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Ask him. Something. Anything.

The captain hesitated, glancing down at his notepad. “Well, actually, since you brought it up. I did want to ask about⁠—”

“Oh, hey, before I forget,” Preston cut in, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “The new forensics lab. Chief Javez told my Dad it’s finally up and running. Is that right? That’s great news! He said it’s already making a difference in cases.” Preston’s grin widened.

The captain’s face lit up. “Oh yeah, it’s been a game-changer. Seriously, your family’s donation…we couldn’t have done it without you. The chief mentions it all the time.”

Preston grinned and spread his arms out. “Happy to help. We care about Seattle and its people. We just want it to be safer. There’s some real sick people out there.” Preston shook his head, the picture of civic concern. “Anyway—sorry, I cut you off. You were saying? You wanted to ask me something?”

The captain paused. Whatever question had been forming behind his eyes a moment ago seemed to sink beneath the surface. He tucked his notepad into his jacket and smiled as he shook his head. “Nah, it’s—” He looked at Joyce, then Ethan. “I think we’re all good here.” He clapped Preston on the shoulder. “I'll let you get back to it. Oh, and hey, tell your Dad I said hello for me, will ya?”

“Absolutely! Let us know if there's anything we can do to help,” Preston said as he walked the captain to the door.

Preston stood with his back turned toward them as he watched the captain disappear down the hall.

And scene, he thought.

Preston turned slowly, and whatever manufactured warmth had been there was now gone. His black eyes were flat and cold as they swept across the room until landing on Ethan.

“So…” Preston’s voice was low, nothing like the cheerful act from moments ago. “How’d that go?”

Ethan swallowed hard. “Uh…Fine. He just asked some routine questions.”

“Routine questions,” Preston echoed, deciding if he liked the taste of those words. “And what did you tell him, Ward?”

Ethan paused, his gaze narrowed. “The truth. That I was home that night. That I didn’t know anything.”

Preston studied him for an uncomfortably long time. Ethan was an insect pinned under glass in his chair.

Finally, Preston nodded and said, “Good.” He glanced at Joyce, who gave a small nod. “That’s good.” He straightened his jacket, already moving toward the door. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He left without another word.

Ethan sat frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. Joyce let out a long, shaky breath.

“And that,” she muttered, barely above a whisper, “is why I told ya’ not to say nothin’.”

Ethan didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The Willows didn't just own the real estate in this city. They owned the people, too—the cops, the courts, probably half the goddamn city council.

Preston Willows could do whatever he wanted.

And nobody—not the police, not Ethan, not anyone—was going to stop him.

By the time Friday arrived, Ethan had never been more ready for a weekend the entire year he’d been in Seattle.

“Ethan, honey?”

Ethan shook his head and blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the same spreadsheet for the last twenty minutes.

“S-Sorry. What’s up?” he asked.

“I said, you got any plans tonight?”

He almost laughed. “Plans? This week’s been insane.”

The wheels beneath her chair squealed as she rolled herself over to his desk. Ethan already knew where this was going.

“Listen, I know the week’s been a lot for all of us. But, Ethan, all of this should really make ya’ open ya’ eyes. Ya’ know, kiddo?”