The air inside Ryan's office was thick with tension.
He scrolled rapidly through surveillance files, phone logs, and city footage databases. Sophia hovered near the whiteboard, where she had written key dates, names, and locations in red ink. Emma stood in front of the evidence board, eyes locked on Liam Carter's photograph.
It had taken hours, but finally, Ryan stopped scrolling.
"Got something," he said, tapping the screen. "A CCTV camera near a local art workshop picked up someone matching Liam's height and build. Timestamp matches the day the loan was taken out."
He zoomed in.
The camera showed a man entering the back door of a low-profile workshop in the industrial part of the city. His head was lowered, baseball cap pulled low.
Face obscured. But everything else—the walk, the posture—matched.
"That has to be him," Emma said.
"Let's find out for sure," Ryan replied.
The art workshop was nestled between two forgotten warehouses, its front door painted a faded blue. Inside, the air smelled of glue, latex, and acrylic paint. Brushes, silicone molds, and sculpted masks filled the shelves like relics from a magician's lab.
The shop owner—a wiry man in his fifties with nervous eyes and ink-stained fingers—stood behind the counter.
Ryan flashed his badge. "We need to ask you a few questions."
He held up a printed photo of Liam.
"Do you recognize this man?"
The owner squinted. His body stiffened.
"I—I mean… yeah. He came in a while back."
Emma stepped forward. "What did he want?"
The man hesitated.
"Look… I didn't want to do it," he muttered. "It's illegal."
"Do what?" Sophia pressed.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.
"He wanted a mask. A wearable, elastic one. To look exactly like someone else. A full-face replica."
Emma felt her breath catch. "Who?"
The owner hesitated. Then, shamefully, he said, "He gave me a photo. Said he wanted to look like his brother."
Emma exchanged a wide-eyed look with Sophia.
"Daniel?" she asked.
The man nodded.
"I said no at first," he added quickly. "Told him it was unethical, even dangerous. But he offered a ridiculous amount of money. I gave in."
Ryan leaned on the counter, his voice sharp. "Did you keep any records?"
"No names. Cash payment. But I've still got the mold."
Emma's world tilted.
It was true.
Liam had impersonated Daniel.
And Daniel had paid the price.
Later that evening, Ryan marched into the precinct and slammed a file onto the desk of his commanding officer.
Photos. Video stills. Witness statements. Mask molds.
"Captain," he said firmly, "we have enough to move."
The captain flipped through the evidence with furrowed brows.
"This is solid," he said finally. "Issue the arrest warrants. Bring in Liam Carter… and Victor Salazar."
Ryan nodded once.
The wheels of justice were turning.
And this time, they wouldn't stop.
That night, as the city slept, Emma stood on the balcony of her apartment. The air was cool and dry, the kind of night she and Daniel used to enjoy with wine and conversation.
She looked down at the streets below, the ache in her chest heavier than ever.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered to the wind. "Why did you carry this alone?"
Behind her, her phone buzzed with a message from Ryan.
Warrants signed. They're going down tomorrow.
Emma stared at the screen.
Justice was no longer a hope.
It was coming.