And a problem.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve made contact. Built rapport. He’s reserved, but not unfriendly. Quiet, well-liked by staff, trusted by students. He’s got a finger in every pie in the school. Quiz team. History Club. Offers lunch and afterschool interventions for students falling behind. He’s literally God’s gift to teaching.”
Patel hummed. “Manipulative tendencies?”
“Nothing overt.” Warren paused. “But…”
Naomi turned. She’d picked up the shift in his voice. She knew him well enough.
“He’s hyper-aware,” Warren continued. “Not jumpy, but watchful. You touch his shoulder, he tenses. Loud voices make him close in on himself. Compliments bounce off. Like he doesn’t believe them. Or doesn’t think he should.”
That landed. Patel and Havers exchanged a glance, silent but weighted.
“And Reid?” Patel asked.
“No evidence of contact. Not yet. But it’s early days. Jude’s not the sort to open up quick.”
Naomi watched him carefully. “You said you’ve built rapport. How strong?”
Warren exhaled. “We’ve got banter. Shared a few jokes. Part of the quiz team. And there’s a history trip next month. Overnighter. So, decent access.”
Patel pointed a pen at him. “Get yourself included.” She then wrote something down. “But gut level, what’s the read on him?”
That was the real problem.
He didn’t think Jude was complicit. But he couldn’t prove it either. He hadn’t seen inside his house, hadn’t peeled back the layers. Not the ones that mattered. Everything he had so far was instinct. And instinct didn’t hold up in a briefing. And right now? His gut wasn’t telling him to proceed with caution. It was telling him he wanted to know Jude Ellison.
Not for the job.
But because some quiet part of him thought he might need to.
Which made it worse.
So he swallowed that down. Stuffed it deep beneath the part of him trained to compartmentalise, to detach, to survive. And did what he’d always done when the truth got too close to the surface.
He lied.
“Too early to say. But I’ll keep digging.”
Patel tapped her pen. “Good. Keep the field notes coming. If you can get into his house, do it. Casual drop-in, drinks after work, whatever works.”
Warren nodded, but something twisted in his gut.
He didn’t want to go into Jude’s home.
Didn’t want to rifle through drawers or check his laptop history or weigh how recently he’d washed his sheets and feed that all back to the people in this room.
He wanted…fuck. He didn’t even know.
But he knew Jude didn’t deserve this.
Patel shifted into logistics. Havers muttered something about council funding and school safeguarding measures, the usual grumbling about too many priorities and too few people. Naomi made a note of Morgan’s last known movements, pen scratching as if she hadn’t heard it all before. Warren sat back in his chair, gaze on nothing, letting the noise wash over him.
Because behind the practiced calm, the truth buzzed louder.
He’d spent most of the week watching Jude when he wasn’t supposed to. Noticing the way he chewed the lid of his pen when he was thinking. The way his sleeves were always half-rolled as if he’d been halfway through the thought and forgotten to finish it. The small smile he fought not to show when something genuinely amused him.
It was a problem.
