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The fluorescent lights of the precinct flickered intermittently, casting sporadic shadows across Rachel's wan face as she hunched over her computer. Her fingers danced with a disciplined fury over the keys, punctuation to her silent resolve. Each stroke an unspoken rebellion against the fatigue that clung to her like a second skin.
She was a hunting a disgraced military man... it all connected. As she'd tossed and turned in the motel bed, it had seemed more evident than ever that she was on the right track.
She paused, exhaling slowly, rubbing blearily at her eyes as she gazed towards the screen.
The remnants of the previous evening were etched beneath her eyes—dark crescents that spoke louder than any words could about the sleep that had eluded her.
Her aunt had often dissected her life choices with surgical precision, each incision a reminder of their shared blood and diverging paths. Rachel had responded with nods and noncommittal grunts for years... But now? Her aunt simply hadn't been able to let it go. Maybe it was because Ethan had been there--she'd felt embarrassed. Or maybe it had simply been one straw too many.
A yawn betrayed her then, stretching her mouth wide before she could stifle it. Rachel shook her head slightly, as if the motion could dislodge the weariness that threatened to calcify her thoughts. She refocused on the screen, on the endless scroll of data that might lead her to a killer. Her eyes scanned the information hungrily, seeking the morsel that would satiate her hunger for justice.
She'd requested arrest and insubordination reports from multiple military bases and SWAT teams across the state. But they hadn't made things easy, and now, she was forced to meticulously comb through the information.
She felt a sudden breeze, and she glanced back as the interrogation room's door swung open with a buoyancy that seemed at odds with the solemnity of its walls. Ethan Morgan stepped through, his shadow stretching long and warm across the linoleum, a stark contrast to the cold fluorescence overhead. His grin was a slash of white against the morning stubble, a lightness in the dense room.
"Morning, sunshine," he called out, his voice a smooth pebble tossed into the still pond of Rachel's concentration.
Rachel glanced up, her fingers stalling mid-type, the clack of keys yielding to silence. She took a moment, allowing herself the luxury of a half-smile. "Ethan," she acknowledged, the weariness around her eyes softening for an instant. "You're chipper."
"Someone's got to be," he quipped, sauntering over to her desk with the easy gait of a man who had known rest.
Her gaze followed him—a brief respite—as he dropped his jacket over the back of his chair. Rachel drew in a breath, the air seemingly thicker with the weight of unspoken apologies. She hadn't mentioned the experience back at her aunt's.
And to his credit, neither had he.
She turned back to her keyboard, yet the letters blurred, a fog of last night's memories clouding her view.
Ethan sat at the table, still smiling--no sign of the strange crucible he'd been placed through the previous night.
She sighed, studying the side of his face as he pulled out his own laptop, placing it on the table.
"About last night," she began, her voice quieter now. "I'm sorry you had to see all that... " The words were stiff, like the collar of a shirt starched too heavily.
Ethan waved a dismissive hand, his smile never faltering. "Hey, no sweat. My uncle once made me skin every groundhog he shot." He chuckled, pulling the chair from under his desk and settling in.
She managed a dry laugh, her lips curving reluctantly. "Glad one of us enjoyed the evening's entertainment."
"Always," Ethan said, tapping the edge of his desk with a rhythm that spoke of an inner melody only he could hear. He leaned forward, elbows on thighs, eyes meeting hers. "You're doing fine, Rach. We all have our battles."
Rachel's shoulders tensed, then relaxed—an admission of the truth in his words. "Thanks, Ethan," she murmured, turning back to her screen.
He opened his own computer, its startup chime a herald to the day's work.
Rachel’s fingers paused mid-stroke, hovering above the keyboard as she turned towards Ethan. "I pulled some records," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of weariness pressing against her temples. On the screen before her, a series of scanned documents from the military police flickered.
"Resourceful as ever," Ethan remarked, skirting around the table, still seated, and peering over her shoulder at the digital paper trail spread out like a roadmap.
"Check this out," Rachel continued, clicking on a file that expanded with an almost imperceptible lag. Her eyes scanned the contents, a tactical dance of irises that absorbed every word. "I've narrowed the list."
"How long have you been up?"
"A while," she said sheepishly.
"Right... Need a coffee?"
"Need all of it. But forget that for now. See? I've narrowed things down. I kept it in tight parameters. Sniper school. Two suspects. Both ex-military. Dishonorable discharges for conduct unbecoming."
"Nice catch." Ethan's voice was low, appreciative. His attention was laser-locked onto the screen, absorbing the details as Rachel scrolled through the service records and incident reports.
