You stand in the shadow of a leaning tenement, collar turned up. The file in your coat pocket is thin, but heavy. Six names. Six faces. Six suspects for the string of bloodless corpses left in the city’s gutters over the last three months. The latest was found just before dawn, two streets over, in an alley behind the Gilded Grape tavern. The official report said exsanguination due to animal attack. You know better.

The tavern’s sign creaks on its hinge in the wind. Through the grimy window, you can see the warm, hazy glow of the common room, figures moving inside like shadows in a lantern. It’s the last place the victim was seen alive. It’s also, according to your sources, a place frequented by certain… unusual patrons.

Your hand rests on the worn grip of the silvered dagger at your belt. The rain drums a steady, impatient rhythm on the rooftops.