The precinct buzzed with an energy it hadn’t seen in years. Phones rang off the hook, detectives shuffled between desks with renewed purpose, and a flurry of reports changed hands. The rain from the previous night had subsided, leaving behind gray skies that seemed brighter compared to the storm that had clouded their spirits for so long.
Carter sat at his desk, slouched and utterly drained. His clothes were still damp, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot from a night without sleep. The coffee in his hand had gone cold, but he didn’t care. Across the room, a young girl sat with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, quietly sipping water under the watchful eye of a female officer. Abigail Reed was safe, and that was all that mattered—for now.
Captain Myers entered the room, his face pale and his usual air of confidence shaken. The detectives paused, stealing glances at their usually composed leader as he approached Carter’s desk.
“You actually did it,” Myers said, his voice low but tinged with disbelief.
Carter looked up, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t do it alone. Dan’s the reason we got this far.”
Myers ignored the deflection, running a hand over his face. “Do you have any idea what you just did? That case—the murders—it’s been sitting cold for nearly five years. And now, because of you, we’ve got a live witness and a new trail to follow.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “The brass is going to eat this up.”
Carter narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “If they were so concerned, maybe they shouldn’t have written it off in the first place.”
Myers straightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he sighed. “Watch yourself, Carter. You might be the precinct’s hero today, but that doesn’t make you untouchable. The higher-ups are already circling this like vultures, and they’re not all looking to hand out medals.”
Before Carter could respond, a junior officer approached with a thick folder in hand. “Captain, the initial report from last night’s operation. And... this just came in.”
The officer handed Myers a photograph. It was grainy, but the image was unmistakable—a shot of the suspect fleeing through the train yard, his face partially obscured but eerily clear in the light of the streetlamp.
Carter leaned forward, his heart skipping a beat. “That’s him.”
Myers stared at the photo, his jaw tightening. “We’ve got a face, finally. Run it through the system. I want every database checked—local, state, federal. Someone has to know who this guy is.”
The officer nodded and hurried off.
Carter stood, gripping the edge of his desk. “Captain, we need to reopen the case. If we act now, we can connect the murders to him and find out why he took Abigail. She knows something, but she’s too scared to talk yet.”
Myers stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “It’s already in motion. The girl’s statement, the evidence you found, the footage—it’s enough to warrant reinvestigation. The case is officially active again.”
The words hit Carter like a jolt of adrenaline. After years of chasing shadows, the possibility of finally uncovering the truth felt within reach.
“Good,” Carter said, his voice firm. “But I want in. This is my case now.”
Myers raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re in a position to make demands?”
“I didn’t spend all night chasing that bastard and saving a girl’s life just to sit on the sidelines,” Carter shot back. “I know this case better than anyone. I’ve earned the right to see it through.”
Myers studied him, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. But you’d better deliver, Carter. If this falls apart, it’s not just your neck on the line—it’s the entire department.”
“I’ll deliver,” Carter said, his voice steady.
As Myers walked away, Carter sank back into his chair, the weight of the moment finally catching up to him. Across the room, Abigail looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was gratitude there, but also fear—a silent plea for him to finish what he’d started.
Carter tightened his grip on the cold coffee cup in his hand, a renewed sense of purpose surging through him. The wall had been broken, but the real fight was just beginning.
* * *
