I dropped off the footage at the Sector 47 precinct without fanfare. Grant wasn't in—likely handling a different leg of the case—but the night shift officer took the drive with both hands and a stiff nod. I signed off on the chain of evidence, then stepped back into the city.
The cold evening air nipped at the edge of my coat, a whisper of rain threading through the wind. I walked.
I needed to think.
Not about what came next, not yet. Just about what I'd seen.
Lea said the intruder was thin. Their skin very pale with long, messy hair. Someone who didn't talk. Someone who stood still in the dark and smiled.
The girl in the footage?
She wasn't thin. Not bulky either—just... solid. Broad-shouldered. A strength to her stance that made her stand out even in the blurred edge of the frame. Her hair wasn't tangled; it was long, yes, but brushed to one side, concealing part of her face like she meant it that way. Intentional.
And her skin—definitely not pale.
