The interview room smelled like disinfectant and old coffee—an attempt at sterility that never quite erased the past. Evelyn noticed details the way she always did when she was afraid: the scratch on the metal table shaped like a crooked star, the way the fluorescent light flickered every seventeen seconds, the chair leg that wobbled if you leaned too far back.
Detective Marcus Hale sat across from her, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, notebook closed. He wasn't trying to intimidate her. That made it worse.
Lucas stood near the door, arms folded loosely, not guarding—waiting. He hadn't asked to be there. Hale hadn't objected.
"You understand why you're here," Hale said.
Evelyn nodded. "My uncle is dead."
"Thomas Calder," Hale confirmed. "Your mother's older brother."
The name felt heavier spoken aloud, like it carried more history than she could hold.
"Yes."
Hale studied her face. "When was the last time you saw him?"
Evelyn opened her mouth—and stopped.
A blank wall rose in her mind.
"I don't remember," she said carefully.
Lucas shifted, just slightly. Not alarm. Recognition.
Hale's pen hovered above the page. "You don't remember seeing him… or you don't remember the last time?"
She swallowed. "Both."
Silence stretched. The light flickered.
Inside her, something stirred.
Say Friday, a voice urged. Calm. Firm.
No, another countered. Too close.
Evelyn pressed her fingernails into her palm.
"I think it was… weeks ago."
Hale wrote that down.
"Did you argue?" he asked.
Lucas glanced at her now.
"No," Evelyn said. "We didn't talk much."
That was true. Mostly.
"What about the night he died?" Hale continued. "Where were you between eight and ten p.m.?"
The room tilted.
"I was home," she said.
Lucas's eyes flicked to her—sharp, questioning—but he didn't interrupt.
Hale raised an eyebrow. "Alone?"
"Yes."
The word tasted wrong.
Inside, a colder presence leaned forward.
Careful, it warned. He's testing the seams.
Hale flipped a page. "Your phone places you near Dockside Road at 8:47 p.m."
Evelyn's breath caught.
"That's not possible," she said.
Hale tilted his head. "Why not?"
"Because I don't go there," she replied.
"Ever."
Lucas stepped in then, voice even.
"Detective, Evelyn has been dealing with memory issues. She told you that."
Hale nodded. "She did." He looked back at Evelyn.
"Have you ever blacked out?"
The word echoed.
"No," she said automatically.
A lie.
The room seemed to hum in approval.
Hale leaned back. "Your uncle's security system shows someone entering his house at 8:32 p.m."
Evelyn's heart pounded.
"No forced entry," Hale added. "Who had keys?"
Her mouth went dry.
"I did," she whispered.
Lucas inhaled sharply.
Hale's gaze sharpened—not predatory, but alert. "Why?"
"He gave me one years ago," Evelyn said.
"For emergencies."
"Did you use it that night?"
"I don't know."
Hale closed the notebook slowly. "Ms. Cross, do you believe you're capable of hurting someone?"
The question cracked something open.
Images surged—blood not seen directly, the weight of something heavy in her hands, the sound of breath stopping.
Evelyn gasped.
Lucas was at her side instantly. "Evelyn. Look at me."
She did.
"I can't," she whispered. "I don't know."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Hale said quietly, "We found your fingerprints on a glass in your uncle's study."
Lucas froze.
"I've been there before," Evelyn said desperately. "That doesn't mean—"
"The glass was washed," Hale interrupted.
"Your prints are fresh."
Something inside her smiled.
Perfect, it murmured.
Hale stood. "I'm not arresting you. Not yet.
But I need you to stay available."
Lucas exhaled, slow and controlled.
As they walked out, Evelyn's legs felt hollow.
In the hallway, Lucas stopped her. "Why did you say you were home?" he asked gently.
She stared at him. "Because I thought I was."
He searched her face. "And now?"
"I don't know," she said.
That night, back at the apartment, Evelyn found something new in the kitchen drawer.
A key.
Her uncle's.
And beneath it, another note in her handwriting:
You did what you had to.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number:
You're not done yet.
Evelyn screamed.
Somewhere deep inside, a judge sharpened the blade.