announced, and the room fell silent. “Description matches our primary suspect.”

My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline flooding my system. This was it. The break we needed. I pushed to my feet, my chair scraping against the floor. “Where was this?”

The officer consulted his notes. “An alleyway off 5th and Main. The witness is a homeless man, goes by the name of Joe.”

I was already moving, Mike on my heels. “Let’s go talk to Joe.”

We found him huddled in a sleeping bag, his eyes wary as we approached. But there was recognition there, too, and a hint of relief. He’d seen something, and he knew it was important.

I crouched down beside him, my voice gentle but firm. “Joe, we need your help. Every detail you remember could save a life.”

He nodded, his hands trembling as he recounted the night of the murder. His words painted a vivid picture, and with each detail, my resolve hardened.

We left Joe with a promise to keep him safe and raced back to the precinct. The pieces were falling into place, the puzzle nearing completion. I could taste the victory, feel the weight of the sergeant’s badge in my hand.

But fate is a cruel mistress, and she was about to deal me a hand I never saw coming.

The call came in as we sped through the rain-slicked streets, the dispatcher’s voice a static scream in the darkness. “All units, shots fired at 21st and Vine. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Proceed with caution.”

My blood turned to ice. The Eastside Ripper was on the move, and he was heading straight for the heart of my city.

“Mike, floor it,” I commanded, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.

The car surged forward, sirens wailing as we cut through the night. The world outside blurred into a stream of lights and shadows, the city itself holding its breath as we closed in on our quarry.

We skidded to a halt two blocks from the scene, the smell of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. I was out of the car before it fully stopped, my gun drawn, my senses on high alert.

The streets were eerily silent, the citizens huddled behind locked doors, praying for the nightmare to end. I moved with purpose, each step bringing me closer to the monster that had terrorized us for months.

And then I saw him, his face obscured by the darkness. But I knew it was him. I could feel it in my bones.

“Freeze! Police!” I shouted, my gun trained on the figure.

He turned, a slow, almost mocking movement that set my teeth on edge. In his hand, a glint of metal—the knife that had carved a path of terror through my city.

I saw the intent in his eyes a split second before he moved, a blur of motion that I barely had time to react to. I fired, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the empty streets like a death knell.

I missed.

And it was too late. The knife found its mark, slicing through fabric and flesh with equal ease. Pain, sharp and all-consuming, exploded in my side, and I felt myself falling, the world tilting on its axis.

I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. I could hear Mike shouting, his voice distant and distorted, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.

I fought against the encroaching darkness, my fingers tightening around the grip of my gun. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not like this.

With the last of my strength, I lifted my arm, my aim unwavering despite the pain. I pulled the trigger, the sound sharp and final in the stillness of the night.

The figure stumbled, the knife clattering to the pavement. He fell to his knees, a look of surprise etched on his face as the life faded from his eyes.

Fuck yeah!

And then the darkness claimed me, and the world went silent.

I awoke to a world that was neither light nor dark, a place of twilight and whispers. My body was gone, yet I remained a specter bound to the city I had sworn to protect.

I watched as Mike cradled my lifeless form in his arms, his face a mask of grief and disbelief. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay, that I had done my duty.

But I was yanked backward before I could see anything more, a phantom hand clawing at my essence, the fabric of reality stretching and bending around me. The universe compressed into a narrow tube, a vortex that sucked me into its swirling abyss. My form, if that’s what you could call it, felt malleable, twisted beyond recognition. I couldn’t breathe, though the concept of breath was a relic of a past life. Panic clawed at my consciousness, a caged animal desperate for escape.

Then, with a suddenness that left me reeling, I was expelled from the void, gasping for air that filled lungs not my own. My eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring at the ceiling of a dingy room, the paint peeling in places, revealing the cold, gray concrete beneath. My arms… they were smaller, paler, and marred by fresh, pink scars that throbbed with a painful intensity. I watched, horrified, as the wounds knitted themselves closed, the blood retreating into my veins as if being sucked back into my body by some unseen force.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck is happening? Oh gods, this fucking hurts. What is going on?

I needed answers. Now.

As if on cue, a voice, deep and resonant, whispered in my ear, so close it seemed to vibrate through my very bones. “Welcome back, Poppy.”

I jerked upright, my heart racing, eyes darting around the room in search of the speaker. But there was nothing—no one. Just me, alone with the echo of that voice.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” My voice, young and tinged with fear, cut through the silence, betraying my vulnerability.

“I am Ragnulf,” the voice declared, its timbre a soothing balm against the panic that threatened to consume me. “I am a guardian spirit, and you, Poppy, have been chosen to be a Shaman.”

A Shaman? Chosen? The words bounced around inside my head, making no sense. I was a detective, not some mystical healer or spiritual guide. This had to be a joke, a cruel twist of fate played on me by some cosmic trickster.

“You will help me and others like me protect the physical realm,” Ragnulf continued, ignoring my inner turmoil. “You are our bridge, our translator.”

I shook my head, my thoughts a whirlwind of denial. “No. This is insane. I don’t want this—I don’t accept it.” My voice was firm, my will ironclad.

And just like that, the voice was gone, leaving me in the oppressive silence of the room. I was alone once more, the weight of my new reality pressing down on me like a physical force.

Scarlet. That was the name Ragnulf had given me—the name of the girl whose body I now inhabited. But her memories, her thoughts, they were locked away from me, a vault I couldn’t crack. I was a ghost in a stranger’s life, haunting the remnants of a soul that had sought its own end.

I stood on shaky legs, the room spinning around me. My reflection in the mirror across from me was a stranger’s—long dyed black hair with red streaks, a hairstyle I would never have chosen, and deep brown eyes that held no spark of recognition.

I was a ghost haunting someone else’s existence, and the irony of it all was not lost on me.