“Back up!” Walsh barked, turning just enough to block the line of sight. “This is police business.”
I let myself fall onto my side, breathing shallow, playing it exactly how I had for six days: smaller, weaker, forgettable.
But this time, I wasn’t waiting to see who he was.
I already knew.
This time, I was waiting to end it.
Walsh reached for his cuffs.
“Get your hands behind your back,” he ordered.
I didn’t move.
“Now.”
Still nothing.
He leaned in, voice low again. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this.”
“I’m not trying to,” I said.
And then, very slowly, I reached inside my coat.
Walsh tensed instantly.
“Hands where I can—”
I pulled out the badge.
Not fast. Not dramatic. Just enough.
Gold caught the morning light.
His voice stopped.
Carter’s eyes widened.
Lopez stepped back.
“Captain Jonathan Rivers,” I said, holding the badge where all three of them could see it. “Internal Affairs Division.”
Silence.
Real silence.
The kind that makes every sound around it louder—the wind through the trees, the distant traffic, the jogger’s breathing.
Walsh stared at the badge.
Then at my face.
Then back at the badge.
He let go of the cuffs.
“This… this is a joke,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “It’s an investigation.”
He shook his head once, sharp. “You can’t—”
“I can,” I cut in. “And I did.”
I tapped the blanket.
“Six days.”
His eyes followed the movement.
For the first time, he noticed it.
The seam.
The lens.
Small. Almost invisible.
Almost.
“What is that?” Carter whispered.
“A camera,” I said. “One of three.”
Lopez inhaled sharply.
Walsh’s face changed.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Fear.
“Turn it off,” he said.
“No.”
“That’s evidence handling—”
“You’re not in charge of evidence,” I said calmly. “You’re in it.”
The jogger was filming openly now.
Good.
Multiple angles.
Multiple records.
Multiple witnesses.
Walsh took a step back.
Then another.
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