The station was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that felt wrong. Outside the window, the late afternoon sky sagged under a weight of slate-gray clouds, promising rain that hadn’t yet come. Inside, the hum of fluorescent lights filled the air like an insect that wouldn’t die.
Detective Marcus Bennett sat at his desk, surrounded by a kingdom of paper: old files, cold cases, photographs that refused to give up their secrets. His coffee had gone cold two hours ago, but he still reached for it out of habit, lips brushing the rim before grimacing.
He shoved it aside.
The knock on the door came soft, almost apologetic—like whoever stood on the other side wanted to vanish as badly as they wanted to enter.
“Come in,” Bennett called, voice clipped but calm.
The door opened slowly, and a w
