Detective Mara Chen pressed her ear against the cold warehouse door. A piercing shriek cut through the silence — not a scream, but a smoke alarm, its wail slicing through the dark like a blade.
She pushed inside.
Water dripped from somewhere above. A leak in the roof sent a thin ribbon of moisture trailing down the far wall, pooling around a wooden crate that had no business being here. Mara crouched beside it, her flashlight tracing the edges.
That's when she noticed the pattern etched into the floor — a spiral of scratched lines radiating outward from beneath the crate, as though someone had stood in that exact spot for hours, turning slowly, carving circles with their heel. A nervous habit, maybe. Or a ritual.
She lifted the crate lid.
Inside: three envelopes, a broken watch, and a name written in red ink she didn't want to think too hard about.
The name was hers.
Footsteps behind her. She straightened slowly, hands rising.
"You weren't supposed to find this place," said a voice she recognized.
Captain Reeves. Her own captain.
Mara turned to face him, studying the guilt cracking across his features like old paint. He wanted her to surrender — she could see it in the way he held his breath, waiting for her to drop her guard, to hand over the envelopes and walk away.
She didn't.
"I found it," she said quietly. "And so did the DA's office. Twenty minutes ago."
The captain's hand trembled. The warehouse felt suddenly very small.
"It's over," Mara said. "You can stop pretending now."