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I’m not the one in a lab coat swabbing bloodstains, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone at Bellwood who gives a flying fuck, or even cares enough to wonder what I’m up to.

The lab’s security is basic, and the staff is overworked, underfunded, and sometimes too distracted to lock up properly.

It’s housed in a nearby facility that partners with local law enforcement—part classroom, part crime lab. Which, conveniently, makes it absurdly easy for me to get my hands on materials and equipment for more than just teaching. All I need are my keys, my credentials, and a decent poker face. A couple of well-placed detours, and no one questions a professor poking around in the name of academic interest.

I quirk my head to the side in mock contemplation. “Broke in is a strong term.”

He glares at me. “Did you use a key?”

“No,” I admit.

“Did you have permission?” he presses.

I curl my lips over my teeth, releasing them with a pop. “We both know the answer to that.”

He gives me the flattest look imaginable. “That’s breaking in.”

I fold my arms. “Okay, first of all, the door was unlocked. Second, it’s not my fault if site security underestimates my commitment to forensic accuracy.”

“You teach forensic psychology.” Theo scrubs a hand over face. “Do I even want to know how you got access to an active case file?”

No. No you do not. “Probably not. But look at this—” I shuffle the papers and tap the highlighted section. “The strangulation marks in the original Mayfair case? They’re nearly identical to those in the second murder. Same pressure pattern, same bruising around the throat, and the lack of defensive wounds tells me it was likely someone the victims knew and⁠—”

Theo lifts a hand, cutting me off. “Stop. I know how strangulation works.”

"Right, because of the whole ‘former hotshot defense attorney turned disgraced professor' thing.”

His expression flattens even further, which I wouldn’t have thought possible if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own two eyeballs. “Thank you for the reminder, Lila.”

“Anytime.” I give him the broadest grin I can muster. And then, because I can’t help myself, I poke him in the arm—a casual touch that definitely lasts half a second too long. “Admit it—you love this. The chase. The mystery. The chance to prove everyone wrong. Finally.”

He looks down at the file, then back at me, something severe and unreadable in his gaze. “You’re so much trouble.”

I smirk. “So I’ve been told.”

Most people in this field pick a side and cling to it, bending the facts until they fit the narrative they want to believe. Cops convince themselves their gut is gospel. Prosecutors convince themselves that justice is whatever keeps their conviction rate high. Even forensic scientists—people who should know better—pretend that evidence is always irrefutable, never flawed.

But Theo? He knows better.

He knows the system is broken because he’s been broken by it. He knows what it’s like to fight for something, to believe in it, only to have it rip itself apart in his hands.

He was the last person who stood between Peter Mayfair and a prison cell, the only one who fought for the truth when the rest of the world just wanted a verdict.

And it cost him everything.

I don’t know if he wants to find the real truth anymore. Maybe he gave that up the second the Mayfair case swallowed his career whole.

But I do.

And if there’s even the smallest part of him that still cares, still wants to know—then I’m taking him with me.

I can see the internal war playing out in the clench of his jaw, the way his fingers tap against his desk like he’s already mapping out the minefield he’ll be stepping into if he agrees to this.

“There’s no one better than you to help me with this, Professor Grayson. Please.” I straighten, angling my head. “Or… are you scared?”

I've always had a weakness for seeing what he’ll do when I press the right spot, even when the thing between us stopped being lust and started looking a lot more like opposition. Teasing him used to lead somewhere else entirely. Now it’s borderline harsh words and narrowed eyes, but I still can’t stop. Old habits and whatnot.

His eyes snap to mine, narrowing. “Excuse me?”