The case involving Angelica’s brother had ended, at least on paper. Alan had been taken from his crib when he was just a baby, spirited away in a calculated move by a couple who had no rightful claim to him. 

The discovery, years later, had ripped the truth from the past and thrust it into the present with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Though Alan had been returned to his biological family, the aftershocks of the case never quite left. Not for him, not for the Sullivans… and definitely not for Lena.

For the family, the healing came in fragments. Awkward dinners. Stilted conversations. The occasional glimmer of happiness that didn’t feel forced. 

Within a few years, they could finally say Alan had come out of his shell. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t talk much. But he laughed sometimes. He hugged back. He cared—in his own, quiet way.

But for Lena, the case never truly ended.

Not when Marcus Hayes began appearing around campus more often. Not when she’d catch the glint of his badge tucked beneath his coat. Not when he said, “I’m just informing you both about the case against the Sullivans.”

Lena never bought it.

She didn’t need her strange ability to know what he really came for.

‘He’s just checking up on me,’ she would think every time she saw him loitering outside the quad or "accidentally" running into her at the local bookstore.

‘I don’t want his pity. I’m tired of it.’

It was always in his eyes—those sunken, too-sympathetic eyes. They saw too much. Felt too much.

And then, one day… he stopped showing up.

She should’ve felt relief. And at first, she did. The weight of his gaze was gone. She could breathe.

But then she graduated college.

Lena had chosen to study forensic science, criminology, even criminal psych. She’d thrown herself into her work like it was a shield. A future she could control. A life she could build on her own terms.

And just as she began looking into job opportunities—some in Pennsylvania, others out of state—her inbox pinged with a familiar name.

Subject: Career Opportunity – Marcus Hayes

Lena stared at it for a long time before she clicked. She almost didn’t. Her mouse hovered over the delete button, finger twitching.

But something stopped her.

A voice inside—soft, insistent—whispered: Keep reading. Don’t regret this.

The email was simple. Hayes said he knew she was looking for a job. Said he’d recommended her for a position. Said he was actually an undercover FBI agent. And if she was serious about this line of work, she should come meet him at the local police station.

Before the end of the week.

After that, he’d be gone. Offer closed.

“So it’s not an open offer, huh?” she muttered to herself, hand cradling her chin as her other drummed the table beside her laptop.

“Of course not. Wouldn’t expect more from him.”

She leaned back in her chair, sighing hard enough to shake loose her thoughts.

‘Take my chances? Or take him up on his offer?’

Her eyes closed, head tilted back toward the ceiling. “Haaaa… damn you, Hayes,” she whispered.

The next morning, she was dressed and ready. Jeans, boots, a gray coat. Practical. Neutral. Guarded.

The police station was just as she remembered it—flat brick building, the scent of burnt coffee lingering near the entrance. But it was the truck she noticed first. Red, peeling. Sitting like a rusted ghost in the lot next to a large oak tree. And there he was.

Marcus Hayes sat on the bed of the truck, legs swinging slightly as he flipped through a case file. He looked up the moment her boots hit the pavement.

A half-smile tugged at his lips. Like he’d been expecting her all along.

“I’m glad you could come, Ms. Cross,” he greeted, standing and offering his hand.

She looked at it. Blinked. And folded her arms across her chest.

“Why did you offer me a job?” she asked flatly. “Don’t tell me it’s because you still feel guilty about gunning down my dad. I've told you time and time again that I don’t—”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off gently. He held her gaze, serious now. “Let me assure you right here and now—that’s not the only reason. And it’s definitely not the main reason.”

He sat back down on the truck bed and patted the space beside him. She hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, she sat too—far on the edge, arms still crossed.

Hayes chuckled. “Always need a buffer zone, huh?”

She said nothing. He continued.

“I’ve been thinking about that tip Angelica brought in. The one that cracked the whole kidnapping case open again.” He glanced at her. 

“There’s just… no reason for her to suddenly bring up Kim Sullivan as a suspect. And that story about her mom running into Kim while walking Alan in the park? That was a lie.”

Lena stiffened. Her fingers curled against her coat.

Hayes turned slightly toward her, voice lowering. “Then I thought back to you.”

Her breath hitched.

“She didn’t bring you along for moral support, did she?” His tone was soft. Not accusatory. But it cut just the same. “And that raised an even bigger question. One I haven’t been able to shake.”

He leaned in.

“How did you know Kim and Oscar Sullivan were the ones who took Alan?”

Their eyes locked. Lena’s pulse roared in her ears.

She looked away, toward the sky. The clouds drifted lazily above, as if time hadn’t frozen. Her lips parted, closed. Again. And again.

But the words stayed locked behind her teeth.

Hayes sat back up. After a beat, his hand rested gently on her shoulder.

“Your silence is all I needed, kiddo.” His voice was low, steady. “If you don’t feel like telling me, that’s okay. A good agent should always keep their trump cards close anyhow.”

Her throat relaxed just enough to swallow. She nodded once, eyes still skyward.

Then, shifting gears, she asked, “So what did you really call me here for? How long until I can get to work?” Hayes grinned and handed over the file he’d been reading.

“My trial run?” she asked, flipping it open.

“You got it. Director Adebayo said this one’s the perfect test. But don’t stress if it’s too much. It’s not about solving it. It’s about seeing how far you’re willing to go. Whether you can handle the emotional gut-punch this one’s gonna throw your way.”

Lena’s brow furrowed and something stirred in her gut as she briefly skimmed the contents.

Hayes stood, stretching. “I’ll give you until Friday. If you’re in, meet me at the diner on Route 8. You know the place.”

She nodded slowly.

He paused before heading to the truck. “You’ve got the instincts. You’re sharp, focused… and you listen to the things nobody else can hear.”

He gave her a faint smile. “But this job? It’ll cost you. Just make sure it doesn’t take everything.”

With that, he climbed in and drove away.

Lena remained at the police station alone, leaning against the oak tree with the file and her thoughts. Her hand clenched around the folder.

“Damn you, Hayes,” she whispered.

And this time, she wasn’t entirely sure if she actually meant it.