For a moment, I hear nothing else. Not the traffic on Caldwell’s end. Not the apartment. Not the water. Just those three words landing and taking the warmest part of the morning with them.
“When?”
“Last night. They are still piecing together how. It looks internal, or close enough to internal that the distinction might not matter. Someone moved resources, timing, access, all of it. The same network that kept feeding him while he was contained decided he was more useful out.”
My towel is cold against my skin now. My hair drips onto the floor. I stare at the coffee table, at the blanket still folded over thearm of the couch, at the evidence of a room where I had almost let myself believe the day could start softly and stay that way.
“He is tied to this,” I say.
“We do not have proof yet.”
“But you called me.”
“Yes.”
I look toward the bathroom again. Emrys is quiet now. Kade is too. They know something has changed even if they cannot hear the words. The pack is in the other room, warm and close and real enough that leaving it feels like tearing skin.
Caldwell keeps talking. Facility breach, timing, possible internal help, teams already moving. I should be writing it down. Instead, I stand in Emrys’s living room, dripping water onto the floor, holding the phone too tightly and listening to the case walk back into the apartment without knocking.
Hex is out.
The Vesper is no longer a loose overlap. Cardinal is no longer a separate shadow. The thing that touched Emrys, Kade, and the life we have barely started building has a door open somewhere and a man moving through it.
The bathroom door opens behind me.
I turn and find them standing there, Emrys wrapped in a towel with Kade behind him, one hand on his shoulder. Emrys takes one look at my face, and whatever question he was about to ask disappears.
“Skylar?” he whispers.
I lower the phone from my ear, Caldwell still talking against my palm, and force the words out because the morning is already over and they need to hear it from me.
“Hex got out.”
Skylar
Emrys and Kade don't try to stop me from leaving. They stand in the doorway of the apartment while I pull on my coat. Emrys reaches up and straightens the collar with careful fingers. Kade's hand rests briefly on the back of my neck, a steady weight that says more than words.
"Stay safe," Emrys says, voice quiet but firm.
Kade echoes it with a low rumble that's not quite a command and not quite a request. I nod once, because anything morewould feel like a promise I can't keep right now. Then I step into the hallway and close the door behind me.
The station is chaos when I arrive.
People move too fast through the bullpen, voices overlapping in sharp bursts of adrenaline and blame. Hex is loose. The words travel through the room like a live wire. Someone has already pulled every file connected to the case. Someone else is yelling about perimeter checks and traffic cameras. The building feels like it's running on fumes and fury, every officer trying to outpace the fact that a serial killer they thought was locked down has slipped the net. I expect to be pulled into it immediately. I expect someone to hand me a stack of reports or point me toward a screen with new footage. Instead, two officers I barely know intercept me before I reach my desk.
Morrison wants to see me. Now.
The office is small and too warm. Morrison sits behind her desk with her silver hair pulled into its usual severe bun. Two other officers stand near the wall, arms crossed, faces set in expressions that have already decided the shape of this conversation. I stay on my feet because no one offers me a chair. The door closes behind me with a quiet click that sounds louder than it should.
Morrison leans back in her chair and studies me like I'm a problem she's finally decided to solve. "You've been digging into things that aren't yours to dig into, Grayson. Connections to the victim in the West Talbot assault. Connections to the former suspect. And now you're bringing task force names into a local investigation like you have some kind of authority here that the rest of us don't."
I keep my voice level. "The victim is connected to Rourke Securities because the network that targeted him is the same one that's been interfering with the Hex case for months. The VesperHotel thread and the Cardinal Network aren't local problems. They're supply lines. I followed the evidence where it led."
One of the other officers shifts his weight. "You followed it straight into the bed of the victim and the former suspect. That's what it looks like from where we're standing."
The words land exactly as they're meant to. I feel the old armor try to rise and then falter, because the accusation isn't entirely wrong. I've mixed the parts of my life I've always kept separate. I have cedar and vanilla on my skin and in my clothes, and the station smells like old coffee and stress instead of home. I try to explain the shell companies, the donation routing, the way the approaches to Rourke Securities match the pattern that's been protecting Hex for years. Morrison listens without interrupting. When I finish, she doesn't look convinced.
"Take some time," she says. Her voice is flat. "Come back when you have a clear head. We're pulling you off the active investigation for now. The task force can handle the Hex side. You focus on getting your priorities straight."
