The fire burned quietly against the darkness.

A body lay inside it, slowly disappearing beneath the flames.

The man standing nearby said nothing. He simply watched.

Beside him, another man stood with his hands buried in his coat pockets, his face hidden by the darkness.

"Once those ashes are gone," he said quietly, "there is no going back."

No answer.

Only the crackling of the fire.

The first man looked toward the flames again.

"Are you sure?"

A long silence.

Then—

"Yes."

The fire swallowed the last recognizable piece of the body.

Neither man moved.

By morning, there would be nothing left.

Nothing that could be examined.

Nothing that could be identified.

Nothing that could prove who had died here.

Every story begins somewhere.

This one began with a death.

Or at least, that's what everyone was supposed to believe.

The truth was buried that night.

And this is where the story begins.

If you want to know what happened that night, keep reading.