The printer in the Precinct Lab whirred, spitting out a single sheet of warm paper.
24 Hours Later.
Sarah stood over the machine. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She hadn't slept since she put the evidence bag on her nightstand.
"Detective?"
The Lab Technician, a young guy named Kevin who always smelled like hand sanitizer, held the paper. He didn't hand it to her. He was gripping it tight, his knuckles white.
"Give it to me, Kevin," Sarah said. Her voice was gravel.
"I ran it three times," Kevin stammered. He adjusted his glasses nervously. "I thought the machine was broken. I even recalibrated the sequencer."
"And?"
"It’s a perfect match."
Sarah snatched the paper. She scanned the data. The markers were identical.
"Who is it?" she asked, though a cold weight was already settling in h
