"There was so much blood — I didn't know what to do."

Veronica sat at her desk, her hair loosely tied back, a faint bruise of fatigue under her eyes. The interrogation transcript lay open in front of her. River's voice replayed softly from the recorder, calm and measured even as he spoke about finding his friend's body.

Outside, the sky was a pale, unsteady blue, and the air hummed faintly with the buzz of traffic just beginning to stir. Inside, the stillness was broken only by the sound of a pen scratching across paper.

She replayed that line twice. It didn't sound rehearsed. But it didn't sound shocked either.
It sounded... controlled.

A knock broke her thoughts.

"Come in," she said.

Victor peeked in. His expression was alert, sharpened by a sleepless night.

Veronica glanced up, then gestured to the folder in his hand. "Show me."

He slid it across the desk. "I have reviewed both of River's statements multiple times. Also Ina's and Jane's."

Veronica's eyes flicked up. "Anything?"

"Right," Victor said, leaning back slightly, "Sehuj Dulia's time of death was estimated at twelve. River was out of the hospital for more than an hour. From eleven thirty to twelve thirty. No alibi."

Veronica said nothing for a moment, studying the data. The neat columns of times and signatures stared back at her like puzzle pieces that almost fit perfectly, but were ragged.

"His statement doesn't mention leaving at all," she said finally.

"That's my point," Victor said, leaning forward now. "He left that part out, arranged a meeting that didn't happen, and somehow ends up being the one to 'find' the body. You see where this is going."

Veronica closed the file slowly, her eyes never leaving his.
"Where I see this going," she said carefully, "is toward a conclusion we can't prove."

Victor tilted his head, showing a slight frustration. "You said it yourself—people close to the victim know the most."

"I said that," she corrected, "but that doesn't mean they killed him."

He gave a small, humorless smile. "Then who did?"

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "That's what we're still finding out."

For a while, silence hung between them, taut and heavy. The sunlight had climbed higher now, cutting a sharp golden line across her desk.

Victor broke it first. "He's lying, Detective. I can feel it."

Veronica's gaze flicked up, steady and calm. "Feeling isn't evidence, Victor."

He looked away briefly, jaw tightening. "His story doesn't add up."

"Then make it add up," she said flatly. "Check his call records, his GPS, his transactions. If he was out for an hour, find out where he went. If there's nothing, then we look elsewhere."

Victor opened his mouth, then shut it again. His pen tapped rhythmically on the desk, a faint edge of impatience creeping into his movements.

"And while you're at it," Veronica added, "pull up background reports on Ina Lones and Jane Park."

He frowned. "Why them?"

"Because they were closest to him," she said simply. "If we're looking at possible motives, we look at everyone. Grief doesn't always mean innocence. Fear doesn't always mean guilt."

Victor hesitated. "You really think—"

"I think we don't rule anyone out yet. Including River."

That seemed to calm him, if only slightly. He nodded, tone crisp. "Understood. I'll get the reports started."

"Good." She closed the file and pushed it aside. "And Victor—"

He paused at the door.

"Don't let instinct override process. It's how good detectives lose good cases."

For a fleeting second, something flickered across his face — irritation, quickly hidden by his usual, polite smile. "Of course, Detective."

He left the room, the door shutting with a muted click behind him.

Veronica exhaled softly and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. On her desk, the board with the red strings caught the light. Sehuj's photo in the center, River's just below it, with a new yellow sticky note beside it in neat handwriting: "No alibi, verify details."

She rubbed her temple and pressed play again on the recording.

"There was so much blood — I didn't know what to do."

His voice trembled, almost imperceptibly. Too calm, but too genuine to fake.

Veronica sat in silence, a knot tightening in her chest. Something wasn't fitting, not yet. But until she had proof otherwise, River Vigilanco was officially a person of interest.

— —

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed louder than it should have.

Victor walked down the hall, his footsteps sharp against the linoleum. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, a noise he usually ignored, but now it grated against him, setting his teeth on edge. He could still hear Veronica's voice in his head, calm and precise, dissecting his instincts like they were mistakes.

When the elevator doors slid open, Victor stepped inside and jabbed the button harder than necessary. His reflection in the steel wall stared back — tired eyes, collar askew, jaw locked too tight. The picture of a man barely holding composure.

By the time he reached his floor, his phone was already vibrating in his pocket. The caller ID made his pulse skip. He glanced around the empty corridor, then turned down the quieter wing of the station and shut himself in his office.

He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. Then in a low voice, he hissed, annoyance clear in each word. "Why are you calling me here?"

A pause. Then, "Because you are rushing."

"I'm getting results."

"You're getting attention. There is a difference." The voice responded calmly as ever. It made his skin crawl. He clenched his fists.

"You said to keep the focus on him."

"I said guide it. You are pushing it."

Victor let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're worried about him?"

"I'm worried about mistakes. Yours, especially," the voice replied, smooth and steady, almost amused.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to sting. Then the voice dropped, quiet and deliberate: "He's smart. Smarter than both of us, if you let him be. Just make sure he stays... occupied."

Victor exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "Understood."

The line went dead. He stared at his reflection in the dark computer screen, the ghost of his own face staring back. He forced himself to breathe, to smooth his expression, to look composed. But the scowl lingered.

He loosened his tie and leaned back, eyes shut, the hum of the station bleeding faintly through the walls.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Author's note:

Anddddd that wraps up the first arc of the story.