We climbed the fence one by one and stepped into the vineyard’s factory grounds. To our left, a large truck was parked in a marked yellow square, and a handful of workers were unloading crates of wine. They hadn’t noticed us yet, as the darkness cloaked our approach, the streetlights failing to illuminate where we stood.

Nearby, a dog lay curled in a makeshift shelter—a wooden crate with a ragged blanket thrown over it. He was old, his snoring loud enough to rival a man in a retirement home.

We had entered through the back, facing the rear of the building and the company parking lot. A row of street lamps lined the area, each one hosting a security camera with a blinking green light, signaling they were active.

“Alright,” Jane whispered. “What’s the plan?”

“Simple,” James said. “Find Robert, convince him to approve the autopsy, and get out of here. Then, sleep like a log.”

Jane grinned. “I’m liking this plan already.”

“Is that him?” Leo asked, nodding toward the front entrance where a fenced gate led to a security booth.

“Probably,” I said. “Let’s check it out.”

We started toward the gate, sticking to the shadows. The factory grounds were fully enclosed by fencing, likely to keep out wildlife. The only clear entrance was the one we were approaching. Nowadays, most places relied on automated security systems, but this factory still employed an old-fashioned guard.

As we left our cover, the workers unloading the truck spotted us. Their reactions were immediate—some gasped, others froze in place.

“Hey!” one of them shouted, stepping forward. “Who the hell are you? You’re trespassing!”

“We’re just here to talk to Robert Dun,” Jane said, “Then we’ll be out of your way.”

“Wait... Preternatural Affairs?” another worker asked, squinting.

We stopped. James raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I used to be with you guys,” the man replied, chuckling. “Recognized that god-awful holster. What brings you here?”

“We need to speak with Robert,” Leo said. “Do you know where he is?”

“In his booth,” the worker replied. “Probably asleep, that lazy bastard.”

“Not exactly employee of the month, huh?” Jane asked, smirking.

“Not even close,” another worker chimed in. “The guy wouldn’t have this job if it weren’t for his buddy—the boss. Half the time, he’s either dozing off or drinking.”

“Has he been out tonight?” I asked.

“Out like a light, sure,” the first worker replied. “But no, he hasn’t left the grounds.”

“Got it,” James said, nodding as we resumed walking. “Thanks.”

As we approached the booth, the man inside startled awake. He stumbled to the door and opened it, his face pale and groggy. The booth was cramped—a small heater buzzed above the door, a battered wooden chair sat in the corner, and under the table lay a half-empty wine bottle.

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“I didn’t see you come in,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Who are you?”

“We came through the main entrance,” Jane replied. “But you were busy… napping.”

“What?”

“We’re inspectors,” Leo said with a smirk. “You’re fired. Cause of termination: sleeping on the job.”

“What? Who the fu—”

Before Robert could finish, James lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his head against the table. The sound echoed in the tight space. Startled, the rest of us instinctively turned to check if anyone outside had noticed. Seeing the coast was clear, we stayed outside, by the door, unable to fit inside the cramped booth.

“Admit it!” James barked, pushing Robert’s head down again. “You’re trying to cover up your brother’s murder. That’s why you don’t want the autopsy, isn’t it?”

“I—” Robert stammered, struggling to free himself. “Let me go! I’ll call the cops!”

“Tell us the reason,” Leo demanded, his tone sharpening. “Or we’ll have to use force. You know we can.”

Jane leaned in slightly, her voice coiling like a serpent. “We’ll… ‘kidnap’ you and make you drink vampire blood. Slowly, you’ll turn. And when that happens… we’ll gun you down like the dog you are.”

James sneered, still pinning Robert’s head to the desk. “Believe me, I’ll be smiling the whole damn time while filling out the report.”

“You…” Robert stammered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t… Let me go!”

“Then tell us the reason,” Leo pressed. “Why didn’t you want your brother’s autopsy conducted?”

“Because…” Robert strained against James’s grip. “He deserved it!”

“Deserved it how?” Jane shot back, not missing a beat.

“It is thanks to him that my son lived! But—but I wish he didn’t… I—ah fuck it! You won’t get more from me,” Robert spat, shaking his head as much as James’s hold allowed. “Now let me go. I ain’t green-lighting that. No way. You can kill me if you want.”

Leo and James exchanged a glance before James finally released him, and deliberately kicked over the wine bottle. The red liquid spilled across the marble floor, pooling at Robert’s feet. Without another word, James turned and stepped out of the booth, slamming the door shut behind him.

We hadn’t gotten much from him, but we had a lead—a grim and cryptic one. According to Robert, Jacob’s death was justified. But how?

We started back toward the entrance we had used, walking in silence. Each of us was lost in thought, piecing together theories. It was James who finally broke the quiet.

“‘Deserved it,’ huh?” he murmured.

“So,” Jane said, her voice tired but laced with sarcasm, “the other two murders were ‘deserved’ too?”

“What do we know about the other two victims?” I asked.

“Not much,” Jane admitted. “Two of them were friends, killed at different times. But Jacob wasn’t a friend of theirs.”

“There has to be a connection,” I said. “We’re missing something.”

“Maybe the key we found in Jacob’s house will shed some light,” Leo suggested. “We just have to wait for tomorrow.”

“Damn, that Robert guy,” Jane muttered. “Stubborn as hell. But I don’t think he’s involved in this.”

“Jacob’s hand smelled like wine,” I reminded them. “And his brother works as a night guard in a wine factory. We can’t ignore the possibility of him being a suspect. We can’t trust him.”

“I get it,” Jane said, rubbing her temples. “But… what if he’s telling the truth? What if Jacob really did deserve to die? What if he was… like, I don’t know. Evil or something?”

“You need sleep,” James said bluntly. “You’re not making any sense, Jane. You’re blurting nonesene.”

“Ugh… yeah,” Jane admitted, yawning. “You’re right. I’m too tired to think straight at this point. I need a good night's sleep.”

“Same,” I said. “Let’s head home. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

“And pray a fourth murder doesn’t happen,” Leo muttered bitterly. “What a time to be alive, huh…”

—