The first fingers of dawn clawed at the edge of the night, painting the sky above Serene Lake with hues of bruised purple and hesitant orange. A thick mist, cold and damp against Ethan Blake’s weathered skin, clung to the water’s surface, obscuring the far shore and muting the world in an eerie silence.

He could feel the moisture clinging to his beard, taste the metallic tang of fog on his tongue. The only sounds were the gentle slosh of the lake against his small fishing boat and the mournful cry of a loon echoing in the distance.

It was a morning born for secrets, the kind that thrived in the half-light, unseen and undisturbed. And Ethan, a man who carried his own share of secrets, found a strange comfort in the anonymity of the mist.

He’d been coming to Serene Lake since he was a boy, knew its moods as a lover knew the contours of a familiar face. But this morning, the lake felt different, colder somehow, as though a chill had settled deep within its murky depths.

A sudden tug on his line, sharp and unexpected, jolted him from his thoughts. The rod bent low, the weight on the other end pulling with a stubborn resistance that made him grunt with exertion.

“Come on, you stubborn devil,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble, a familiar mix of amusement and frustration. He’d wrestled bigger fish, but this one was putting up a fight, a desperate struggle that felt…oddly familiar.

As he reeled in his line, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and growing unease, a shape began to emerge from the depths, pale and indistinct in the swirling mist. Fear, cold and sharp, clawed at the edges of his composure.

Then, with a final, sickening lurch, the form broke the surface.

It wasn’t the silvery flash of a struggling trout that greeted Ethan’s eyes, but the pallid, lifeless stare of a human face.

A scream, raw and primal, tore from his throat, swallowed by the dense fog. The mist seemed to recoil, as if startled by the sound, revealing the horrifying spectacle before him.

A woman, her once vibrant auburn hair a tangled, dripping mess, bobbed limply in the water, her limbs swaying with the gentle current like a macabre marionette. A single raven feather, dark and sleek, clung to the lapel of her sodden coat, a detail both insignificant and chillingly ominous.

He stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for the small silver cross he always wore beneath his worn flannel shirt. He'd seen death before, of course, life and death being two sides of the same weathered coin in a town like Ravenwood. But there was something about this death, a wrongness that clung to the morning air like the cloying scent of decay.

His calloused fingers fumbled for his radio, his voice a strangled whisper as he relayed the gruesome discovery to the Ravenwood Sheriff's Department. The words tumbled out in a torrent, a mix of disbelief and mounting horror. “There’s a woman…dead…in the lake…God help us, she’s dead.”

The responding officer, a young man named Billy, fresh out of the academy, arrived with the eager enthusiasm of a puppy chasing its tail. Ethan watched as the color drained from Billy's face, replaced by a sickly pallor that mirrored the dead woman’s complexion. The poor kid looked as if he was about to lose his breakfast.

“I… I’ve never…,” Billy stammered, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the woman's body, his eyes wide with a mix of fascination and horror.

“Just secure the scene, Billy,” Ethan said, his voice firm, a hint of pity in his tone. “Keep the gawkers away. The real cops will be here soon.”

Ethan, his gaze fixed on the swirling mist, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a chill run down his spine. He had a bad feeling about this, a premonition that this death, this woman in the water, was not a simple accident. It was a harbinger of something darker, something sinister, something that threatened to shatter the fragile peace of Ravenwood.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Detective Sarah Bennett took a swig of her lukewarm coffee, grimacing. The only thing worse than instant coffee was instant coffee brewed with yesterday's water. She blamed it on her goldfish, Marjorie, and her own forgetfulness. “One of these days, Marjorie,” she muttered to the unhearing fish, currently doing its best imitation of a rock at the bottom of its plastic castle, “I’m going to invest in an automatic coffee maker.”

The shrill ringing of her phone cut her caffeine-fueled complaints short. She glanced at the caller ID. "Speak of the devil, and he doth call on a Wednesday morning," she sighed, recognizing the number of the Ravenwood Sheriff's Department.

"Bennett," she answered, her voice raspy with sleep.

"Sarah, it’s Paul," Chief Inspector Davis’s voice, usually calm and measured, was edged with urgency. "We’ve got a situation down at the lake. Ethan Blake just called it in. Found a body."

Sarah closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the phone. It figured. Just when she thought maybe, just maybe, she'd get a few weeks of peace in this town, something always came up. And it was never good.

“I’ll be there in nine,” she said, already mentally preparing herself for the chaos that awaited her.

The drive to Serene Lake was a blur. Sarah, her mind already racing through scenarios, barely noticed the familiar landmarks as they flashed by – the quaint, if slightly rundown, Ravenwood Inn, its neon sign flickering faintly in the pre-dawn light, the imposing gates of the Whitmore estate, the manicured lawns a stark contrast to the untamed wilderness beyond.

The arrival of Detective Sarah Bennett, her presence a whirlwind of calm competence amidst the growing chaos, was a welcome sight. She stepped out of her car, her movements brisk and efficient, her gaze sharp and focused, her very presence radiating an aura of authority that contrasted sharply with Billy’s nervous energy.

Sarah spotted Chief Inspector Davis, his tall, imposing figure a beacon of calm in the growing chaos. Paul Davis was a good cop, if a little set in his ways. He'd taken her under his wing when she'd first arrived in Ravenwood, recognizing a kindred spirit beneath her guarded exterior. He was one of the few people she trusted in this town.

"Morning, Paul," Sarah said, her voice betraying none of the unease she felt.

Paul turned, his weathered face etched with concern. "Sarah, glad you're here. It's…not good."

"Body?" Sarah asked, already knowing the answer.

Paul nodded, his gaze drifting towards the lake, where a group of officers were huddled around something. "Ethan Blake found her. Laura Whitmore. She's still in the water. Coroner's on his way.”

“Mr. Blake, I presume?” Her voice, when she spoke, was low and steady, a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of his heart.

Ethan nodded, finding his voice at last. "Aye, detective. That's me.”

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

He recounted the events leading up to his grim discovery, the unexpected weight on his line, the horrifying moment the woman’s face had breached the surface.

Sarah listened patiently, her gaze never leaving his, as though she could discern the truth from the tremor in his voice, the way his fingers unconsciously twisted the brim of his worn cap. When he finished, she nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you, Mr. Blake. We’ll need you to come down to the station later, get a formal statement.”

Sarah walked towards the water's edge, ignoring the curious stares of the other officers. She stopped at the edge of the gathered officers, her gaze drawn to the figure being carefully lifted from the water. Even in death, Laura Whitmore was striking. Her beauty, though marred by the bruising on her skin and the vacant stare of her eyes, was undeniable. She looked like a fallen angel, her white dress billowing around her like wings, her dark hair spread across the stretcher like a spill of ink.

Sarah, pushing aside the wave of sympathy that threatened to engulf her, knelt down, her eyes scanning the body for any detail that might offer a clue. The bruise on Laura's jaw was a mottled purple, suggesting a forceful blow. Her fingers were scraped and raw, as if she’d fought back against her attacker.

“Any sign of the husband?” Sarah asked, her voice betraying nothing of the emotions swirling within her.

“Not yet,” Paul replied, his brow furrowed. “He’s not at the house, according to the officers we sent. But given his reputation…well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if he took a powder.”

James Whitmore. Even Sarah, who’d only been in Ravenwood for a year, knew of his reputation. A volatile man with a hair-trigger temper, fueled by jealousy and too much money. He was the obvious suspect, the one the whole town would point to.

But Sarah had learned the hard way that in a town like Ravenwood, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. The truth, she knew, lay buried beneath layers of secrets and carefully constructed facades. And it was her job, whether she liked it or not, to unearth it.

She looked out at the lake, the rising sun now burning away the last vestiges of mist, revealing the tranquil beauty of the water, a stark contrast to the darkness that had unfolded within its depths. The game, she realized, had just begun. And Detective Sarah Bennett was never one to back down from a challenge.