NATE'S POV
I spent the next two hours submerged in the brutal, frenetic details of the scene, trying to use the cold logic of the investigation to scrub Adrian Blackwood from my mind. It was useless. Every blood spatter on the marble, every precise line of Vance's posed body, screamed the same message: I control you.
The press conference was a disaster, a masterclass in panic management led by a sweating, visibly shaken Levin. By the time I finally finished my initial assessment of the forensic sweep, the sun was high, and the CSI offices felt less like a police facility and more like a besieged fortress. I needed to escape the noise, the uniformed chaos, and the crushing weight of Levin's distrust.
