Sterling Case File 72126
The rain on the docks didn’t wash away the stench of blood; it just thinned it out until it coated everything.
Garret Vance Sterling adjusted the brim of his fedora, keeping his eyes locked on the shipping containers ahead as a low rumble vibrated deep in his chest.
The tip had been vague—something about an unusual shipment arriving under a split moon—but the glowing green pentagram burning itself into the midnight sky confirmed his worst suspicions.
Cultists. And they weren't just summoning a minor spirit; they were tearing open a gateway between realms.
As the magic flared, the air grew thick with ozone and sulfur. Garret dropped into a crouch, his claws digging into the wet timber of the pier, his predatory instincts warning him of incoming danger.
"Just another Tuesday in the office," he muttered, bracing himself to leap into the fray before whatever was on the other side of that portal decided to step through.