In Plain Sight: The screams. Then, the silence.

Chicago. 2:37 A.M.

The air reeked of blood, gunpowder, and the kind of silence that only comes after too much screaming.

Detective Sophia Blake lay flat on the concrete, her heartbeat pounding in her ears louder than the sirens. Her left shoulder burned like hellfire, the bullet having torn through muscle and pride. Rain slicked the alley walls, washing streaks of crimson into the gutter.

Across the street, two cops lay still. Good men. Dead. A third was screaming into a radio, his voice cracked and panicked.

And the dealers?

Dead. Every one of them.

Some had tried to run. A few had tried to pray. None had made it.

Sophia blinked hard, trying to focus.

Her Glock was still warm in her hand.

The bust was supposed to be clean. In and out. A quick sweep on a stash house run by a mid-tier cartel affiliate. But instead, it turned into a war zone. Someone tipped them off. Someone wanted them all dead.

And Sophia—staring up at the dark Chicago sky—suddenly understood: this wasn’t about drugs. It wasn’t about money.

This was about control.

Control of people.

Of innocence.

Of children.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Two weeks later, Sophia would be discharged from the hospital and forced on medical leave. Her captain would practically beg her to take a vacation.

“Go somewhere quiet,” he said.

“Somewhere nobody knows your name.”

And so, she went home. To Sommerville.

To rest.

To forget.

To be invisible.

But some things don’t stay buried.

Not the past.

Not evil.

And not a woman like Sophia Blake.