When FBI cyber analyst Scarlett Crowe is assigned to the high-profile case of "The Cipher Murders," she finds herself entangled in a deadly game. A series of encrypted messages have been left at gruesome crime scenes, each code more complex and chil...
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The clock reads 4:16 a.m., and sleep feels like an impossibility. My mind is tangled in the shadows of memories I've tried to bury—my father's disappearance, my mother's death, the accusations that haunted me through my teenage years. The Cipher Killer's recent taunts echo in my mind, stirring everything I've kept locked away. Before I realize it, my hand moves on its own, reaching for my phone, and I dial the one person who feels like solid ground in all of this.
Nicholas answers on the first ring.
"Scarlett?" he says, his voice steady and calm, even at this late hour.
"I..." I struggle to find the words. I don't know what to say except that I needed to hear a voice—his voice. "Sorry, Nick. I didn't mean to wake you. I just... couldn't sleep."
"Don't apologize," he says, his tone gentle. "Get some rest, Scarlett. We'll tackle this in the morning." His voice feels like an anchor, keeping me from slipping into the chaos of my own mind. Somehow, that simple exchange calms me enough to close my eyes.
The next morning, I feel like I've been run over. Dark circles mark my face, and my limbs feel heavy, like they're made of lead. As I walk into the station, I barely register my surroundings until I catch the familiar scent of coffee—strong, warm, with a hint of vanilla.
Looking up, I see Nicholas standing beside my desk, holding out a cup with a small smile. There's a quiet understanding in his gaze, as if he already knows the kind of night I've had.
"You didn't have to do this," I say, my voice sounding small.
"Figured you could use it," he replies, handing me the cup. He looks at me for a moment, studying my face. "Another rough night?"
I nod, feeling the warmth of the coffee cup seep into my hands. "Couldn't shut my mind off. I... I keep seeing things from the past. I thought I was over it, or at least, that it wouldn't hit me like this anymore. But it's all coming back."
He shifts, leaning against the edge of my desk, and tilts his head slightly. "Scarlett," he says gently, "I know this case is hitting close to home. You don't have to, but I'm here."
His voice is calm, steady. For a moment, I consider brushing it off, giving him some vague answer about nightmares. But something about the way he's looking at me—patient, no judgment—makes me want to open up. It's rare for me to talk about this, even rarer to let someone see how much it still hurts.
I hesitated for a moment, but I've been holding back this case enough due to my personal trauma. The least I could do is be honest with him.
"The nightmares... they're about my mother's death," I begin, my voice barely a whisper. I see him nod, encouraging me to continue. "Everyone blamed it on my dad. The whole town, even the authorities. But... I knew him, Nick. I knew he wouldn't have done something like that."
Nicholas is silent, just listening, his gaze steady and focused on me.
"It's why I became a detective in the first place," I continue, my voice tightening. "They wrote her case off as a domestic tragedy. My dad disappeared, so they labeled him as the only suspect. Easy answer. But I knew it wasn't right. My father had his demons, sure—he struggled with addiction—but he wouldn't have hurt her."
Nicholas listens without interrupting, and I feel a strange sense of relief in finally saying this out loud to someone who might actually understand. "They ditched the case, you know? Closed it with a suspect who couldn't even defend himself because he was gone. They just... ran with it. And I spent years trying to live with everyone's looks, their whispers, thinking my dad was some kind of monster."
My voice breaks, and I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You know what's silly? Sometimes I still hope he'll come back. That he'll just walk in one day and... we'll reopen the case, and I'll finally have the chance to prove his innocence. Like he'll show up, and we'll hang out like we used to, like it was before everything fell apart." I swallow, my gaze drifting as I remember his words. "He used to say he'd always be there for me. He gave me a pendant with 'always' engraved on it. I... sometimes think if he really did do it, he'd still never run away. It doesn't make sense."
Nicholas's gaze softens, his expression unreadable but somehow comforting. "Scarlett... I'm sorry. I can't imagine what that must've been like for you. But for what it's worth, I believe you. I believe in your instincts—about your father, about the truth."
For a moment, I can't speak. It's strange to hear someone say that, especially him. But it's what I needed to hear, more than I realized.
"Thank you," I whisper, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. I look down at the coffee in my hands, the warmth now spreading through me, easing some of the ache.
He nods, giving me a small smile. "We'll figure it out, one step at a time."
For a brief moment, as his eyes meet mine, I feel something shift. There's a quiet understanding between us, something that goes beyond words or explanations. I've never let anyone this close to my pain, to the doubts and fears I hide so carefully. But with Nicholas, I don't feel the need to put up walls.
