Burke’s jaw tightened. “You ever meet with Lauren Pierce after hours?”
Sinclair blinked once—like he hadn’t expected the question.
“I spoke to her when she needed something,” he said. “Admin work. Scheduling. Nothing unusual.”
“Campus security says different,” Tessa said.
Sinclair’s smile held, but it went thinner at the edges. “Excuse me?”
“A guard remembers seeing you with her late,” Burke said. “Faculty lounge. Lights off except a lamp by the window. Just the two of you.”
The basement seemed to get colder.
Sinclair let out a quiet breath, more offended than rattled. “This is what we’re doing now?”
“It’s what we have to do,” Burke said.
Sinclair’s eyes flicked to Scout, then back. “I didn’t hurt that girl. If I spoke to her after hours, it was because she asked. Because she worked late. Like half this campus.”
“Do you remember the night?” Tessa asked.
A beat.
Sinclair shrugged, too casual. “No.”
Burke wrote it down anyway. Not because it proved anything—because it meant Sinclair had been closer to Lauren than he’d admitted.
Tessa closed her notebook. “We’ll have forensics go through the records. Thank you.”
“If it brings her peace,” Sinclair said.
Hallway — Moments Later
As they stepped back into the stairwell, Burke rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Hate dragging Preston into this.”
“Still owes me fifty bucks,” Scout muttered.
Tessa said nothing, eyes catching the last of the daylight through the high windows.
Somewhere between truth and pretense, the stories were beginning to align.
Outside, students hurried past, the world already moving on.
The ground was closing over Lauren?—
and if they didn’t move faster,
it might close over Sara too.
Tessa’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
She stopped walking.
Burke glanced back. Scout’s hand drifted—subtle, automatic—toward his sidearm. Not drawing. Just ready.
Tessa pulled the phone out.
Unknown Number.
