Instead, I found broken furniture, bleach in the air, and dark stains someone had tried to scrub from our kitchen floor.

The air in the kitchen turned electric. The silence stretched between us, thin as a razor wire, as Vance and I locked eyes in the shadowed room.

He didn't draw his weapon, but the tension in his arm told me he was considering it. He was calculating the odds—a decorated city detective shooting a returning Marine inside his own home. It was a messy scenario, even for a corrupt cop.

"You're under a lot of stress, Walker," Vance said quietly, his grip on his gun easing slightly, though his posture remained aggressive. "You just got back from overseas. Shell shock, fatigue, seeing your wife in that bed... it does things to a man's head. You start seeing ghosts where there aren't any."

"I see a size twelve boot print under a blacklight, Vance," I said, holding his gaze. "I see a stun gun burn on my wife's neck. And I see a detective who hasn't asked me a single question about where I was or what I found."

Vance let out a quiet, dangerous laugh. "You think you're the first hero to come back from a war thinking he can fix everything with a gun and a bad attitude? Let me tell you how this works, Corporal."

"Sergeant," I corrected cold.

"Whatever," Vance sneered, taking a half-step closer. "Here's the reality. Your wife was found at 4th and Elm. We have two homeless witnesses who signed statements saying they saw a black sedan drop her off. We have a chain of custody on the evidence. The case is open, closed, and wrapped in a bow. You go poking around in things you don't understand, you're going to end up interfering with an official investigation. And that's a felony."

"Is it a felony to ask why Richard Carter lied to the doctors?"

Vance’s eyes narrowed. "Judge Carter is a respected man. He saved your wife’s life by getting her to St. Matthew’s fast. If I were you, I’d be thanking him instead of throwing wild accusations around."

"He told them I couldn't be reached."

"Maybe he didn't want you coming home and making a mess like you're doing right now," Vance snapped. He stepped right up to me, until his face was inches from mine. He smelled of cheap cigars and mints. "Go back to the hospital, Walker. Sit by your wife’s bed. Pray she wakes up. And leave the police work to me. If I catch you creeping around this property again without my permission, I'll arrest you for obstruction."

He turned on his heel and walked out the back door, letting it slam shut behind him.

I waited until I heard his car door slam out on the street and his engine roar away into the distance.

Then I moved fast.

I grabbed Marcus's forensic bag, packed up the blacklight, and locked the back door. Vance hadn't come to investigate; he had come to check if I was finding anything that contradicted their official narrative. And now he knew I was onto them.

Which meant Sophia was no longer safe in that hospital room.

If Richard and Vance were working together to cover up an attack that took place inside my house, they couldn't afford to let Sophia wake up and tell the truth. As long as she was in a coma, she was a tragedy. The moment she opened her eyes and said Richard did this or Vance did this, she became a witness.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was an unknown number.

I answered it, keeping my voice low as I stepped out into the bright autumn sunlight. "Yeah?"

"Ethan," a trembling, frantic voice came through the speaker. It was Samuel. "They found me."

My heart dropped. "Who found you?"

"The men in the dark car," Samuel gasped. Heavy breathing rattled through the receiver, accompanied by the sound of boots running over gravel. "I went back to my spot near the tracks to get my things... they were waiting for me, Ethan! They got weapons!"

"Where are you right now, Samuel?" I demanded, sprinting down the driveway toward my F-150.

"The old lumber yard on 8th Street! The abandoned warehouse by the river!"

A loud metallic crash echoed over the phone, followed by Samuel yelling, then a muffled scuffle.

"Samuel!" I yelled, jumping into the truck and throwing it into reverse.

"Don't trust the judge!" Samuel screamed into the phone. "He's selling her! He's selling the—"

A sharp gunshot cracked through the speaker, followed by dead silence.

"Samuel!"

Nothing. Just the sound of the wind blowing through a broken phone mic.

Then a new voice came on the line. Cold, smooth, and entirely unbothered.