The photo glowed faintly against the screen — a man slumped in a warehouse chair, the blood on his temple blackened by the flash.

  Aubrey stared at it, her reflection hovering faintly in the glass, the edges of her face caught between the pixels and the light.

  The hum of the precinct filled the silence — printers, phones, low voices. None of it reached her.

  She leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her weight. Mia’s voice drifted in like a ghost: “He must’ve been the best brother.”

  Her jaw tightened. She typed a quick text to Jamie — any update on that search? — then stared at it, thumb hovering.

  Delete.

  A breath escaped her as she slouched back. Her eyes drifted to the drawer on her right. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she opened it.

  Inside, pushed to the back, a folded sheet of paper — yellowed around the edges. She took it out slowly.

  Paper-clipped to the front was an invoice, half-creased, the numbers blurred from handling.

  At the bottom, written in blue pen:

  “One last time? Please. Love, Dad.”

  Her cheeks flushed red — a sharp, sudden heat that rose her neck. The paper trembled once in her fingers before she threw it back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

  The sound cracked through the air.

  Slater looked over from his desk — eyes narrowing, pretending to read something else.

  Aubrey grabbed her phone again, reopened Jamie’s contact, and typed the same message: any update on that search?

  She stared at it. Then erased it. The screen went black.

  Her phone hit the desk with a dull thud. She pressed her fingertips into her temple, breathing slowly.

  Slater’s chair scraped back. His footsteps approached.

  “You got any idea on the motive yet?” he asked. His voice was careful, measured. Hands in his pockets.

  Aubrey didn’t look up. “I have no idea,” she said flatly. “I don’t even know why Miss Calder didn’t call her landlord to verify. You have that information?”

  “I, uh… I’ll check on that,” Slater said, scratching his jaw.

  Aubrey flipped through the case notes like they were cards she’d already memorized.

  Slater lingered a moment longer. “Heard the kid from Stonehouse is doing well,” he said softly. “Foster dad mentioned you went by there. Said it went good.”

  Aubrey froze for half a breath, then nodded, eyes still on the papers.

  “Yeah. She’s a great kid. Just wants to be normal, you know? She’s got ambition.”

  Slater’s tone turned gentler. “What about you, you okay?”

  Aubrey blinked, thrown off. “What? Yeah, I’m okay. Why would you ask that?”

  He hesitated, looking at her like he was seeing through the cracks. “Sometimes life happens, and we throw ourselves into work,” he said quietly. “It can feel overwhelming and—”

  “What are you even talking about?” she snapped, voice rising sharper than she meant.

  Slater didn’t flinch. He glances to his desk and back to Aubrey. “Obsession,” he said. He pressed his lips together, eyes heavy. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Aubrey stared at him, stunned. “Obsessed? What are you on about, Slater? Do I look obsessed to you?”

  “You’re running from something,” he said softly. “My uncle did the same thing. He wasn’t always like that.”

  Then, quieter still: “What are you running from, Archer?”

  The question hung in the air like a held breath.

  Aubrey’s chest tightened. Her breathing hitched; sweat prickled at her hairline. “Please,” she said, voice shaking. “Just go away. Get off my ass.”

  Slater nodded once — the kind of nod that said he’d already said too much — and walked away.

  Aubrey dropped her forehead to her desk, the surface cool against her skin. The distant squeak of wheels echoed closer — a cart rolling up beside her.

  “Hey, sweetiepie,” a familiar voice said. “You look tired. I just made your favorite. Drink up.”

  Aubrey lifted her head. Miss Evie stood there, bright smile, holding out a coffee cup like a peace offering.

  “Oh—sorry, Evie,” Aubrey muttered, straightening. “Thanks. It’s been a rough day already.”

  Evie chuckled. “Why do you think I’m here? Can’t have little Brooke burning out by noon.”

  She winked, setting the cup down. “Totally not because a lady came in who needs interviewing.”

  Aubrey sighed. “Right,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Of course.”

  The fluorescent light above hummed. Papers were spread across a new desk.

  Aubrey flipped through them, her pen tapping idly against the table. Across from her sat a woman in her early twenties, arms crossed, legs crossed, eyes distant.

  “Clara Jennings?” Aubrey asked, glancing up from the file.

  “Yup.”

  “Care to explain why you’re here…” Aubrey scanned the sheet. “…for the fourth time this year? Soliciting?”

  She shut the file, resting her cheek against her knuckles.

  Clara rolled her eyes. “Fuck you, okay? Just hurry up so I can leave.”

  Aubrey’s expression didn’t change. “You’re young,” she said calmly. “Why not get a job or move to a cheaper city? Build something?”

  “Why the hell would you care?” Clara shot back. “I’m living to see the end of the week.”

  Aubrey leaned back slightly. “Yeah, heroin’s an expensive lifestyle. Maybe try a cheaper habit—or a shelter with a labor program?”

  Clara laughed, sharp and humorless. “Not everyone’s got a family who wipes their ass and holds their hand everywhere they go.”

  The words hit, but Aubrey didn’t flinch. Her voice softened a touch. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch. I just…”

  She hesitated, exhaled. “I’m tired of seeing someone younger than me on track to catch something she can’t cure, all for another fix.”

  Clara’s glare hardened. “Like I said — why do you care? Last time someone said they could ‘help,’ they dragged me down the street and beat my head in.”

  Aubrey’s brow furrowed. “Were you high?”

  “I’m always fucking high,” Clara said. “But I didn’t imagine that. It was a month ago—maybe two.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Aubrey scoffed quietly. “And you just got away like that?”

  Clara leaned forward. “Yeah, because some lunatic ran out of nowhere and tackled the guy. I ran off.”

  Aubrey raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “So you did have a hero, huh?”

  Clara’s face twisted. “A hero? He beat the guy’s face into the concrete! This city’s full of animals. Rabid wolves tearing up anything they see.”

  Aubrey blinked slowly. “Are you high right now?”

  “I wish.” Clara stood halfway up. “I just want to leave so I can get high. I don’t give a shit if you believe me. You cops don’t do anything anyway.”

  Aubrey paused, voice steady. “Where was this?”

  Clara crossed her arms again. “I don’t know — near some glass refinery or whatever. I was on the corner. I don’t go near that part of town anymore.”

  “You said two months ago?”

  Clara’s patience broke. “Look, I’m done talking, okay? I just want to leave.”

  Aubrey’s tone stayed calm. “If this happened, why don’t you care?”

  Clara met her eyes coldly. “I do care. You people don’t. I trust you about as much as I trust my father — and he’s serving life down the street. So am I free to go?”

  Silence.

  The faint tick of the wall clock filled it.

  Aubrey’s voice came quietly. “Yeah. You can go, Clara.”

  The young woman stood, rolled her eyes, and walked out — heels clicking across the tile until the sound disappeared down the hall.

  Aubrey leaned back in her chair, eyes following the slow spin of the ceiling fan.

  “Glass refinery…” she whispered.

  She looked down and scribbled something in her notepad.

  Her pen stopped halfway through the line — her eyes lingering on the last thing Clara said:

  “Animals. Like wolves eating whatever they see.”

  Aubrey’s pen hovered above the words, her eyes tracing them again and again until the letters blurred into nothing.

  The hum of the precinct faded, swallowed by the sound of her own heartbeat.

  Somewhere outside, a siren wailed — distant, tired — before the night took it.

  The parking lot behind the hotel sat in heavy silence.

  No wind, no traffic — just the faint hum of a vending machine by the back door.

  James pushed the metal handle and stepped out, the door thudding shut behind him. The air smelled faintly of asphalt and stale rain, like it hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to storm again.

  He adjusted the strap of his bag and started toward his car, shoes scuffing against the gravel. His keys jingled once in his pocket before he noticed movement two rows over — a man walking slowly toward a sedan parked under the single flickering light.

  James unlocked his door, half-distracted, but the motion caught his attention again. The man’s pace was steady, his silhouette long and thin against the dull glow.

  James paused, one hand on his car door.

  The man turned slightly — just enough for the light to catch his face.

  “Evening,” James called out, voice easy but cautious.

  Gabriel turned around, a faint smile already forming as he lifted a hand.

  “Oh, hey, James,” he said, his voice a little upbeat, almost casual.

  The light overhead flickered once, painting quick shadows across the lot.

  James tilted his head a little, keys still in his hand. “What’re you doing out so late, man?”

  Gabriel shut his car door halfway, resting an arm on the frame. “Just went out to grab something to eat,” he said evenly. “Figured no reason to order out tonight.”

  James nodded once. “Yeah.”

  The quiet between them stretched for a second, filled only by the soft buzz of the streetlight.

  Gabriel let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Last time they didn’t even swing by,” he said. “Took the food and never came.”

  James cracked a slight grin. “Damn, seriously?”

  Gabriel nodded once, still half-smiling.

  The parking lot stayed quiet — just the hum of the light above and the faint sound of traffic in the distance.

  James slipped his keys into his pocket. “Hey, don’t stay out too late,” he said. “There was a murder across the street the other day.”

  He pointed toward the warehouse, its shadow stretching under the dull light.

  Gabriel followed his hand, eyes tracing the dark outline before looking back at him.

  “Yeah…” he said quietly. “Nothing but scammers, roaches, and streetlights on life support around here.”

  He lifted a finger toward the buzzing lamp above them — it flickered, went dim for a breath, then flared back to life.

  James huffed a small laugh through his nose, uneasy but trying to keep it light.

  James nodded, his breath clouding faintly in the cool air. “Yeah, not wrong,” he said. “I don’t know… I think whoever’d kill a man over money or drugs is the most lost person in the world.”

  He shook his head, staring across the street for a moment.

  Gabriel’s voice came softer, almost curious. “What do you think of me, James?”

  James blinked, caught off guard, turning back toward him.

  James rubbed the back of his neck, caught off guard by the question. “Uh—well,” he said slowly, “I think you’re a nice man, Gabe. You kinda remind me of my father.”

  A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Got a good sense of humor.”

  He let out a short laugh. “But my dad would never eat fast food.”

  Gabriel let out a small laugh with him — short, easy. Then he sighed, the sound light in the quiet night.

  “Well,” he said, glancing toward the hotel windows, “I’ll be leaving the hotel in a couple days.”

  He looked back at James, the streetlight flickering against his face. “Figured if I don’t see you, I’d tell you goodbye.”

  James’ expression softened, his earlier grin fading into something almost warm.

  James shifted his weight, surprised but smiling faintly. “Damn, okay,” he said. “It was good seeing you, man.”

  He stepped back toward his car, keys in hand. “I’ll be back in a couple days, but if I don’t see you—then goodbye, Gabe.”

  He grinned. “Oh, and maybe send the hotel a card sometime, huh?”

  James lifted a hand in a casual wave.

  Gabriel returned it, his wave slow, almost deliberate. The faint hum of the parking lot light buzzed above them as James turned away, footsteps fading toward his car.

  James sat at the edge of his bed, the soft hum of the bedside lamp filling the still room. He spoke into the phone, voice low and tired but thoughtful.

  “—and he got in his car,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say it was weird, just… odd. If that makes any sense.”

  Aubrey’s voice came through faintly on the other end — steady, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

  “And he asked you what you thought of him? You don’t find that weird?”

  The quiet on her end stretched, broken only by the faint creak of a chair or maybe the soft shuffle of her blanket as she leaned back.

  Aubrey lay on her side, phone pressed lightly against her ear, the dim glow from her bedside lamp tracing soft shadows across the wall. Her blanket was pulled halfway up, one hand resting against her forehead as James’s voice drifted through the speaker — distant but warm.

  “No—not really,” James said, his tone casual, a little uncertain. “He’s pretty cool. It just caught me off guard because nobody… has really asked me that before.”

  Aubrey’s eyes blinked slowly, unfocused on the ceiling.

  James’s voice crackled faintly, carrying a hint of a laugh. “Seems like a third-person question, you know?”

  She exhaled softly through her nose.

  Aubrey’s gaze drifted toward the window, the glass reflecting the faint light of her lamp. Beyond it, the sky hung heavy and clouded — no stars, just a slow-moving darkness pressing over the city.

  She hesitated, her voice quiet when it came.

  “What was his name?”

  James’s voice came through the speaker, casual at first. “Oh yeah, it was—”

  Static burst across the line — sharp and sudden — drowning out the next few words.

  “—ga—” was all she caught before it faded into a low hum.

  Then his voice returned mid-sentence, half-lost in the distortion. “…but I—”

  Aubrey sat up slightly, frowning. “I didn’t hear that,” she said. “You’re cutting out.”

  James’s voice came back through, a little clearer this time.

  “I said his name’s—”

  Another wash of static swallowed the words — louder now, breaking the sentence in half.

  “—ates—” was all she could make out before it cut out again.

  Aubrey pressed the phone closer to her ear. “James? I still can’t hear you.”

  The static thinned, his voice distant and strained. “Hello? You hear me?”

  James’s voice came back, thinner now under a crackle of interference.

  “Yeah—the storm’s starting here. Must be the damn signal.”

  Aubrey exhaled, leaning back against the headboard.

  James’s tone softened through the fading static. “Wanna talk tomorrow? Same time?”

  Aubrey sighed, her voice low and tired. “Yeah… that’s fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Brooke,” James said gently, the static fading to a faint hiss.

  “Goodnight,” she murmured.

  The line clicked, and the room fell quiet — only the soft hum of the city outside pressing against the window.

  The city hummed beyond the glass, quiet and distant, as if holding its breath for whatever came next.