I stood beside my sister’s coffin, one hand on the tiny casket ribbon meant for the baby she never got to hold, when her husband walked in with his mistress on his arm. My bl:ood ran cold. ‘You really thought I wouldn’t find out?’ I said, flashing my badge. For weeks, I’d gathered every lie, every message, every trace of bl:ood. And when I exposed him in front of everyone, his smile vanished—but that was only the beginning.

The interior of the Victorian house was pitch black, filled with the shadows of dust-covered furniture. I slipped in through the back door, trailing behind the tactical unit, my service weapon drawn. I didn't care about department policy tonight; this was personal.

We heard the creak of the floorboards upstairs. Victor was heading straight for Elise’s old room.

I moved up the staircase, every step memorized from my childhood, avoiding the ones that squeaked. The rain pounded against the roof, masking our approach.

I reached the doorway of Elise's room. Inside, Victor was kneeling on the floor, a flashlight clamped in his mouth, frantically prying up the loose floorboard with a crowbar. He reached into the dark cavity and pulled out a small, metallic flash drive. He let out a ragged sigh of relief.

“Looking for this?” I said, stepping into the doorway and flicking on the room's overhead light.

Victor spun around, dropping the crowbar. He looked wildly at the four SWAT officers leveling rifles at his chest, and then at me.

“It’s over, Victor,” I said, my voice eerily calm.

He clutched the flash drive in his fist. For a second, I saw the violent impulse flash in his eyes—the urge to fight, to destroy the evidence. But the red laser sights dancing on his chest told him it was a losing battle.

“You set me up,” he growled, slowly raising his hands.

“I just gave you enough rope,” I replied. I walked over, pried his fingers open, and took the drive. It was cold and heavy. “Elise always said I was observant. You should have paid closer attention to the quiet ones.”