Sleep never came.
I'd tried—closed my eyes, shifted, replayed the day a hundred different ways—but my head wouldn't quiet down. Every time I thought I was close, the images returned: her voice in that conference room, the glint of her badge, the stunned silence in my team's car ride back.
By the time I finally gave up and sat up in bed, the clock on my nightstand read 7:58 p.m.
That was when I heard it, her voice downstairs. Soft, composed. Talking to Aline.
My chest tightened.
I stared at the bedroom door, the sound of her heels against the tiles growing closer until it stopped right outside. The handle turned, and there she was.
She paused in the doorway when she saw me awake, fingers still on the knob. For a second, neither of us said anything.
I broke it first. My voice came out colder than I intended.
"You're back."
"Yeah." Her reply was barely above a whisper.
