It was raining cats and dogs.
They brought the suspect in at 8.
Handcuffs too tight.
Shirt inside out.
Smelling of alcohol and panic.
The CCTV footage looped endlessly on the screen behind the glass.
A man running from the alley.
The same alley.
The same time window.
That was enough for everyone.
"Finally," someone muttered.
Rhea stood with a file pressed to her chest, already tired. Officers moved with the sharp relief of people who wanted this to be over.
The man's name was Loan Benny.
Married.
Two kids.
Worked in a warehouse.
No criminal history except unpaid traffic fines and one public intoxication charge.
He kept saying the same thing.
"I was running because my wife found out."
No one laughed.
No one cared.
"She saw the messages. She came to my friend's place. She started screaming. I panicked."
Noah stood at the back of the room, arms crossed.
Eyes hollow.
Jaw tight enough to crack teeth.
Another officer scoffed. "So you just happened to be cheating near a murder scene?"
Loan's voice broke. "I didn't know anyone died. I swear. I swear on my children."
Noah didn't react.
He'd already decided.
He hated himself for how easily it came.
Evan arrived fifteen minutes later.
Hair damp from rain.
Face pale.
Eyes already tired, like he had been carrying something heavy since morning.
The room quieted slightly when he stepped in.
Some stared. Some avoided looking at him at all.
He stopped beside Noah. Didn't touch him. Didn't dare.
"Why are you here?" Noah snapped. "Who let him in?"
Evan flinched.
But it wasn't important now.
He ignored Noah and watched the footage once. Twice.
His fingers curled slowly into his sleeve.
Then he spoke. "He's not the one."
Silence.
Someone laughed under their breath.
Rhea looked conflicted. "Evan—"
"No," Evan said softly. "This man is telling the truth."
Noah turned on him. "What?"
Evan didn't look at him.
"The killer wouldn't run like that. It's not panic. It's… messy. He's not messy."
"That's your argument?" Noah snapped. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"
Evan flinched.
"N–no… it's more than that."
Noah stepped closer.
Voice low. Dangerous.
"You were wrong last time."
The room froze.
Evan swallowed.
"I… know."
"And because of that mistake, someone is dead."
Evan's hands trembled.
"But this man—"
"No." Noah cut him off.
His eyes were red. Not wet. Burning.
"You don't get to do this again."
Evan finally looked at him. Really looked.
"I'm not lying."
"I don't care."
The words landed like a slap.
Loan sobbed quietly in the chair. No one listened.
Rhea looked between them, helpless. "Noah—"
"We're done," Noah said coldly. "Get him to holding."
The officers moved.
Loan screamed. "I didn't kill anyone! Please—please call my wife—please—"
The door shut. The room breathed again. Except Evan, He stood very still....Like if he moved, something inside him would fall apart. He whispered, "You're making a mistake."
Noah didn't answer. He walked out.
The call came at the reception an hour later.
Another murder. Near the station. Too near.
Like a challenge.
Same signature. Same precision. Same quiet cruelty.
Noah heard about it while washing blood off his hands that wasn't his.
The world tilted.
He arrived too late. Always too late. He didn't speak. Didn't shout. Didn't breathe properly. He only thought of Evan.
They found Evan in the hallway.
Standing near the wall.
Too pale.
Too still.
When Noah reached him, Evan's lips parted.
"It wasn't him," Evan whispered.
No accusation. No anger. Just a tired truth.
Noah opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"Look, Evan—"
The words barely left him when he noticed it.
The color draining. The unfocused eyes. The uneven breath.
"Evan?"
Evan swayed.
"No—"
His knees buckled.
Right there.
In front of Noah.
He collapsed.
His body hit the floor hard.
Unmoving.
The hallway exploded with voices.
Someone shouted for a medic.
Noah dropped beside him, hands shaking, heart choking his ribs.
"Evan."
No answer.
Only his shallow breath.
And the sound of another siren rising in the distance.