Warning in Plain Sight

Chapter Five

The precinct was one of those buildings that carried its history in the air.

The scent hit me the second I walked in to the sordid stench of burnt coffee, paper, stale air from overworked vents. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was thick with everything this place had seen. Too many late nights, too many cold cases, too many conversations that never made it into official reports.

I’d been here before, chasing other stories, leaning on other doors. But today was different. This time I was carrying the weight of The Ember Room in my notebook, and that was the kind of lead that made doors open more slowly.

Detective Cain found me before I reached the front desk.

He was leaning against the wall near the bulletin board, one ankle crossed over the other like he’d been there all afternoon. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with pale hair, and his tie hung loose around his neck. The posture said casual; the eyes didn’t match.

“Ms. Green,” he said, straightening just enough to give the impression of courtesy without committing to it. “I hear you’ve been sniffing around Cruze’s case.”

The corner of my mouth twitched, but I kept my tone neutral.

“Just doing my job.”

Cain smiled, the kind of smile that makes you forget for half a second that you don’t actually know the man.

“Walk with me.”

The hallway we took was quieter, lined with closed doors and dusty framed commendations. His steps were unhurried, measured, like he was giving me time to think before he spoke.

“Cruze’s death is… complicated,” he said finally, glancing at me in a way that made the word feel heavier than it should. “Lots of moving parts. The kind of thing that’s easy to get tangled in if you’re not careful.”

“I can handle tangled,” I stubbornly retorted.

“That’s what everyone says before it wraps around their neck,” he said, almost whispering.

We passed a window looking out over the side lot, chain-link fencing, a few unmarked cars parked crooked, a stray cat slipping between shadows. The precinct lights reflected faintly in the glass, framing our silhouettes.

“Word going around is,” Cain continued, “you’ve been asking questions in The Ember Room.”

I stopped just long enough for him to notice and then stop.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Only if you like problems.” He gave a slow shrug. “That place isn’t in our jurisdiction. Officially, anyway.”

The implication landed without him having to spell it out unofficially, it was very much under their watch, just not under their paperwork.

We stopped at the far end of the hall, near a heavy door that opened onto a stairwell. Cain leaned against the frame like he had all the time in the world.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” he said. “But there are places in this city where answers don’t come cheap. Sometimes they don’t come at all.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?” I asked, with a hint of irritation slipping in.

“Because you seem smart enough to listen when someone tells you the fire’s hot before you touch it.”

He was smiling now, he knew he was getting to me.

I met his gaze, searching for the usual tells; a glance away, a twitch of the jaw, something to give away the man behind the badge. But Cain was all still water, a practiced liar through and through.

“Or stubborn enough,” I said finally, “to see for myself.”

For a moment, something flickered across his face. Not amusement, not irritation, it felt like recognition. Like he’d been where I was and come out the other side with more scars than answers, and that experience had left him broken.

“Fair enough,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. He paused, looking me over like he was memorizing my face for later. “Just… don’t go looking for trouble you can’t walk away from,” he finally said with a heavy sigh.

He left me standing there with the stairwell door half open, the cold draft from outside licking at my ankles. I stayed a moment longer, listening to his footsteps echo away. As I turned around on the balls of my feet, I made a mental note that Cain could actually be crooked.

Back at my apartment that night, I spread my notes across the table, pages of names, dates, locations, all threads that all ran through the same needle: Cruze. The Ember Room. Alexander Cole.

Cain’s warning looped in my head. Not the words, but the tone. The careful, quiet weight of a man who knew more than he was willing to say. He hadn’t told me to stop. He’d told me to be careful. And sometimes, that meant don’t get caught.

I kept circling The Ember Room’s name in my notebook until the ink bled through the paper. Then I drew a line from it to Cole’s, and another to Cruze’s.

It didn’t matter how tangled it was. If there was a knot, I was going to pull until it came loose, even if it took the whole net with it.

The city hummed outside my window, restless as ever. Somewhere out there, Alexander Cole was moving his pieces across the board, and Detective Cain was probably working to make sure that I didn’t see the whole game.

That was fine, though.

I didn’t need the whole game.

Just enough to win, and I was going to.