I pounded my feet on the scorching hot rooftop tile, eyes locked on the fleeing killer. My clay skin crackled in protest in the damn sun. I should know better than to stay exposed for too long. The heat would turn me into a pile of brittle shards. I needed to catch that son of a bitch before that happened.

Anna's instructions still echoed in my mind: "Find the guy before he strikes again, Jam." Easy for her to say - she, the mayor, was safe behind the scenes at city hall. I, resident golem and town Sheriff on the other hand, was out in the field.

I sprinted across a rickety water tank's flat root. It groaned in protest under my feet and I nearly lost my balance. Below me, Shadow Falls' Main Street hummed along its usual rhythm: Mrs. Peabody calling out daily specials from her General Store counter; The Bean There's coffee beans grinding to a chorus of chatter.

No way would I'd be getting backup anytime soon. That face - or rather, this lack thereof - would vanish into the crowd before my deputy arrived. I was on my own.

As we tore through town, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to me. I recalled the carefree summer nights I used to spend listening to crickets at Macdonald's farm; life before serial killers came knocking on Shadow Falls' doorstep. This was what I got for a summer day now: serial killer chases, rooftop sprints, and perpetual dry-ness.

I had no idea what this killer's motivation was, nor did I care: my job was to stop him. With each leap and landing, our proximity seemed to inch closer to the deadly midpoint. It felt like we were two cogs on an engine of fate - and the city hung precariously in balance. Then, the killer's foot slipped; he fell from a lower roof, landing with a soft thud in a dumpster below.

As I dropped onto Maple Lane, the city's rhythm reasserted itself around us. The sweet aroma of Mrs. Peabody's baked goods mingled with the stench of rotting trash from where the punk landed. Time stood still for a moment; then, it was my turn to move again.

I strode towards that bland face, sweat beading on my forehead. The heat made my clay skin feel like it was melting off my bones. I slid my gun out of its holster, the metal creaking like worn leather.

The punk's eyes darted left and right as if searching for escape. He took one step back, just one, though, his expression stuck in frozen terror. He spun around and darted down a cellar staircase.

I smirked, the world narrowing down to just him and me again. This guy didn't know I was running on fumes. Time to bring an end to the theatrics.

Every step was an effort, the sun's relentless glare draining what little moisture my clay skin possessed. My joints protested with every landing. It wouldn't be long before stiffness would catch up and bring me crashing down. My life force comes from wet clay, and I was drying out fast. My weakness, you see.

I dug deep for reserves of moisture, conjuring the tiniest droplets from parched earth beneath my surface. Every moment counted, or soon wouldn't count at all. With renewed energy, my strides gained length and purpose once more.

I crept down the stairs, eyes straining to pierce the darkness. The killer's advantage had always been his anonymity. Until now, that was. Forgettable features meant I'd never catch a break unless he gave me one. But this abandoned basement seemed tailor-made for a final showdown.

I rounded the corner, and the stench of rot and decay slapped me in the face. Rats scurried past, their beady eyes gleaming with malice. This place was a tomb, and I just happened to be the guest of honor.

The killer's faint outline appeared ahead, the flickering flashlight cast an eerie glow around him like a macabre halo. Our gazes met. His face twisted with rage as he sensed the noose closing around his neck.

What had brought him to this godforsaken hole? Did he think it'd give him cover? Newsflash: nothing does that anymore -- least of all this crummy dive. But I had no intention of letting my curiosity get the better of me. I crept forward, the only sound our labored breathing, each of us daring the other to make a move. In the stillness, even time itself seemed to be holding its breath...

For an instant, our gazes clashed like two guns pointed at each other. He lunged, a blade flashing in the fading light. We crashed into each other like two freight trains on a collision course. My fist cocked back, ready to strike. The killer's face twisted with rage, and I reveled in it. The predator became prey.

The blade scraped against my skin as I absorbed the blow, his strength paling beside mine. I ignored it and grabbed his knife hand.

At first, we struggled, neither of us giving an inch. With superhuman strength, I wrapped my fingers around the killer's wrist and cracked it, snapping it clean. He howled as pain shot through him. A cross to the temple sent him crumpling to the ground.

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That's when a second guy appeared out of nowhere and started firing at me. Damn, that stung! I registered multiple bullet holes, not dangerous, but enough to get on my nerves. I cursed silently as I stared at the killer's twin. Another face so bland, so forgettable, that even his identical brother couldn't recognize him in a line-up.

He emptied the magazine into me, the sound like popcorn popping on high heat. I stumbled forward, absorbing each shot without slowing down. Just more of that annoying itch spreading across my surface. The last bullet spent, the twin froze. His eyes flickered towards mine as if waiting for something to happen. I grinned, showing off a mouthful of dental fillings that felt like tiny marbles rolling around.

I growled, my clay drying with the sudden stillness. His face twisted into something almost human: fear. I knew that if he ran, I would be too slow to catch him. Faster than my dried-out body should have allowed, I closed the distace and sent him to sleep with another haymaker.

I heaved my exhausted clay frame onto a nearby pile of rubble. I felt like a chunk of dry brick fresh out of the kiln. My itching body screamed for water, and I eyed the distant shadow of the Bean There cafe through the cellar door. Coffee was my favorite form of hydration. The town square's bandstand beckoned, its shade and quiet an oasis amidst this sweltering hellhole.

My terracotta hand flexed, the numbness still lingering from the earlier fisticuffs. One missing finger told me I needed a drink sooner rather than later. This heat would make my joints seize up like rusty gates. Shadow Falls better had some water on reserve for their local golem in Sheriff clothes. Maybe I could slip into the Bean There unnoticed, nurse my wounds, and get my priorities straight.

A fleeting thought about how to make myself appear less suspicious passed through my mind, and for good reason: Jam Slate's long-tempered tenure had earned me the locals' respect and trust, making it difficult to rouse suspicions. Still, pulling two lifeless humans around town might scare our law abiding citizens, and I depended on the goodwill of the townfolks.

Oh well, it couldn't be helped. I tossed the twins on my shoulder like sacks of potatoes and shuffled outside, joints creaking in protest. As we approached the square, I spotted Mrs. Peabody setting up a small market stand outside her general store. She smiled kindly at us, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and called out,

I nodded curtly.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press the matter. We passed The Bean There cafe, its doors ajar and inviting me with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Water and caffeine beckoned like siren songs, but my priorities were clear. I needed to get these abominations locked up before I lost more than just a finger.

We turned onto Main Street. The sun's cruel gaze intensified. My brow was dry and itchy; I had no more water left to sweat. The station loomed ahead, its stone facade seeming sturdy against the burning heat. Time was running out; I wasn't going to make it.

I veered toward a roadside stand, my dry lips pursing with anticipation. The sign promised A young boy ran the stand, his eyes shining like new pennies as he poured the yellow drink into my cup. A straw poked out of the ice like a tiny snake slithering out of its den.

I set the twins onto the ground and inhaled the liquid. The sweetness wafted up, rehydrating my parched throat and nose.

I felt life rushing back into me. My missing finger -- no longer missing. An unblemished nub of flesh was slowly molding itself into my missing digit. With a renewed spring in my step, or what passed for it these days, I turned back to retrieve... nothing. The twin freaks were gone, vanished like wisps of smoke on the summer breeze.

My mind spun with questions. Where had they vanished to? How the hell did they manage to slip through my fingers like greased piglets at a county fair? My feet carried me back toward Maple Lane's center, the sound of lemonade glass shattering against the sidewalk lost in the murmur of crickets and the rustling of leaves. No sign of them anywhere!

I headed back to the lemonade stand to look for clues. I kneeled down, eyes scouring the ground like a maniac searching for dropped change. Nothing. Zilch. Not even a single bloody footprint.

I touched the pavement. It felt colder than it should be, like the city's very bones were sucking up the warmth from my skin.

I sniffed the air, trying to pick out anything out of place, and my nostrils twitched at the acrid stench of ozone. Flickers of clove hung suspended in the atmosphere like a faint echo, a residue left behind by someone's hasty spellcasting. Someone with access to real power had teleported those twins away from me.

I gritted my teeth. My problem child of an investigation had just turned nuclear hot. If a mage was involved, then this was no longer petty human-on-human crime. I had to call it in, and I didn't like it one bit. Shadow Falls just got a whole lot more complicated. And so did my life as its chief lawkeeper.

I sighed and bought a second lemonade to combat the heat. I took a long swig, feeling the wet glass soothe my parched throat. A faint hint of ozone still lingered in the air, reminding me of the teleportation spell that had so thoroughly rained on my parade.

I strolled back to city hall, my clay feet moving in a slow, deliberate gait. The humid air wrapped around me like a damp shroud. I could practically feel the city's latest secrets dripping with sweat from its stone streets, begging to be unraveled by me.

My eyes roved over the familiar sights and sounds of Maple Lane -- Peabody's corner store, where they stocked more than just lottery tickets; the creaky old train station, where you could almost hear the ghostly echoes of late-night whistle blows; even Ol' Macdonald's farm fresh produce stand, which had somehow managed to remain stubbornly in business for three generations.

Shadow Falls was my city: my home, my beat, and my life. But this little slice of peace just got turned inside out. It seemed like I wasn't the only one playing by a different set of rules than regular townsfolk.

Every brick seemed to bear down upon me, questioning everything. Had someone from out there been poking their nose into Shadow Falls' affairs? What did they want with my serial killer?

Time to put on my thinking clay, rehydrate with some old-fashioned Java at the station, and conjure up a plan. This city might be mine to guard, but its magic was another story altogether.