She dropped onto the couch, tugged the throw blanket over her, and closed her eyes against the pounding in her skull.
Tomorrow, she’d put the proof in front of Victoria. Tomorrow, she’d clear her name.
Sleep crept in slowly, uneasy and fractured, but one truth burned steadily through the haze: Isabel Torres wasn’t going down for something she hadn’t done.
The next morning, the precinct felt different. Louder. Closer. Every sound seemed sharper—the ring of the phones, the thud of file drawers, the scrape of chairs on the tile. Isabel’s nerves buzzed like exposed wire.
She’d told herself walking through the front doors was the bravest thing she could do. But now, with the phone full of evidence burning a hole in her pocket, it just felt reckless.
Her gaze swept the bullpen automatically, searching for one person. Darcy stood near the whiteboard, coffee in hand, her easy smile in place as she chatted with two uniforms about a traffic bust. Isabel’s stomach turned over.
She forced herself to move as if nothing had changed.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” she said evenly as she passed.
Darcy looked up with a warm smile. “Torres. Early start?”
“Yeah,” Isabel said, keeping her tone casual. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Darcy chuckled. “You and me both. I swear, this case has everyone running on fumes.” She turned back to the board, scribbling something with a dry-erase marker. “I’m going to grab another coffee before the meeting—want one?”
Isabel shook her head quickly. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Darcy’s attention shifted back to her notes, just like any other day.
Isabel walked past, forcing her stride to stay steady even as her heart hammered against her ribs. She made it to her desk, dropped into her chair, and pretended to scroll through her inbox.
For the next several hours, she went through the motions. Reports. Phone calls. Briefings. Every few minutes, her gaze flicked toward Darcy’s desk. Watching. Counting. Measuring every movement. Each time Darcy laughed or leaned over someone’s shoulder, Isabel’s pulse spiked, her fingers curling into fists beneath the desk.
When lunch rolled around, she ducked into the break room and ate standing up, her back to the wall. Her appetite was gone, but she forced down a sandwich anyway. Food kept her sharp.
The afternoon crawled. Darcy seemed calm—too calm. Isabel tried to convince herself she was imagining things, that she hadn’t seen what she’d seen. But the images from the CCTV played in her mind like a loop: Darcy slipping into the evidence hallway again and again with the same casual efficiency she used for everything.
By four o’clock, Isabel’s head throbbed. Her nerves were frayed. She’d checked the hallway outside the locker three separate times that day, making sure no one else had tampered with it. Everything looked normal. Too normal.
At five, most of the bullpen began to clear out. Darcy finally grabbed her jacket and purse. She paused on her way out, offering Isabel a friendly smile. “Don’t work too late,” she said lightly.
Isabel’s throat tightened. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
When the door shut behind her, Isabel let out a slow, shaking breath. The noise of the precinct dimmed, leaving only the hum of the overhead lights.
She waited another half hour—just to be sure—then rose from her chair. Her legs felt heavy, but her resolve had never been clearer.
She pulled the phone from her pocket, checked the files one more time—the grainy footage, the photos of Darcy’s signature—and then slipped it back in.
It was time.
The halls were nearly empty as she made her way upstairs. Each step echoed off the walls, loud in the quiet. She thought of Victoria—of the accusation, the hurt in her eyes, the distance in her voice—and prayed that this would be enough to make her see the truth.
By the time Isabel reached the door to Victoria’s office, the sky outside had dimmed to indigo. The glass panels reflected her face back at her—tired, determined, still burning.
She straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and knocked.
Victoria looked up from her desk when the knock came, the late hour already etched across her expression. “Come in.”
Isabel stepped through the doorway, heart pounding so loud she could almost hear it.
For a beat, neither of them spoke. Victoria looked tired—drawn, guarded—but her eyes flicked to Isabel with something like surprise. Maybe relief.
