The safe house didn't feel safe anymore.
Ivy had started counting the seconds between creaks. Twenty-four between the moan of the radiator and the sigh of the hallway vent. Thirty-one between the hum of the fridge and the subtle tick-tick of something she couldn't place—like a clock buried in the walls.
She didn't say anything to Elias that morning.
Didn't need to.
He could see it in her eyes.
---
Chicago P.D. – Homicide Division
7:52 AM
Detective Elias Ward walked into the precinct like a man carrying an invisible body on his back.
He barely nodded at the uniformed officers who passed him, his boots clicking a steady rhythm across the tiled floor. There were whispers, of course. There always were when a detective went ghost for a few days.
He found his partner—Detective Raúl Ochoa—slouched at their shared desk, half a donut in one hand, a coffee in the other, and sarcasm already loaded in his eyes.
"Well, well. Ward rises from the crypt."
"I need time on the board," Elias said, tossing Kara's file down.
Ochoa raised an eyebrow. "You disappeared for 72 hours. Didn't answer your radio."
"I was working."
"Working where?"
"Off-site."
Raúl stared at him for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Still chasing shadows?"
"They're not shadows."
"She was just a socialite. Could've been drugs, boyfriend drama—"
"Then why'd someone wipe the cameras thirty seconds after she walked into that hotel?"
Ochoa paused. "You serious?"
Elias nodded. "And I've got a witness."
"Who?"
Elias didn't answer.
"Ward…"
"She's not ready."
"Is she safe?"
"No," Elias said. "But she will be."
---
Later That Morning — Captain's Office
Captain Lynette Baylor was not a woman who dealt well with theories that started with "I have a feeling."
She stood behind her desk, arms crossed, silver streaks in her hair pulled tight into a braid. "You're telling me someone may have been stalking the victim before she died."
"Yes," Elias said. "And I think the witness is next."
"Where is this witness?"
"Protected."
"By who?"
"Me."
The Captain sighed, then circled her desk slowly. "You're too close to this. Again."
Elias stared ahead. "I'm the only one she trusts."
"That's not the question. The question is—can she be trusted?"
He didn't flinch. "Yes."
Baylor eyed him.
"You've made that mistake before."
He didn't respond.
She handed him a manila folder. "Start here. A camera at the CTA station four blocks from the hotel caught a man watching Kara two nights before she died. We haven't ID'd him yet, but it's something."
Elias took the file, nodded once, and turned.
"Ward," she called before he left. "Be careful where you bury your heart this time."
---
Back at the Safe House
Ivy sat on the floor, sorting through Kara's things.
She wasn't supposed to have them—Elias had brought the bag back from the evidence locker without permission. But now, in the silence of the apartment, she searched for anything Kara might've left behind.
A phone charger. A lip gloss. A receipt for coffee—four days before she died.
Then... a flash drive.
Tiny. Black. Unlabeled.
She stared at it like it might bite.
She got up, went to the laptop, and plugged it in.
Nothing popped up.
Just one audio file.
Titled: "Tell Me, Ivy"
Her blood turned cold.
She clicked.
Click. Silence. A voice. Male. Calm. Cold.
> "Tell me, Ivy. When did you first see me?"
She pulled back from the computer, heart hammering.
The voice was slow. Familiar, but distorted.
> "Was it at the gallery? Or before? You always looked. Even when you said you didn't. You looked."
Ivy slammed the laptop shut.
Her breath came short.
He had recorded this. This was to her.
Not Kara.
Her.
---
That Night
Elias returned, eyes tired, shoulders heavier than usual.
Ivy didn't speak.
She handed him the flash drive.
He listened. All of it.
The room was thick with silence when it ended.
"That's your name," he said.
"I know."
"He was talking to you."
"I know."
"You didn't tell me you met him before."
"I didn't remember."
Elias stared at her. "Are you sure about that?"
Her stomach twisted. "You think I'm hiding something?"
"I think you're scared. And when people are scared, they forget. Or they pretend."
She stood up. "Do you think I'm a liar?"
"I think you're the key," he said, voice quiet. "And keys don't work if they don't know what they're unlocking."
---
Somewhere Else
The man stepped out of the car and walked slowly across the pavement, his steps too light for the weight he carried in his chest.
He entered a dim office with walls covered in news clippings.
Circles around headlines. Strings connecting faces.
One article near the top read:
"Young Woman Found Dead in South Loop Hotel. No Leads."
Beneath it:
"Detective Elias Ward Leads Investigation."
The man smiled.
Then crossed out Elias's face with red ink.