CHAPTER 276: RESIDUAL SILENCE

The interrogation room wasn’t large. Just four walls, a table, and a single overhead light that hummed faintly with the uneven rhythm of old wiring. The kind of space designed to feel sterile and unwelcoming. Not hostile—but quiet in the wrong way. The kind of quiet that forced the truth out, even if the speaker didn’t mean to give it.

I stood near the mirror.

Grant sat across from the man—our witness. I hadn’t asked his name yet. I wanted to watch him first.

His coat was now draped over the back of the metal chair. Sweat clung to his collar. He kept wringing his hands as if they were stained. His knee bounced under the table, betraying a restlessness his voice hadn’t yet reached.

"Let’s start from the beginning," Grant said, voice calm. "Name?"

"Jacob," the man replied. "Jacob Moret. I... I work deliveries, third shift, mostly food and house care. I live in Sector 47. I’ve been here for years."

"And this morning?"

Jacob nodded quickly. "I didn’t have a shift. My daughter—her name’s Lea—was still asleep. She’s seven. I woke up early. Just one of those mornings, y’know? Couldn’t sleep. So I got up and made coffee. Cheap kind. The stuff that tastes like burnt water."

He laughed, but it didn’t stick.

Grant didn’t smile. "Then what?"

"I was rinsing out her lunchbox from the day before. That’s when I heard something."

I stepped forward.

"What kind of sound?" I asked.

Jacob looked up, startled by the voice behind the mask. His eyes flicked to Grant, who gave a small nod.

"Like... a footstep," Jacob said. "But soft. Too soft. I thought maybe it was my neighbor, the one upstairs, dropping something. Happens a lot. I almost ignored it. But then I heard it again."

I felt the hairs on my arms lift beneath the coat. Not from Jacob—he was telling the truth. But there was something off about the sound he described. Two soft steps in a row. If it had been just one creak, I’d write it off. But the second?

It was clearly intentional.

"Where was the sound coming from?" I asked.

"Down the hall. Toward the bedrooms."

He looked down.

"I thought maybe it was Lea... but then I remembered the way she walks. Heavy. Always stomping around in those pink socks with the rubber bears on them. This wasn’t that."

Jacob’s voice cracked slightly. "This was quiet. Careful. Like someone trying not to be noticed."

Grant made a note on his pad. I didn’t need to.

"I turned off the water," Jacob continued. "Didn’t even grab anything. Just went to check. I kept my back to the wall, walked down the hall..."

He swallowed.

"And that’s when I saw them."

"The intruder?"

He nodded. "They were already halfway past the bathroom. Just this tall figure, not bulky, but long. Slender. In the shadows. They didn’t look like they belonged there. They didn’t move like someone panicking or desperate. They moved like someone who had done this before."

My hands clenched behind my back. There were too many exact descriptions for a man running on adrenaline. He’d retained it not because it was seared into him—but because his mind knew it mattered. I leaned forward slightly, sharpening my voice just a hair.

"What did you do?"

"I yelled. Loud as I could."

"And?"

"They ran. Instantly. Like they were just waiting for the moment I’d notice. Like they weren’t even trying to finish the job anymore—they were just... testing."

That caught Grant’s attention.

"Testing?"

"Yeah," Jacob said, eyes wide now. "That’s what it felt like. Like the whole break-in was just... a dry run."

If the subject had entered through the third floor, avoided confrontation, ignored valuables, and left as soon as someone called out—then theft wasn’t the goal. They weren’t surprised. They were assessing the layout. Checking noise levels. Timing.

Planning.

I stepped closer. The coat whispered with the movement.

"Why your unit?" I asked. "Why your daughter’s room?"

Jacob froze.

Then: "I don’t know."

"Think."

He swallowed. "It’s just us there. Me and her. I take her to school on the tram—local public, same stop every day. I’ve never posted photos online, never used locator tags. I don’t owe anyone money. I don’t have enemies. We don’t have anything worth stealing."

I exchanged a look with Grant.

He saw it too.

"This wasn’t about value," I murmured.

Using Interrogation, I shifted my stance and took the seat beside Jacob. Close, but not looming. Enough to feel like I was listening. His knee stopped bouncing.

"Jacob," I said. "Why did you run to me instead of staying with your daughter?"

That caught him off guard. The flush rose up his neck. Guilt.

"I—I locked the door after," he stammered. "Triple bolts. I called the building manager. Filed a report. But they said unless something was stolen or broken, they couldn’t log it. Said maybe I imagined it. I knew they were wrong. I knew."

He took a breath.

"I panicked. I didn’t want to wait around. I remembered the posters. And I thought—if this is really the guy from the news, the one that’s been hitting low-rank families, then I had to go to someone who’d treat it seriously. So I left. Just for a minute."

A minute.

But it had been hours.

I turned slowly. Looked to Grant. Then back to Jacob.

"Where is Lea now?"

Silence.

Jacob blinked.

"She’s—"

He stopped.

Then stood abruptly. The chair screeched.

"I locked the door," he said again. But his voice was thin now. "I told her not to open it for anyone. I told her."

His eyes darted toward the door.

"She’s fine. I only—"

"Jacob," I said quietly. "You said the intruder moved like someone who had done this before."

He shook his head, stumbling back. "No. No, no, no. I told her not to open it. I told her. I left the TV on. She always watches cartoons. She doesn’t even answer when the doorbell rings—"

He turned toward the door like a man possessed.

"Jacob!"

But he was already running.

Bursting through the hallway, shoulder clipping the edge of the frame. I heard a startled shout from the bullpen as he slammed through the front doors.

Grant was already on his feet.

"Go!" he barked. "I’ll grab the cruiser."

I sprinted after Jacob.

The moment my boots hit the pavement, I felt it—that low tug behind the ribs. Something was off. The wrongness wasn’t just in the timing, or the silence, or Jacob’s panic.

It was the fact that this was the first time we’d gotten this close.

We were always a step behind.

Until now.

Camille’s coat cut the wind like a blade, the collar holding firm against the air. The fabric gripped my shoulders, guided movement, kept me centered. My breath held rhythm with each stride.

Jacob was fast, but his steps faltered. I caught him by the second block.

"Where!?" I called.

"Sector 47!" he gasped. "East side! Brick housing—Unit 308!"

Grant’s siren blared from behind, the car swerving around the corner. He slammed the brakes just long enough for us to dive in.

"Go!" I shouted, slamming the door behind me.

The cruiser peeled into the lane, weaving through mid-morning traffic like it wasn’t there.