A beat. “Fine.” He rinsed his hands.
It was a lie, but Burke let it go. “Let’s get everyone on the same page.”
Scout slung on his jacket and strode out. Burke lingered, watching the door swing shut. He’d watched Wilson carry bad hits before; this felt a lot like one of them.
Special Agent Tessa Quinn
Tessa stepped into the station. Her hair was pulled into a neat knot, makeup light, a small flesh-toned bandage cutting cleanly across the faint bruise at her temple. Her composure was nearly perfect.
She prayed it would hold.
Inside the conference room, the heater clanked. Scout was already there, bent over a case file, sleeves shoved high on his forearms. His hair still damp and the stubble still on his chin.
Their eyes met—a spark, quick and electric—then gone. The flicker rattled her more than she’d allow.
She slid into the seat across from him. Every motion careful, deliberate.
It’s over. This is work. Don’t let them see through you.
Deputy Scout Wilson
He knew she was there before he looked up. Last night felt a thousand years away. Now she was all business—efficient, composed, like she could turn emotion on and off with a switch.
He turned the page too sharply; it snapped under his finger.
Guilt rattled in his chest, steady, familiar.
Burke’s entrance was a mercy.
Denton entered with McHan, sleet melting on his collar. He registered the charged stillness first. Tessa and Scout sat opposite each other, an invisible gulf stretched taut between them—both too composed.
Tessa looked undisturbed. Scout looked like a man who’d lost a fight with himself.
Even Denton seemed to feel it; his gaze flicked between them before hedeliberately took the chair beside her—closer than necessary.
Sheriff Burke Scott
He set his coffee down with a dull thunk. “Alright. Let’s get to it.”
He nodded to Tessa. “What’ve we got from the journal?”
She opened the folder, voice steady—only a slight tremor in her fingers betraying anything human beneath the badge.
“First page is addressed directly: If you’re reading this, I’m alive. But he won’t let me leave until the story is finished.”
The words landed hard. Even McHan quit shifting.
Scout leaned forward. “Means she’s writing under duress. Whoever took her wants something specific.”
“Personal,” Burke added.
Tessa slid a photocopy across the table. Their hands almost touched. Heat flared.
She sat perfectly still—because if she let herself feel anything, her mask would crack wide open.
“Sara wrote down four names before she vanished. Raines. Keller. Sinclair. Coach Benton. All connected to Lauren Pierce. All on campus.”
McHan whistled softly. “You think the same person who took Parker went after Pierce?”
