Through the Shadows Together

Chapter Five: Tipping the Scales

I'm always here if you need me.

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Ace's POV:

I stood outside the autopsy room, leaning against the cold wall with my hands deep in my trench coat pockets. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

The forensic staff had just wheeled Nathan's body inside the lab, draped in a sterile white sheet that seemed to mock the finality of it all. The door swung shut with a soft thud, an echo lingering in the hallway.

Inside, I could hear someone letting out small, almost instinctive grumbles as they brought him in. Clearly, they hadn't been informed about the sudden arrival. Their muffled voice, tinged with their frustration, echoed into the corridor.

"Je viens de finir de nettoyer ici... (I just finished cleaning up here...)," the voice muttered, distinctly feminine with a hint of exasperation, "I swear- every time I get things done, something always-"

The door creaked open, and when their eyes met ours – mine and Jones' - their expression shifted entirely. The irritation that had marked her face was replaced by a mix of surprise and concern.

I took a moment to glance at the gold nameplate on their lab coat: Dr. Martine Meunier, it read, with a title neatly engraved below: Chief Medical Examiner.

It was my first time seeing the current coroner in person.

She had green eyes framed by her chin-length blonde hair, styled with soft side bangs and neatly held back by a large, carmine red headband that contrasted against her fair skin. A small gap between her front teeth added an unexpected charm to her otherwise refined feature, while a small beauty mark beneath her right eye punctuated the elegance of her face.

Her lips were painted with soft pink lipstick, matching the shade of her manicured carmine nails. The bold black eyeshadow accentuated the intensity of her gaze, making it seem as if she were looking right through you with piercing scrutiny. A golden V-shaped necklace glinted beneath the collar of her white lab coat – which itself was a sharp contrast to the dark sheer fabric of the carmine red blouse she wore underneath. In the pocket of her lab coat, I noticed a pencil and scalpel tucked away - tools of her trade, always within reach. But what caught my attention the most was the tattoo on her upper chest: a detailed moth with French words scripted beneath it.

Jones stepped forward and silently handed her a short case file that contained Nathan's profile: his identification, the circumstances of his death, our initial theories and statements, and the relevant background needed for her.

As she took the folder, I could tell something inside her had shifted. There was an unspoken tension between Jones and I, something in the air that made her pause - her eyes sweeping between us. I could tell she knows that something was up.

She flipped the folder open, skimming the first few lines. Just then, I watched as the realization dawned on her. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly in disbelief. I could see her shoulder sag, the earlier annoyance she'd worn dissolved into a quiet, profound sadness.

"...Mon Dieu (My God)," she whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, "...Nathan was murdered...?" She seemed to grapple with the words, as if saying them out loud made the reality even harder to accept.

Jones looked down, his gaze falling to the floor, his hands slacked at his sides. I could tell he was trying to keep himself together from falling apart in front of her – it was almost as though standing still was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart.