"Carlson..."
"They're coming after me. This is exactly what they want. If I back off now, Voss wins. They all win." I stood up. Couldn't stay still. "We have evidence of tampering. The security footage. We..."
"Detective." The Inspector's tone stayed steady while mine spiraled upward.
"If I walk away now, I'll never clear my name. They're framing me all over again!" Raw and unfiltered, bursting out. I hadn't raised my voice like this since the day they'd transferred me out of 52. "I did nothing wrong. Nothing. And they're trying to bury me... again."
Murphy rose. His authority filling the small office like a physical presence. Those lines deepened as he squared his shoulders. "This isn't a suggestion. It's an order."
The silence that followed felt like a slap. I stared at him. Searched for some sign he understood what he was asking. To walk away. Again. To let them win. Again.
Then, unexpectedly, Hawley's deep baritone broke through.
"Sir, removing Carlson now validates their tactics. We have evidence of tampering. Pulling him off sends a message that intimidation works."
I turned to look at him. Surprised by the support. Hawley stayed impassive, but something new flickered there. Resolve, maybe. Loyalty.
The Inspector cut him off with a raised hand. "Evidence that could disappear if Carlson stays visibly involved. Think strategically. They're watching his every move. Expecting him to charge back in. Counting on it."
I paced the small office. Ran hands through my hair. Didn't care about ruining the styling I'd spent fifteen minutes on this morning. The familiar weight of injustice pressed against my chest. Made it hard to breathe.
"So I just sit on my hands while they bury me? I've been here before, sir. If I don't fight back, they win by default."
Murphy exhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his tone had softened. His posture stayed firm. "I'm not abandoning this, Carlson. But you need distance, official distance, while I work through channels."
"Channels. The same ones that transferred me here instead of clearing my name? Those channels?"
"Different ones. Ones they don't know I have."
I stopped mid-pace. Turned toward him fully. The betrayal must have been written all over my face. "You're sidelining me from my own case. My own life."
The Inspector reached for a manila folder on his desk and slid it toward me. "Temporary reassignment. Desk duty. Keep your head down."
I stared at the folder without touching it. The beige paper seemed to mock me. So similar to the transfer orders that had ended my career at 52. History repeating itself in crisp, official documentation.
"This is wrong. You know it's wrong."
"Yes. It is. But sometimes we have to lose ground to win the war."
Hawley shifted beside me. His presence oddly steadying in the midst of this new betrayal. He didn't speak. But his attention weighed on me. Waited for a response.
My hand trembled as I finally reached for the folder. The weight felt disproportionate to its actual size. As if it contained not just reassignment orders but the sum of all my professional failures.
"How long?"
"Until I say otherwise. Keep your head down. That's an order."
From the moment I left the Inspector's office, I became empty and numb.
The station fell away in silence. The reassignment folder clutched like a death certificate. Hawley walked beside me. Not speaking. Not trying to fill the void with empty reassurances. Grateful for that much, at least.
Outside, Toronto had moved into its evening shift. Office workers streamed from buildings, laughing about dinner plans. Couples under the street lamps. Delivery bikes weaving through traffic. Everyone going about their normal lives while mine collapsed around me. Again.
I walked stiffly. Each step requiring conscious effort. Left foot. Right foot. Don't falter. Don't break. Not here. Not now. Thefolder felt impossibly heavy. Like it contained all my failures instead of just a few sheets of paper.
Hawley stayed closer than usual. His presence watchful. His attention checking on me every few seconds. The Ryan Carlson who charmed his way through press conferences and flirted with witnesses had gone somewhere I couldn't reach. Whatever was walking these streets now wasn't him.
"He's right, you know. Strategically speaking."
