The detectives arrived an hour later two men in rumpled suits who introduced themselves as Detective Marcus Hall and Detective James Rivera. Hall was older, fifty-something, with tired eyes that had seen too much. Rivera was younger, sharper, with the kind of intensity that made Sophia nervous.
They sat in her living room, Maya translating when the detectives forgot to face Sophia directly. Through the wall, she could hear feel the sounds of her new neighbor settling in. Furniture scraping. Footsteps. A normal person doing normal things.
Except he wasn't normal. He was a murderer.
"Miss Reid," Hall said, speaking slowly and clearly. "We need you to walk us through exactly what you saw last night. Every detail."
Sophia did, her hands signing while Maya voiced it aloud for the recording. She described the two men, the argument, the lip-reading, the gun. Three shots. The victim falling.
"And you're certain about the shooter's identity?" Rivera asked, studying her sketch.
"Yes."
The detectives exchanged that look again. The one that said they knew something.
"What?" Sophia signed sharply. "Who is he?"
Hall leaned forward. "We can't discuss an ongoing investigation"
"He moved in next door!" Sophia's signs were emphatic, angry. "I think I deserve to know who's living twenty feet from me!"
Another exchange of glances. Rivera pulled out his phone, showed Sophia a photo.
It was him. The killer. Professional headshot, cleaned up, but definitely him.
"His name is Damien Cross," Rivera said. "Does that mean anything to you?"
Sophia shook her head.
"He's… connected," Hall said carefully. "To some very powerful people."
"Connected how?" Maya demanded. "Like mob connected? Because if this is witness intimidation"
"It's complicated," Rivera cut in. "Cross works security for several high-profile clients. CEOs, politicians, celebrities. He's licensed to carry, has a spotless record, and his lawyers are very, very good."
Sophia felt sick. "You're saying you can't arrest him."
"We're saying it's not that simple," Hall said. "The victim, Michael Torres, was under investigation for fraud and embezzlement. He'd been cooperating with the FBI, turned informant. But he also had ties to organized crime."
"So what?" Maya snapped. "He deserved to be murdered?"
"Of course not," Hall said. "But Cross is claiming self-defense. Says Torres contacted him, threatened him, that Torres pulled a weapon first."
"That's not what I saw!" Sophia signed furiously. "Torres was pleading. He was begging for his life."
"We believe you," Rivera said. "But right now, it's your word against his. And Cross has already produced security footage from his phone showing Torres making threats. Text messages. Voicemails. His lawyers are building a case that paints Torres as the aggressor."
"So he's just… free?" Sophia felt the panic rising in her chest. "Free to move in next door to me? To intimidate me?"
"We're keeping an eye on him," Hall said. "And we're building a case. But these things take time."
"I don't have time!" Sophia's hands shook. "Every second he's out there, he could"
A knock at the door made everyone freeze.
Through the peephole, Sophia saw him. Damien Cross. Standing in her hallway, holding a plate of what looked like cookies.
"Don't answer it," Rivera said immediately, standing.
But Cross wasn't leaving. He knocked again, then aware they were looking smiled directly at the peephole and held up the plate.
Rivera moved to the door, opened it with the chain still engaged. "Mr. Cross."
"Detective Rivera." Cross's voice was smooth, cultured. Sophia couldn't hear it, but she could see his lips form the words. "I was just introducing myself to my new neighbor. Brought cookies. Fresh baked."
"Miss Reid isn't receiving visitors."
"Ah." Cross glanced past Rivera, found Sophia in the living room. Their eyes met. "Well, that's understandable. Traumatic night, I'm sure. Finding a body like that."
The casual way he said it made Sophia's skin crawl.
"I'll just leave these here, then." Cross set the plate on the floor by the door. "And Miss Reid? If you ever need anything sugar, a cup of coffee, someone to talk to I'm right next door."
The implied threat was clear.
Rivera kept his face neutral. "Have a good day, Mr. Cross."
"You too, Detective." Cross smiled again, that dangerous smile, and walked away.
Rivera closed the door, locked it, turned to face Sophia and Maya. "Pack a bag. Both of you. We're moving you to a safe house."
"For how long?" Maya asked.
"Until we can make an arrest that sticks."
"And if you can't?" Sophia signed.
No one answered.
Two hours later, Sophia found herself in an unmarked car, watching her apartment building disappear in the rearview mirror. They'd packed quickly clothes, toiletries, her laptop and sketchpad. The essentials. Everything else stayed behind, including the life she'd carefully built over the past two years.
The safe house was in Queens, a nondescript townhouse on a quiet street. Two uniformed officers were stationed outside. Inside, it was generic and impersonal IKEA furniture, bland walls, nothing that suggested anyone actually lived there.
"Home sweet home," Maya said grimly, dropping her bag by the couch.
Detective Hall handed Sophia a phone. "Burner. Only use it for emergencies. We've programmed in direct lines to myself and Detective Rivera."
"What about my commission work?" Sophia signed. "My clients? My life?"
"We'll help you contact your clients, let them know you need to postpone," Hall said. "As for your life… I'm sorry, Miss Reid. But right now, staying alive is more important than staying comfortable."
After the detectives left, Sophia and Maya sat in silence, the weight of the situation settling over them.
"This is insane," Maya finally said, signing and speaking simultaneously. "You witnessed a crime and now you're the one in hiding?"
"Because I'm the evidence," Sophia signed back. "Without me, they have nothing."
"Then they need to protect you better than this."
But Sophia wasn't sure better protection existed. Not when the killer knew her face, her name, her address. Not when he had the audacity to bring her cookies.
She moved to the window, looked out at the unfamiliar street. Somewhere in Brooklyn, Damien Cross was in her apartment building, probably settling into his new place. Maybe looking at the wall they shared, knowing she was gone but would have to come back eventually.
Her phone buzzed her regular phone, the one she wasn't supposed to be using. A text from an unknown number:
Sorry you had to leave so suddenly. The cookies are still here if you change your mind. Your neighbor in 4B
Sophia's hands shook as she showed Maya.
"How did he get your number?" Maya demanded.
Good question. Sophia had no idea. But the message was clear: I can reach you anywhere.
That night, Sophia lay awake on the unfamiliar couch, staring at the ceiling. Every creak of the house made her jump. Every shadow seemed threatening.
She'd always found beauty in silence. In the way it let you see the world more clearly, read the truth in people's faces and gestures.
But now her silence felt like a prison. She couldn't hear danger approaching. Couldn't hear a door opening or footsteps in the hall. In her visual world, threats only existed once you could see them.
And by then, it might be too late.