Bound By Sin

'It's One Of Them."

Detective Blackwood and Detective Caldwell sat in the dimly lit office, the clock on the wall ticking with a maddening rhythm that made the silence even heavier. The fluorescent light above flickered intermittently, casting a pale glow over the cluttered desks and case files that seemed to stretch on forever. Outside, the station was quiet—too quiet for a town plagued by the kind of violence they had been facing for weeks.

Blackwood, leaning back in his chair, took a long sip of his coffee, though the bitterness didn't do much to cut through the exhaustion clouding his mind. Across from him, Caldwell sat with her hands wrapped around her own cup, staring at it as though hoping it might offer answers if she looked hard enough.

"You think the others are sleeping right now?" Blackwood finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse from the cold air outside and the lingering tension.

Caldwell gave a hollow laugh, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "Sleeping? In this town? I doubt anyone's slept properly in weeks." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. "Especially not those kids. They've been in and out of here so often, they probably think we're about to charge them any day now."

Blackwood grunted, shaking his head. "If only it were that simple."

For a long moment, the two detectives sat in silence, their coffee cooling as the events of the night settled between them like a weight neither of them could escape. The image of the body, the blood, Nicholas's bracelet—it all replayed in Blackwood's mind, a gnawing certainty building in his gut that they were close to something. Too close.

Caldwell was the first to speak again, her voice more measured this time. "You really think it could be one of them?"

Blackwood sighed deeply, running a hand over his face, feeling the bristle of stubble against his palm. "I don't know. I keep thinking about it, running over everything we've seen and heard. And every time I do, I come up short. These kids, they're scared, they're confused. But... we've seen good liars before."

Caldwell's eyes narrowed slightly, leaning forward as she spoke. "It makes sense, doesn't it? They're at the center of everything. They've been involved in every questioning, they're always on the fringes of the murders. But we can't get past that fear we see in them. If it is one of them... hell, they're a better liar than anyone we've ever come across."

Blackwood nodded slowly, his fingers tapping against his coffee cup, the sound barely audible in the quiet room. "There's something off, though. They're all too scared. And it's not just the fear of getting caught, Caldwell. It's genuine terror. They've seen what this killer can do, up close."

Caldwell's jaw tightened. "But fear can be a mask, Blackwood. We've seen that too. A way to deflect suspicion. They know we've been questioning them, dragging them in here over and over. And now, with this latest murder, Nicholas's bracelet... that's not a coincidence. The killer's telling us something. But what?"

Blackwood shifted in his chair, his gaze hard as he stared down at the files scattered on his desk. "That's the problem. We don't know what. Is it a threat? A warning? Or are they trying to throw us off their scent? Hell, if it is one of them, we've been sitting across from the killer for weeks."

Caldwell nodded, though her expression was still troubled. "And that's what makes me second-guess it, you know? Every time we talk to them, they seem so... lost. Especially Nicholas. After his parents died, I thought we were going to lose him entirely. He's been barely hanging on, bouncing between Genevieve's place and his own. Does that sound like someone capable of planning all of this? Of pulling these murders off?"

Blackwood was silent for a moment, staring into his coffee as though it might give him clarity. "No. Not really. But I've seen people break in strange ways after trauma. Sometimes it turns them into something else. Something worse."

Caldwell's eyes darkened at that. She set her coffee down, her fingers curling into a fist. "So, what then? We're thinking it's Nicholas because of his grief? The kid barely talks anymore. But what about the others? Genevieve—she's been the glue holding him together. Isabella... always the first to crack, always defensive. Theodore, that quiet anger of his. Or Ashton. The one who jokes every time we bring him in—"

"Because he's terrified," Blackwood interrupted, shaking his head. "Ashton jokes because that's how he deals with fear. You've seen the way he's been acting lately. But it's just a front. All of them—they're too on edge to be the killer. Or at least... they seem like they are."

Caldwell's eyes locked onto his. "But what if they've been playing us from the start?"

The room seemed to grow colder as the words settled between them. Blackwood rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog of exhaustion clouding his thoughts. He couldn't deny it anymore—there was a real possibility that one of those kids, one of the young adults they had been questioning, was involved. It was the only explanation that made sense now. The murders had slowed when they were locked inside. Now that they were free to roam again, someone had been killed.

"They've had access to everything," Caldwell continued, her voice gaining an edge. "Each of them knows the patterns. They've been through the questioning, they've been under suspicion. But what if the killer is right there with us, watching us try to put the pieces together, waiting for us to slip up?"

Blackwood's face was grim. "We'd have to be missing something huge. Something that ties it all together. And if it is one of them... we're running out of time to figure it out."

Caldwell leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the armrest. "The lockdown slowed things down. One person was killed when they were locked away, but we assumed it was because the killer was isolated. Now, I'm starting to think it was because they couldn't get to anyone. They were stuck inside, too."

Blackwood's brow furrowed. "And now that they're free, someone's dead again. The pattern's starting to fall into place."

Caldwell's eyes hardened. "Exactly. Whoever it is, they've been waiting. Biding their time. But we gave them the space they needed when we lifted the lockdown. We're the ones who set this murder in motion by letting them out."

A heavy silence filled the room again as the detectives stared at each other, the weight of their shared realization bearing down on them.

"They're going to slip up, Caldwell," Blackwood said after a long moment. "They have to. We just need to be there when it happens. We need to watch them closer than ever, push them harder in the next round of questioning. If one of them's the killer, they won't be able to hide forever."

Caldwell nodded, her expression grim. She stared into her now cold coffee, her thoughts racing. "I don't know if I'm ready to believe it yet. But we're running out of other suspects. No one else has this kind of access. No one else fits the profile this closely."

Blackwood looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You think it's really one of them?"

Caldwell was silent for a moment, her gaze far away as she pieced everything together in her mind. Finally, she looked back at Blackwood, her voice cold and sure.

"It's one of them."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Neither of them spoke after that. They didn't need to. The truth was unraveling, and as much as they didn't want to face it, they knew the path they were on. Someone in that group had blood on their hands, and it was only a matter of time before they slipped up.

They just hoped it wasn't too late.