Chapter 2 002

IRIS POV

A FEW MONTHS BACK

The lab was hushed, except for the machines humming away as computer screens bathed everything in a cold, blue light. Midnight shifts weren't a hit with most, but I liked the quiet because the dead didn't argue.

I peered into the microscope, zeroing in on a bone shard. The DNA was already pulled, the sample logged, and the comparison results blinked from the monitor.

Match found.

Relief should've washed over me since I'd been on this case for ages but the name beside the match hit me like ice.

Dr. Henry William. My dad.

I blinked, reading it again, hoping the computer glitched but the numbers lined up too well and the markers didn't mess around.

My dad's DNA was on the remains of Jane Doe.

I sat back, numb. My chest felt crushed and I wanted to scream, shred the report, just to wake up from this nightmare.

Because it didn't add up, my father was a retired big-shot forensic pathologist, not a killer. He spent his life cracking death cases, not causing them.

The lab door creaked, startling me as Dr. Rowan Hale strolled in, holding two coffees. His hair was a wreck, lab coat half-buttoned.

“Still here,” he said softly. “Figured.”

He put a cup down, then frowned at my face. “Iris? You okay?”

I hesitated, hand near the keyboard because the report was still up so I quickly hid it. “Just tired,” I said.

Rowan eyed me. He didn't buy it, he never did but he let it slide. “You should go home. You've been here for a while.”

I faked a smile. “Yeah. Maybe after this.”

He nodded, eyes lingering. “Call if you need anything.” he offered, then left, quietly closing the door.

As soon as he was gone, I spun back to the screen. The match notification mocked me. Every instinct screamed to redo the test, but I knew it'd be the same because I'd triple-checked everything so the sample was legit.

My dad was dying, and the doctors gave him months to live. He spent his days in bed, reminiscing about old cases, the ones he never solved. He trusted evidence over people and always said, “The bones don't lie, Iris. Listen to them.”

But tonight, I wanted the bones to lie.

I looked at the report, the cursor blinking next to Dad's name. I thought about the woman in the grave, the case we couldn't crack, the family that never got answers.

Then I thought about my dad, the guy who taught me to find the truth. The guy who still called me “little detective” when I visited. The guy who sacrificed everything for his job, now was dying with regrets.

He didn't deserve to die as a murderer, not when he had lived so honorably.

I stood and paced, hands shaking as the air felt thick.

If I sent this report, it'd start an investigation. They'd trash his rep, even if he never went to trial so he’d die under suspicion, the press would eat him alive. But if I changed it, faked the DNA result, the case would stay cold and no one would know. He could die in peace.

A voice whispered, ‘It’s just one report.’

But I knew better because lies always got harder to hide and even the tiniest truths could end up coming to light later on.

I sat back down and stared at the computer like it was time to be a certain kind of person.

Then I did it. I deleted the match.

That was all. I changed the record, switched the markers, and altered the data so the DNA matched no one.

The program updated and the screen read, Result: No match found. Case unresolved.

I sat there, staring at the lie which looked simple, clean, but I could feel it rotting inside.

I printed the new report, stamped it, signed it and the printer roared in the empty room. When it stopped, the silence was deafening.

Then my phone buzzed, and startled at the noise before picking it up quickly.

A text from the nurse was on the screen. ‘You should come. It’s time.’

My throat tightened as I grabbed my coat and bolted from the lab, my feet moving as fast as possible.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fading hope as I rushed through the halls. When I got to my dad's room, the nurse stepped aside.

He looked small, lost in the sheets and machines as his eyes fluttered open to stare at me.

“Iris,” he whispered, voice weak. “You look tired.”

I tried to smile. “That comes with the job.”

He chuckled, then coughed. “At the lab?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “A new case, woman in the woods.”

He nodded. “Find anything?”

I hesitated. “No,” I lied. “Not yet.”

He closed his eyes, relief flickering. “Good, some truths… are better off buried.”

I froze. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer but instead his hand trembled. “I wasn’t always a good man, Iris. There were things… mistakes. I tried to fix them, but the past…”

“You're not bad,” I said.

He smiled, eyes closed. “Keep believing that, little detective.”

The monitor beeped, his breathing slowed and I wanted to tell him that I fixed it, that no one would know, that I saved him but the words wouldn't come.

He took one last breath and went still while I stayed silent before sitting there and holding his hand long after the nurses arrived, long after they shut the machines down.

But my report was still on the lab desk, signed and fake.

By morning, the case was closed, since it remained unsolved, another cold file, and my dad’s name never came up.

People at the lab thought I was composed so one knew, and that was exactly how it needed to be.

But sometimes, late at night, I heard his voice. “The bones don't lie, Iris. Listen.”

And every time, I’d whisper back, “I’m sorry, Dad. This time… they had to.”