A chair sat out of place. Drawer half open. A stack of papers was knocked over on the counter and left there.
The low hum of an old refrigerator buzzed from the kitchen, uneven, a faint rattle threading through it.
Boston moved past him to the opposite wall, checking corners without being told.
Micah stayed closer, slower sweep, eyes tracking details instead of space.
Different reads. Same result.
One of the cops had followed them inside.
Sage stepped deeper into the house, gaze moving faster now, picking it apart piece by piece—what belonged, what didn’t, what had been touched and what had been left alone.
Pattern forming.
“In the back,” the cop said.
His focus shifted toward the hallway.
Narrow. Dim.
Same cheap flooring that had always creaked in the wrong spots if you didn’t know where to step.
A faint tick of cooling pipes clicked somewhere in the walls.
Sage didn’t slow.
The door at the end stood half open, just enough to see shadow, not enough to read it.
He pushed it in.
The smell hit harder inside—metal, thick and unmistakable, undercut with something just starting to turn.
The air felt heavier here, pressing in instead of moving.
His gaze moved fast—bed, floor, walls, blood spatter—clearing space out of habit before it landed where it needed to.
The chalk mark outline of a body was just off-center in the room.
He didn’t stop.
Closed the distance, eyes already working ahead of him, picking up what didn’t fit before his brain caught up.
“Where are the photos?” His voice came out raw.
A cop handed him a tablet this time, the crime scene photos digital.
His chest tightened.
The face came into view.
Relief and rage as everything locked.
It wasn’t Ashley.
The face was Jade.
Her roommate.
