Detective Evelyn Holt sat at the evidence table, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as she studied Aiden. The precinct's fluorescent lighting buzzed above them, casting a pale glow over the photographs, case files, and forensic reports spread out like the remnants of a shattered puzzle. The air was thick with the weight of unanswered questions.
Aiden ran a hand over his face, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. It was pushing well into the early morning hours with no real sleep, and his body was beginning to feel it—his mind too sluggish, his thoughts looping, replaying the same details over and over.
And still, it wasn't enough.
"We need to go over it again," Aiden said, breaking the heavy silence.
Holt let out a slow, deliberate sigh. The kind meant to test his patience. "Aiden, we've been over it. Multiple times already."
"We are not stopping until we find actual proof."
"Aiden—"
"I'm not letting this slide. I know we missed something," he insisted, shaking off the exhaustion creeping into his voice.
Across the table, Aaron Gutierrez—one of the younger forensic analysts—rubbed his eyes, barely keeping up. "Man, I need at least another coffee before we start this again."
Shariff Sharma, on the other hand, looked annoyingly awake. He leaned forward, rifling through the case files, eyes sharp and focused despite the long hours.
"Actually, I wouldn't mind another pass through the scene," Shariff admitted, flipping a page and barely glancing up. "There's something odd about some of these inconsistencies. Maybe we're looking at this wrong."
Holt shot him an unimpressed look. "You're encouraging him?"
Shariff smirked. "Hey, if Aiden thinks we missed something, I say we check. Worst case? We waste time. Best case? We find something everyone else overlooked."
Aiden pointedly ignored Holt's glare. "Exactly."
"Or," Holt drawled, rubbing her temples, "we're running in circles because you won't accept the most likely scenario."
Aiden frowned, shifting in his seat. Something in Holt's tone set him off.
"What are you getting at?"
But Holt had had enough.
"Why are you so insistent it wasn't Marisol?" she asked, voice edged with something between exhaustion and suspicion. "You met her last night, Aiden. One night. And you're willing to bet everything on her innocence? Meanwhile, your best friend's family is dead, and instead of grieving them, you're here playing detective for a girl you barely know."
Aiden's fingers stilled over the photo. He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, before lifting his gaze to Holt.
"You don't get it," he said. "Blood doesn't make family, Holt. Garrison made the effort. He raised her. He loves her. That makes her family. And I refuse to stand here and pretend otherwise just to make the pieces fit."
Holt let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. "You know? What, because of a gut feeling? Because you want to believe she's innocent?" She leaned forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're compensating for something."
Aiden stilled. Just for a second.
Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Holt did.
Aiden clenched his jaw. His instinct was to shut it down, to push her words away, but… she wasn't entirely wrong, was she? There was something deeper than logic driving him, pulling him toward this case with the same force that had pulled him toward the Core.
But he wasn't about to let Holt shake him.
Before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension.
"I'm with you, Aiden," said Aaron. He adjusted his gloves as he flipped through the report in front of him. "I mean, I'm just a tech, but I don't buy it either. Something about this whole thing doesn't add up."
Shariff, nodded in agreement. "Yeah. I don't like making calls before all the pieces are laid out. I think you're getting a little carried away holt."
Holt sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Christ. Fine. Maybe I was out of line." She looked at Aiden. "But drinks on you after all of this is over."
Aiden gave a nod of gratitude before refocusing on the evidence.
They moved through the case files together, laying out what they knew, piecing together the final moments of the crime scene. Blood patterns. Positions of the bodies. The timeline of events. Holt took notes in shorthand, Aaron worked through their digital archives, and Shariff—despite his usual composure—fidgeted slightly when the conversation drifted toward his personal life.
"So, Shariff," Aaron said as he loaded new scans of the scene, "how's your wife holding up?"
Shariff exhaled, glancing down at the table. "We're getting by." He gave a small, tired smile. "With the pregnancy, it's been rough. The treatments aren't easy, and working about the unborn babies with the treatments … well, let's just say I'm sleeping less than usual."
Aaron offered a sympathetic nod. "Man, that's a lot on your plate."
"Yeah. But she's strong." Shariff's voice softened. "She always has been."
Aiden listened quietly, his fingers absently running over a crime scene photo. But something—something—kept nagging at him.
His eyes drifted over the images again, a sense of unease crawling up his spine.
The shadows in the photos.
They weren't right.
Aiden had seen things like this before. In the Otherworld, before the shadows moved, before they transformed—they had looked just like this.
His stomach knotted.
"Hey," he said suddenly, interrupting the conversation. "These shadows."
Aaron raised a brow. "What about them?"
Aiden hesitated. He couldn't exactly say, They look like the things that tried to kill me in the Otherworld. Instead, he kept it vague. "They don't look natural. Look at the way they bend around the edges of the room. Doesn't that seem off to you?"
Shariff squinted, then shrugged. "Could be digital artifacts. Camera glitches. We've seen weirder things happen in crime scene photos."
"Yeah," Aaron agreed. "It's probably just some lighting anomaly or distortion. Not uncommon with how these photos process."
Aiden stared at the images, unease digging its claws deeper.
No. It wasn't a glitch.
He knew what he was looking at.
Something was there.
Something was watching.
He had to get in that house.
"I need to take another look," Aiden said abruptly, pushing away from the table. "In person."
Holt frowned. "Aiden, there's no need. We've got everything we need right here."
"Obviously not," he shot back. "Because something about this crime scene isn't right."
Holt's jaw tightened. "You're asking me to break protocol."
"Yeah," Aiden said flatly. "I am."
She narrowed her eyes.
Then sighed.
"Fine. Do what you have to do. Just don't get caught."
Aiden nodded, already pulling out his phone before stepping out of the room.
He needed to call Garrison.
Because it was his house. His daughter.
And Aiden didn't give a damn about skirting the rules if it meant getting to the truth.
As he stepped away to make the call, a voice crackled over the precinct radio.
"Dispatch, we have a confirmed missing person—Sophie Miller—returned to Whittier PD. Over."
Aiden stretched, forcing his exhaustion down.
His grip on the phone tightened.
Praying that he was wrong about this one.