Elara Whitmore's POV

The news reached me the next morning, and for a moment I genuinely thought I had misread it, which would have been preferable because the alternative was significantly more inconvenient.

Alessandro Devereux had been granted bail.

I read it again, slower this time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something more reasonable. They didn't. The details were clear enough. Bail approved. Conditions applied. Release processed.

That's... convenient.

Except it wasn't just convenient. It was timed, and I didn't like things that were timed without explanation.

"You've been staring at that screen for five minutes," Sienna said, tapping her pen lightly against my notebook without looking up from her own notes. "Should I be concerned, or is this one of your normal intellectual crises?"

I didn't answer immediately, which was answer enough.

She glanced up then, following my line of sight to the laptop, her expression sharpening just slightly as she read. "That's... fast."

"That's the problem," I said, closing the screen halfway but not fully. "He's been in custody for days. He could have applied for bail at any point."

"And didn't."

"And didn't."

She leaned back in her chair, thinking, not dismissing it, which I appreciated more than I would say out loud. "So either he didn't care to get out... or he had a reason to wait."

I exhaled slowly. "People like him don't wait without a reason."

"People like him don't get arrested in the first place," she said mildly.

"Allegedly," I replied.

"Conveniently."

I ignored that, because she wasn't wrong and that was becoming a pattern I didn't enjoy. My gaze drifted back to the laptop screen.

Bail granted.

Just like that.

After yesterday.

I picked up my pen, tapping it once against the notebook before flipping back to the timeline, because structure was easier than speculation, and right now I needed something that didn't shift every time I looked at it.

9:25 — disturbance
9:26 — system alert
9:28 — internal activity
9:42 — arrival

"He said he arrived before nine thirty," I said, more to myself than to her.

Sienna leaned slightly closer, not interrupting, just following. "That lines up."

"Too well."

"That's not usually your complaint."

"It is when it feels placed."

She didn't respond immediately, which meant she was actually thinking about it instead of just arguing, which was new and mildly concerning.

"You think the timeline is constructed," she said finally.

"I think parts of it are," I corrected. "Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to hold."

She tapped her pen once against the table. "And he fits into that how?"

"That's the problem," I said. "He fits too cleanly."

"And you don't like clean."

"I like accurate."

"Same difference for you."

I didn't argue that.

Instead, I flipped the page and stopped, my thoughts shifting back to something that had nothing to do with timestamps or system logs and everything to do with the conversation from yesterday.

"You don't like incomplete things."

I frowned faintly. That's not specific. That's just... observant. Anyone could say that.

"Consistency."

My grip on the pen tightened slightly. That could still be about the case.

"You're part of it."

That one didn't sit right.

Not professionally. Not logically.

Just... there.

"That was not a normal conversation," I said quietly.

Sienna didn't look up this time. "You went to speak to a murder suspect. I don't think normal was an option."

"He wasn't focused on the case."

"That's interesting."

"It's not helpful."

"It's still interesting."

I leaned back slightly, exhaling through my nose. "He didn't answer directly. Everything was angled, like he was... waiting."

"For you to ask something specific?"

"Or for me to notice something."

She went still for a second, then glanced at me properly. "That's a very different problem."

"I'm aware."

"And you still went alone."

"I'm also aware of that."

She held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once, like she was filing that away for later instead of arguing about it now. That was new.

That's worse. She's thinking.

"I don't think he's trying to prove anything," I said, looking back down at the notes. "If he was, he would have said something. Anything."

"So he's not defending himself."

"No."

"And now he's out on bail anyway."

"Yes."

"That's... bold."

"That's calculated."

"Or reckless."

"He's not reckless."

"You've met him once."

"That was enough."

Sienna's expression shifted slightly at that, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she reached for my notebook, pulling it closer to her side of the table without asking.

"Walk me through it again," she said. "From before he arrived."

I didn't hesitate.

"Disturbance first. Then system response. Then internal activity."

"And him last."

"Yes."

She traced the sequence with her finger, slower than I had, like she was trying to see it differently instead of just confirming it. "So whatever happened... started before he got there."

"Yes."

"And he still stayed."

"Yes."

She leaned back, exhaling softly. "That's either very stupid or very intentional."

"He's not stupid."

"So intentional."

"That's what it looks like."

She nodded once, then pushed the notebook back toward me, her fingers lingering on the page for just a second like she was still thinking it through. "Then stop trying to make him fit as the starting point."

I looked up at her, a small frown forming before I could stop it. "I'm not."

Her eyebrow lifted slightly, not dramatic, just enough to be annoying. "You are a little."

"I'm adjusting," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms loosely. Which is not the same thing. It's just... a slower version of being right.

"You're resisting."

"I'm being careful," I replied, a little sharper than intended, tapping my pen once against the table like that would make it sound more reasonable.

She tilted her head, studying me in that quiet, irritatingly accurate way she had. "You're being stubborn."

I held her gaze for a second, then exhaled softly, the tension easing just enough to admit it. "That too."

A brief pause settled between us, not uncomfortable, just... full.

"He waited," I said after a moment.

"For bail?"

"Yes."

"Until after you met him."

"Yes."

She didn't respond immediately this time.

Which meant she had noticed it too.

"I don't like that," she said finally.

"Neither do I."

"Do you think it's connected?"

I hesitated, just for a second. Say no. Be reasonable.

"I don't know," I said instead.

"That's worse."

"I'm aware."

She watched me for a moment, then sighed softly, leaning back in her chair. "Okay. So what are you going to do about it?"

I looked down at the timeline again, at the same sequence that refused to sit properly, then at the notes beside it, then at the space between them where something was clearly missing.

"Keep working," I said. "Because whatever this is—"

"It's not finished," she completed.

"No," I said quietly. "It's not."

I closed the notebook slowly, my thoughts settling into something sharper, more focused, like everything unnecessary was finally being filtered out. Because the more I looked at it, the clearer one thing became: he hadn't started this, and more importantly, he hadn't explained it. And now he had stepped out of custody without changing anything. No statement, no denial, no attempt to fix it. Just... still there, at the center, like he had no intention of moving. That's not how this works. That's not how anyone behaves if they want to get out of this.

I picked up my pen again, tapping it once against the table before stilling it, because the thought didn't leave. It stayed exactly where it was, quiet and persistent. So either he doesn't care... or he knows something I don't.

That's not normal.

No.

It wasn't.

And this time—

I couldn't convince myself otherwise.