The station smelled like burnt coffee and cold dust, a tired building worn down by years of other people’s disasters. Van pushed through the door first, his shoulders squared, jaw tight, anger radiating from him in palpable waves. Ivy followed close behind, clutching on to Chloe’s hand while Billy steadily kept his pace beside her, solemn-eyed and silent. Boyd and Dan brought up the rear, a little hesitant, their steps faltering for half a beat at the threshold, but loyalty kept them moving forward.The receptionist barely looked up from her computer. She gestured with two fingers toward the cracked vinyl chairs lined up against the wall. "Someone’ll be with you."Van didn’t sit. He stood, pacing a slow, sharp line across the floor like a caged animal, his boots tapping a steady rhythm against the scratched linoleum. Ivy sat with the kids, whispering something to keep them calm, while Boyd and Dan exchanged looks but said nothing. They had known Van long enough to recognize this parti

The next morning arrived cloaked in a thick, stubborn mist.Van sat at the kitchen table, fingers drumming a slow, restless rhythm against the wood. The twins chased each other around the living room, shrieking with laughter. Ivy moved between them and the stove, trying to keep some fragile sense of normal.But normal had left the building the moment Van stepped into that station.The shrill ring of his phone cut through the noise like a blade. Van snatched it up before the second ring."Van Everest?" a clipped voice asked."Speaking.""This is Officer Raúl Mendes. You came by the station yesterday, left a message."Van stood up without realizing it, moving instinctively toward the window. Outside, their narrow estate street looked calm — but he felt the weight of eyes on him, imagined whispers carried on the mist."I need to see you," Van said, voice steady.There was a pause on the line. Raúl wasn’t quick to agree. He was weighing things, calculating — just like Van expected.Finall

The tiny interrogation room smelled of coffee grounds and cheap disinfectant.Van sat at a metal table while Officer Lange — a thin man with sharp knuckles and tired eyes — set a battered laptop between them, the clack of keys loud in the stillness.“Just for record-keeping,” Lange said, sliding a form across the table. “Your statement, in your words. Then you’ll sign."Van picked up the pen without a word. His hands were steady. They had to be.As he wrote, the memories bled out — reluctant, stubborn things that didn’t want to be touched.He didn't glance at Lange again until he dropped the pen with a soft clatter and shoved the paper back across the table."You’ll get a copy," Lange said, not looking up from the screen.Van leaned back, letting his head rest against the cool concrete wall.Through the tiny square of glass in the door, he could see movement — Raúl speaking with someone, gesturing sharply.The meeting was already being set.Van closed his eyes briefly. And, against hi

Van sat alone in the parking lot for a long time after the meeting ended, rain streaking the windshield in thin, crooked lines.The world outside blurred into shapes — gray buildings, hunched figures, headlights crawling like sluggish insects.He should have driven home.He should have gone back to Ivy, to his kids, to the life he was trying so hard to hold onto.Instead, he found himself tapping out a message to Officer Raúl.Van: You said there was a video. Bianca's apology. I want to see it.Raúl’s reply came almost instantly, curt and without pleasantries.Raúl: Come back inside. Room 2C. Ask for Lange.Van stared at the screen for a beat, then shoved the door open and walked back through the cold.★★★Room 2C was smaller than he expected, barely more than a closet with a chair, a table, and a battered computer monitor.Officer Lange was already waiting, arms folded, expression unreadable."You sure you want to see this?" he asked.Van nodded once.Without another word, Lange hit

By morning, Van’s exhaustion had settled into something harder, sharper.He moved through the kitchen like a machine, fixing breakfast for the kids, kissing Ivy goodbye as she wrangled them into coats and backpacks.He didn’t mention the phone call.Or the black car.Or the fingerprints.He needed answers before he dragged his family any deeper into the quicksand.When the door shut behind them, Van grabbed his jacket and keys, heading straight for the station without warning Raúl or Lange.If they weren’t going to treat him like a real part of this investigation, fine.He would do it himself.★★★The precinct lobby buzzed with the usual noise, but Van barely registered it.He made a beeline for the records office — a cramped room stuffed with filing cabinets and bored clerks pretending to work."Morning," Van said, flashing a tight smile at the woman behind the counter."I’m supposed to pick up some paperwork. Officer Lange said he left it for me."The woman didn’t even blink. She ju