"Why a journalist?" Ava's brow furrowed. "What about Detective Diaz?"
I hesitated. Set my own spoon down.
"I called the precinct today. Diaz has been pulled from the case."
Ava went still. "Pulled?"
"Reassigned. No explanation, no forwarding information. The case belongs to some new guy now. Detective Morrison." I shook my head. "He practically recited from a script. Kept telling me the investigation was 'proceeding according to protocol.' Wouldn't answer a single direct question."
The color drained from Ava's face.
I watched the fear settle into her features. The tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers curled against her thigh.
"So the investigation is dead," she said quietly.
"Through official channels, yeah." I reached over and covered her hand with mine. "But Sloane Harper doesn't work through official channels. And Garrett says she's dedicated to the truth. That we can trust her."
Ava was quiet for a moment. Then she looked up.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I trust your judgment."
The words landed somewhere deep. Trust. After everything, she was putting her faith in my decisions.
I tried not to let my face show how much that meant.
"Shane's arranging a meeting," I said. "Next time all our schedules align."
"Okay." She picked up her spoon again, though she didn't eat. "Sounds good."
We finished dinner. I washed the dishes while Ava dried, a comfortable rhythm we'd fallen into without discussing it. Domestic. Easy. The kind of ordinary I could get used to.
Ava's phone buzzed from the coffee table. She crossed the room, picked it up, and sank onto the couch.
Her whole body stiffened.
"My father. Again."
She didn't answer. The phone kept buzzing. Three rings, four. Then silence.
Watson jumped up beside her immediately, settling into her lap like he'd been summoned. I dried my hands on the dish towel and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the set of her jaw, the way her fingers had curled into the cushion.
"Maybe you should answer."
"Brian—"
"I know what you told me about him. I'm not saying forget any of it." I chose my words carefully. "But he's a corporate lawyer with connections. And right now, you need weapons the Langs aren't expecting."
"His help comes with strings. It always has."
"Then use him anyway. Take what's useful and leave the rest." I spread my hands. "You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to let him back in. But if he can fight the Langs in court while Sloane works the press and we gather evidence, that's three fronts instead of one."
Ava stared at the silent phone. Watson kneaded her thigh, oblivious.
"He'll think he was right," she said quietly. "That I couldn't make it on my own. That I came crawling back."
