“Detective, you wanted to see me?” he asked, trying to sound confident despite the shiver that ran down his spine.
Mack pressed play. The video was short—just under a minute—but in that brief window, a gun was pointed directly at the camera. The barrel glinted under a flickering streetlamp. Then, a single, muffled thunk —the sound of the gunshot—followed by the camera wobbling wildly as the shooter fled. A timestamp in the corner read —the exact time the coroner had estimated Jordy's death.
Vinnie coughed, blood spattering onto the puddle. “You… you’re… you’re the ones who… the city… the steel… it’s all… a lie! They’re watching us! The… the ‘SteelGhost’—they told us to… to make a statement!”
Rye knelt beside the mural, his eyes scanning the colors. “He was working on something big,” he whispered. “Maybe a commission?”
She turned to Rye. “Grab your coat. We’ve got work to do.”
She clicked “Properties” and pulled up the file’s metadata. The video’s hash matched a tag—an indicator that the footage had been ripped from a streaming service and re‑uploaded. The original source? A low‑budget documentary about Pittsburgh’s art scene, titled “Canvas of Steel” , which had aired on a regional streaming platform the night before.
As the two detectives disappeared into the bustling streets of Pittsburgh, the camera pulled back, lingering on the rusted girders of the Smithfield Bridge—now bathed in golden light—standing as silent witnesses to a city that refuses to be silenced.
Rye flipped through Jordy’s sketchbooks. One page showed a massive, stylized heart made of overlapping steel beams, the center a glowing ember. In the margins, Jordy scribbled: