The Walls of Silence.

In the early morning, life resumed its chaotic course in the streets of Whitechapel. The cries of street vendors mingled with the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, while residents tried to forget the bitter cold of the night. Yet a whisper was already circulating, in hushed tones, from door to door.

Mary Ann Nichols had been found. Her mutilated body lay in a narrow alleyway, where daylight struggled to penetrate. The news spread like wildfire: a sordid, unprecedented murder cast a sinister shadow over the neighborhood.

Sergeant Robert Fielding, a worn but determined figure in the London police force, stood in front of the crime scene, his expression grave. Experience had taught him that this kind of horror never happened by chance. He met the gaze of Inspector Thomas Harrow, his partner, and felt the dull anxiety that inhabited them both.

“This is only the beginning,” Harrow murmured, almost to himself.

Fear was beginning to take hold in the alleys of Whitechapel. And with it, the awakening of an elusive killer.