His eyebrows lift. His entire body stills.
My throat goes dry. “I don’t know,” I add quickly, like I can outrun the way the words land. “It’s grainy. It’s not— it’s not a slam dunk. But the location, the timing… the shape of?—”
I stop myself. My tongue feels too heavy.
Bishop’s voice drops. “Show me.”
I hesitate. My hand hovers over my phone, then presses play.
The short clip plays. Something low-resolution and cruel. The kind of image that gives you just enough to ruin your ability to sleep.
I turn the screen toward Bishop. Bishop watches without blinking. The video loops again.
Again.
Again.
When it ends, Bishop doesn’t speak right away.
He just stares at the frozen frame like it’s a door he’s afraid to open.
Finally, he exhales through his nose—slow, careful.
“That could be her,” he says.
My entire body reacts like I’ve been hit. Not relief. Not joy. Something bigger. Something that hurts.
My fingers grip around the phone. “Taylor sent the make and model to the police—if they can match it to anything, I might know tomorrow.”
After a while, Bishop clears his throat.
“This is big, Nathan…forget going out,” he says.
Bishop shifts like he’s about to speak again, then stops when his phone buzzes.
He glances down at the screen.
But the name flashes like a flare in the dim light.
Jade Sinclair
His mouth quirks. “Damn.”
“What?” I ask.
“I told some people I’d meet them. But I’m gonna cancel.”
I shake my head. “No, go don’t cancel. A man is only as good as his word.”
He hesitates, then comes back in and grips the back of my neck for a second—firm. Grounding.
“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For still being here,” he says. “Most people would’ve turned to dust.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t know what to do with that.
