I duck under the tape, steeling myself. The door’s already open, a silent invitation into the realm of the dead. I step inside, and the heavy cloak of stillness envelopes me. It’s the quietude of the grave, a stark contrast to the tempest raging in my mind.

A junior constable, barely out of nappies, walks up, his face pale. “Detective Sergeant McBride, I—” I turn sharply and give him the hairy eyeball. “Just show me the body.”

He leads me through the house, our footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Family photos line the walls, frozen smiles mocking the grim reality.

And there, in a bedroom, lies Emily Chen.