Ciaran steps closer and flips open the binder to the relevant pages. He checks the time stamps against the overlay, his eyes moving fast.
“She is right,” he says. “The gap matches shift handoffs.”
Alden’s gaze lifts. “How.”
Ciaran taps the page. “Creek meet point delays the ridge overlap.”
“And nobody corrected it,” I add. “Which means nobody noticed, or nobody wanted it corrected.”
Alden’s expression tightens, but he does not speak.
The silence stretches long enough to feel deliberate.
I keep my voice steady. “If this is a locked schedule, then the lock has a key.”
Ciaran’s shoulders stiffen slightly.
Alden’s eyes return to the map, tracking the corridor line. His jaw tightens once as if he is biting back a response.
“This aligns with the kill corridor,” I say, pulling up the attack markers. “The rogue stays near town, then cuts back through your boundary using this lane.”
Ciaran drags the markers into position, then stops moving. “It is the same line.”
Alden’s gaze stays fixed on the screen. “That means he knows our timing.”
“He knows it too well to guess,” I reply.
Ciaran closes the binder slowly, then looks at Alden. “Our routes are not public.”
“Then the knowledge is internal,” I say.
Alden’s eyes lift to mine again, and something flickers in the steel-gray. Not softness, not approval, but attention sharpened to a point. “You are suggesting an inside breach,” he says.
“I am suggesting someone with intimate access,” I answer. “That could be the rogue, if he used to patrol, or it could be someone feeding him information.”
Ciaran’s mouth tightens. “Careful with that.”
“I am being careful,” I reply. “I am also staring at a corridor that keeps getting people killed.”
Alden’s hand shifts on the desk, knuckles whitening slightly. He is close enough now, and the scar through his brow is all too clear, and the faint shadow under his eyes that suggests he has not slept either.
“You did this quickly,” he says.
“I did not waste time,” I answer.
For a beat, his gaze drops again to my shoulder, then returns to my eyes. The look is brief and controlled, but my body reacts anyway, heat rising in a way that has no business being present in a murder investigation.
I hate that my brain notices him at all. I hate that it notices him like this.
Ciaran clears his throat, breaking the moment.
Alden straightens slightly, pulling back from the desk as if he is forcing distance. “If this corridor exists, we close it today.”
“And whoever is using it will notice,” I say. “Which means the next move will change.”
Ciaran nods once. “We can adjust overlap timing.”
Alden’s gaze stays on the map. “We will adjust it quietly.”
