The air hit warmer here, heavier than the ranch, carrying the faint mix of exhaust and city heat.
The officer behind the wheel didn’t say much—just a quick glance, a nod, and then they were moving.
The city crawled past in flashes of glare and hard shadow, traffic thick, people moving like nothing had shifted.
The vibration of the road ran steadily through the vehicle, grounding everything in motion.
He’d already worked through the parts that mattered. Sage had seen the photos, recognized the girl, and left without a word.
That wasn’t distance. Wasn’t control. That was personal, and personal changed the math fast.
He’d seen it before.
Sage didn’t ask. Didn’t share. He carried it until it broke or he did.
His jaw tightened, pressure settling in and staying there.
The dead woman and this Ashley person meant something to him. Enough that he’d walked away from the scene—and whatever he was doing now, he was doing it alone on purpose.
Law stared out at the city.
Not this time.
He stepped over the threshold and inside the small duplex.
Same layout Boston had described, same tight living room bleeding into the kitchen—but he wasn’t reading it the way Sage would’ve. Law took it in once, quickly, eyes tracking people first.
The air inside felt close, holding onto the smell of the place—stale, lived-in, something under it that didn’t belong.
Boston stood off to the side, shoulders set. Micah was quieter, watchful, something held back behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Law gave them both a single nod.
“This way,” Boston said, already turning.
Law followed without hesitation, pace steady as they moved past the main room and toward the hallway.
The floor gave faintly under his weight, the house settling around them.
The smell of death carried before the sight did—faint now, but still there.
It lingered in the back of his throat, metallic, unmistakable.
Boston didn’t slow as he reached the doorway at the end. He stepped aside just enough to clear the line of sight.
Law stepped into the room.
Boston didn’t stop talking.
“You should’ve seen his face,” he said, words coming fast, almost tripping over each other. He shot a glance at Micah. “Right? He was white as a sheet when he saw the crime scene photos.”
Micah nodded in agreement.
Boston kept going. “I mean—Sage doesn’t react like that. Ever. He just—stopped. For a second. Then it was like something flipped and he went cold.”
Law didn’t look at him.
His gaze moved to a photo of two women on the wall—both young. Mid-twenties at most.
