Evan didn't mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out between sips of over-steeped tea, in Noah's kitchen, while the city bruised itself purple outside the windows.
"He won't kill tonight," Evan said.
Noah flinched and paused mid-scroll through case files. "Are you sure?"
Evan frowned at the steam rising from his mug like it might rearrange itself into an answer.
"The last two crimes were followed by silence," he said slowly. "Always a pause. Like… a breath between notes. He resets."
Noah watched him like how some people watch weather forecasts.
Not critically, but religiously.
"So tomorrow," Noah said.
Evan nodded once. Careful. Almost shy.
"Tomorrow night."
Noah shut his laptop.
That was it.
At the station, the room was loud with skepticism.
Maps. Coffee. Skepticism wearing badges.
"You're betting the entire night shift on a feeling?" the captain snapped.
Noah didn't raise his voice. He never did when he was angry.
"It's not a feeling."
"It's a civilian guess."
Noah leaned forward. Palms flat on the table.
"It's Evan."
Silence.
Somewhere, a printer coughed.
"We patrol as usual," the captain said. "High-risk zones. All units active."
Noah shook his head. "You'll spook him."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
That was new.
That certainty.
That crack in his voice.
The captain stared at him intensely like he'd grown another shadow.
"You're standing down," he said finally.
Noah smiled politely and walked out.
Three officers followed him anyway.
Because Noah didn't bend rules.
He made them feel optional.
At home, Evan waited, alone...
He tried to read. Couldn't.
Tried to sleep. Didn't.
His phone lay face-down on the table like a small, obedient animal.
He told himself it was quiet because he was right.
He told himself patterns were real.
He told himself he wasn't shaking.
But there it was...A MURDER. It happened....
The murder happened at 10:43 PM.
In a laundromat that smelled like burnt soap and loneliness.
The victim was seventeen.
The machine was still spinning.
Blood crawled into the drain like it was tired.
Noah found out at 10:58.
A voice on the radio.
A location he hadn't marked.
A sound in his chest like something tearing wet paper.
He didn't say anything.
He just turned the car around.
Drove.
Faster than he ever had.
Evan heard the sirens first.
They braided through the night.
Beautiful.
Ugly.
Wrong.
He stood.
His hands went cold.
He didn't know why.
Only that something had cracked open in the world.
Noah arrived too late.
Always too late.
Yellow tape.
Flashing lights.
A body already becoming a story no one would tell gently.
He stared.
Not at the blood.
At the shape of it.
Wrong pattern.
Wrong timing.
Wrong.
His phone buzzed.
It was Evan.
Noah didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He stood there while guilt rearranged his organs.
While officers whispered.
While the captain's disappointment became a physical thing.
This was his fault.
Not legally.
Something worse.
Privately.
Evan called again.
Noah picked up on the fifth ring.
"Tell me I was wrong," Evan said immediately.
Noah closed his eyes.
"Yes."
The word felt like breaking glass in his mouth.
Silence.
Then:
"…Someone died."
Noah nodded, even though Evan couldn't see.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Longer.
Sick.
"I said tomorrow," Evan whispered.
"I know."
"I said..."
"I know."
Evan sat down hard on the floor.
"I don't make mistakes like this."
Noah pressed his forehead to the steering wheel.
"You did."
Not cruel.
Not gentle.
Just true.
Evan laughed once.
A broken sound.
"They trusted me."
"I trusted you."
That landed worse.
That night, Evan didn't sleep.
He kept seeing the girl's face.
A face he'd never seen.
A face his brain invented anyway.
Noah didn't come over.
Didn't call again.
Didn't exist.
And Evan realized something slowly, horribly clearly:
He hadn't just been wrong.
He had been believed.
And belief was heavier than blood.
He curled into himself on the kitchen floor and whispered to no one:
"I didn't mean to."
The city didn't answer.
Somewhere, the killer washed their hands.
And far away, Noah sat in his car until sunrise, trying to decide which hurt more:
That Evan was wrong.
Or that he still trusted him anyway.