Chapter 18
Skylar
Emrys and Kade don't try to stop me from leaving. They stand in the doorway of the apartment while I pull on my coat. Emrys reaches up and straightens the collar with careful fingers. Kade's hand rests briefly on the back of my neck, a steady weight that says more than words.
"Stay safe," Emrys says, voice quiet but firm.
Kade echoes it with a low rumble that's not quite a command and not quite a request. I nod once, because anything more would feel like a promise I can't keep right now. Then I step into the hallway and close the door behind me.
The station is chaos when I arrive.
People move too fast through the bullpen, voices overlapping in sharp bursts of adrenaline and blame.
Hex is loose. The words travel through the room like a live wire.
Someone has already pulled every file connected to the case.
Someone else is yelling about perimeter checks and traffic cameras.
The building feels like it's running on fumes and fury, every officer trying to outpace the fact that a serial killer they thought was locked down has slipped the net.
I expect to be pulled into it immediately.
I expect someone to hand me a stack of reports or point me toward a screen with new footage.
Instead, two officers I barely know intercept me before I reach my desk.
Morrison wants to see me. Now.
The office is small and too warm. Morrison sits behind her desk with her silver hair pulled into its usual severe bun.
Two other officers stand near the wall, arms crossed, faces set in expressions that have already decided the shape of this conversation.
I stay on my feet because no one offers me a chair.
The door closes behind me with a quiet click that sounds louder than it should.
Morrison leans back in her chair and studies me like I'm a problem she's finally decided to solve.
"You've been digging into things that aren't yours to dig into, Grayson.
Connections to the victim in the West Talbot assault.
Connections to the former suspect. And now you're bringing task force names into a local investigation like you have some kind of authority here that the rest of us don't."
I keep my voice level. "The victim is connected to Rourke Securities because the network that targeted him is the same one that's been interfering with the Hex case for months.
The Vesper Hotel thread and the Cardinal Network aren't local problems. They're supply lines. I followed the evidence where it led."
One of the other officers shifts his weight. "You followed it straight into the bed of the victim and the former suspect. That's what it looks like from where we're standing."
The words land exactly as they're meant to.
I feel the old armor try to rise and then falter, because the accusation isn't entirely wrong.
I've mixed the parts of my life I've always kept separate.
I have cedar and vanilla on my skin and in my clothes, and the station smells like old coffee and stress instead of home.
I try to explain the shell companies, the donation routing, the way the approaches to Rourke Securities match the pattern that's been protecting Hex for years.
Morrison listens without interrupting. When I finish, she doesn't look convinced.
"Take some time," she says. Her voice is flat. "Come back when you have a clear head. We're pulling you off the active investigation for now. The task force can handle the Hex side. You focus on getting your priorities straight."
The dismissal is as polite as it can be, even though it just makes everything feel worse.
They're not suspending me outright. They're simply removing me from the thing that's defined me for years.
I don't argue. I've been in enough rooms like this to know when the decision has already been made.
I nod once, turn, and walk out before anyone can offer me a handshake or a second round of explanations.
On the way down the hall, I catch the scent Kade described.
It's faint but unmistakable. Flattened and chemical-edged, the same wrong note I've noticed twice before.
It clings to the air near the stairwell like someone has passed through recently and left it behind.
I file it away even though I still can't place it.
I push through the main doors, finding Caldwell leaning against the side of his car in the small lot behind the station, arms crossed over his chest, dreads pulled back and expression unreadable. He takes one look at my face and pushes off the car.
"I'm guessing you just got fired," Caldwell says.
I laugh. "Something like that. Morrison decided my connections were a liability. She told me to take some time and come back with a clear head. Translation is that I'm off the case until they decide I'm not a problem anymore."
Caldwell studies me for a second longer than necessary.
His gaze moves over the faint marks on my neck, his nostrils flaring at my mixed scent, the cedar and vanilla that cling to my clothes even after the shower and the bath.
He doesn't comment on any of it directly.
He simply says, "And you smell like happiness. "
The morning in the nest and the bath still sits warm under my skin, and the way Emrys held Kade's face and the way Kade let himself be held aren't things I can fold back into the job like they never happened.
Caldwell opens his door. "Where to? I’ve got to go grab my files but we've got a shit ton of work to do and I don't have an office here. Now neither do you."
I stand on the cracked pavement for a long moment.
The job that's filled every gap for years has just asked me to step back.
The part of me that's always kept work and everything else in separate boxes is still trying to find a reason to keep them that way.
I can't. Not anymore. A slow smile spreads across my face. "I know a place."