I hold her gaze for a long moment. “Perspective,” I say finally.
It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth. She seems to accept that, at least for now.
“Okay,” she says quietly. Okay. Another small thing. Another piece.
Later, after she’s gone to bed, door still unlocked, I move through the manor alone. The quiet returns, heavier now andmore deliberate. I head off to the precinct for a while. Screens glow to life at a touch with maps, data points, and timelines. The investigation doesn’t stop just because we needed a moment to breathe.
If anything, it’s accelerating. Patterns are tightening and connections are becoming clearer.
I pull up the latest intel, cross-referencing locations, timestamps, and known associates.
There. A cluster. Not random. Never random.
My jaw sets as I zoom in, isolating the overlap. “This is where you’re slipping,” I mutter under my breath. The network is careful and layered, but not perfect. No one ever is. A new file opens showing surveillance notes, partial IDs, and movement patterns.
I update what I can, and flag what needs confirmation. It’s procedural, precise, and controlled. This is where I excel. Where I don’t hesitate. Where I don’t-
My hand stills on the keyboard. Because this is also where I made the decision. The test. The result. The information that could have broken us, broken Liv.
I lean back in the chair, dragging my hand down my face. “You don’t get to control this,” I remind myself quietly. Not her, not this.
The only thing I can control now is what I do next.
My gaze shifts back to the screen and to the cluster of data points tightening into something actionable.
“We’re getting close,” I murmur. Close to them, close to the truth, and close to whatever this is going to become. And when it breaks, it’s not going to be quiet.
Chapter 44
Liv
The call comes in just as I’m restocking the last of the airway kits.
“Unit 12, respond priority one. Male, mid-forties. Reported unconscious, possible cardiac. Caller states patient stopped breathing, now breathing again.”
My hand pauses halfway to the cabinet. Stopped breathing… now breathing again? I grab the radio. “Dispatch, confirm patient status?”
There’s a burst of static. “Caller is unsure. States patient is ‘not right.’”
Not right. That’s not how people describe cardiac arrest.
Scott is already sliding into the driver’s seat, tossing me a look. “We rolling?”
“Yeah.” I sling the bag over my shoulder and climb in. “But something’s off.”
“When is it not?” he mutters, flipping on lights and sirens as we pull out.
I glance down at the CAD screen. No apartment number, just a street address. “Dispatch,” I try again, “can we get a unit or apartment number?”
Another delay, longer this time. “Caller advised you’ll be flagged down.”
I don’t like that either right now.
The streets get narrower the closer we get.
Streetlights flicker in uneven patches, casting long stretching shadows between pools of dull yellow light. The GPS lags for a second, recalculating like it’s second-guessing the route.
I tap the screen. “It’s this next turn.”
