The image cut to crime scene tape. To a cluster of uniforms. To a blur of a covered shape that might’ve been a tarp or might’ve been a body and was absolutely a body.
My stomach turned over once—slow, deliberate—as if it wanted to test whether I was still capable of feeling sick about this.
The anchor’s mouth moved, but my brain snagged on details instead.
The time stamp in the corner.
The location.
The neighborhood type.
The fact that they were showing the scene from a distance like they’d been told not to get closer.
They hadn’t been told not to get closer by the police.
They’d been told not to get closer by someone higher up.
My coffee sloshed against the rim as I set the mug down too hard.
“Found early this morning,” the anchor said. “Authorities have not released the identity of the victim, but sources indicate?—”
I muted it.
The silence was worse. In silence, my mind filled gaps.
I stood there staring at the screen anyway, watching the crawl at the bottom:INVESTIGATION ONGOING. NO SUSPECT. PUBLIC ADVISED TO AVOID AREA.
No suspect.
I almost laughed. Almost.
He wasn’t a suspect. He was an audience that had decided to climb onto the stage.
Behind me, the soft hush of shoes on wood.
The air shifted. Not dramatically. Not theatrically. Just enough that my skin noticed before my brain did.
Brewster.
He didn’t announce himself. He never did. He walked into a room the way he walked into a conversation—like he’d already been here the whole time and you were the one catching up.
He stopped at my side. Too far away to touch, but too close to pretend we were merely coexisting in this space.
His gaze flicked once to the television. Took it in. Cataloged. Filed. Then he looked at me.
“You saw it,” he said.
No greeting. No softness. The words slapped down between us like he was delivering a report.
“I did,” I said, resisting the urge to sayno shit, since I was stillwatchingit.
He didn’t ask if I was okay. Apparently, we weren’t wasting time or questions on anything obvious. Most of the time I appreciated that trait of his. Today? I wasn’t entirely certain.
He leaned in and unmuted the television long enough to catch the anchor’s next sentence.
“—unconfirmed reports suggest similarities to the ‘Auditor’ cases currently under federal review?—”
Brewster muted it again. His jaw flexed once. Not anger. Not shock. Something colder.
