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“Fair point.” He straightened his tie, the gesture unconscious but drawing my attention to how the suit jacket stretched across his shoulders. “But next time we play federal agents, I'm wearing something that doesn't feel like slow strangulation.”

“The tie looks good on you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Sean's eyes met mine, something flickering in their depths that had nothing to do with our investigation.

“Careful there, fed,” he said softly. “Almost sounds like you're noticing things you shouldn't.”

I forced my attention back to the body, where Dr. Martinez was taking liver temperature readings. Sean's words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications neither of us could afford to examine too closely.

“Time of death approximately four to six hours ago,” Dr. Martinez announced, confirming my worst suspicions. “Based on lividity and tissue decomposition.”

I frowned, my mind immediately comparing this information with what we'd learned from the locals in town. “That can't be right,” I said quietly. “The townspeople said O'Brien disappeared three weeks ago.”

Dr. Martinez shook her head. “The evidence is clear. This man hasn't been dead more than six hours.”

My eyes met Sean's across the body, both of us coming to the same realization. “Which means,” I said carefully, keeping my voice low, “that the professor didn't disappear. He was herethe whole time, possibly under duress or in hiding. The strange lights people reported seeing in the house at night...”

“Were the good professor,” Sean finished, studying the body with renewed intensity. “Someone was keeping him alive until they got what they needed from him.”

“And once they had it...”

“They had no more use for him,” Sean concluded grimly.

I nodded slightly, keeping my expression professionally neutral for the team. “Dr. Martinez, those incisions along the body's torso, anything unusual about the marks?”

She bent closer, frowning. “Actually, yes. The wounds are precise, almost ritualistic, but the edges show signs of... burning?” She looked up at me. “Like whatever made them was superheated, but there's no other thermal damage to surrounding tissue.”

Sean and I exchanged glances. Demon claws left marks like that, precise when they wanted to be, but always with that telltale burning. Not that we could put that in any official report.

“Could be some kind of heated implement,” I suggested, giving her a plausible explanation to work with. “We've seen similar wounds in other ritualistic killings.”

“The patterns though...” She traced the air above the marks. “They form some kind of design. Almost like...”

“Like someone was drawing something,” Sean cut in smoothly. “Cult symbolism, probably. We'll need detailed photos for analysis.”

I moved to examine O'Brien's hands while Martinez's team documented the wounds. No defensive marks, confirming our theory about demonic compulsion. But there was something else, subtle indentations on his fingers, like he'd been gripping something tightly before death.

“The Guardian knew something,” Sean said quietly, positioning himself to block Martinez's view. “Something big enough that they sent a high-level demon to silence him.”

“These cuts seem controlled, but look closer,” I murmured back. “The deeper wounds show rage, personal attention. Classic demon signature when they're sending a message.”

“A demon taking its time,” Sean agreed grimly. “Making it look professional while still enjoying itself. Though who sent it? That's the million-dollar question.”

“It fits the Phoenix pattern. They're not just working with any demons anymore, they're commanding the kind that know how to cover their tracks.”

The implications of that settled like lead in my stomach. If Phoenix was hiring hunters or others with knowledge of the supernatural world, our job just got a lot more complicated.

As the forensics team finished their work, I caught more details that didn't quite fit. Scorch marks on the windowsills that formed perfect circles. Salt residue in the doorways, but arranged in patterns I didn't recognize. Everything pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and wanted us to know it.

“Alright people, wrap it up,” I called out finally. “Dr. Martinez, I'll need preliminary findings on my desk by morning. Focus on the tool marks and any chemical residue.”

The teams packed up with practiced efficiency, leaving Sean and me alone in the study. The moment the door closed behind them, his careful federal agent posture vanished.

“That was a fecking waste of time,” he growled, loosening his tie. “We could have been tracking whoever did this instead of playing nice with the science squad.”

“We needed the official documentation,” I reminded him. “If this connects back to Phoenix...”

“If? For God's sake, Cade, look at this place.” He gestured at the crime scene. “It's got Phoenix written all over it. They're cleaning house, making sure nobody talks about whatever the Guardian was helping them map.”