"You've always looked better in red."
Jay's voice was warm, almost teasing, as he opened the door. The porch light hummed faintly above him, casting its pale glow over the woman standing there. Elisha didn't just wear the red dress—she inhabited it. It curved around her like it had been sewn in secrecy for no other body but hers. The fabric shimmered faintly, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in soft, deliberate waves.
Her lips curved into a smile. "Evening, Detective."
"You're off the clock," Jay smirked, stepping aside to let her in. "You can call me Jay. At least until tomorrow."
She tilted her head slightly as she brushed past him. "Then until tomorrow, you can call me Elisha."
The house smelled of garlic butter and rosemary. Soft jazz played low from the living room, just loud enough to fill the silence between words. The kitchen light was dim, warm—the kind of light that wrapped around people instead of revealing them.
They ate slowly. The cutlery chimed softly against the plates, the wine poured a deep, mellow red in their glasses.
"Not bad," she said after a bite.
"Not bad? That's the highest praise I've ever gotten from a fellow detective," Jay said with a mock-wounded expression.
She chuckled. "Maybe you're better in the kitchen than in the field."
Jay grinned. "Careful, Detective. That sounds dangerously close to flirting."
The teasing faded naturally into comfortable conversation—talking about odd cases, absurd suspects, the small, unglamorous details of detective work. They laughed about the time they chased a suspect for two blocks only to find out he'd been running from an unpaid cab fare.
Then,
It was subtle—just the brush of her fingers along his wrist as she reached for her glass, the kind of movement that could be mistaken for an accident. But her touch lingered, and when Jay glanced up, her eyes were already holding his.
"You know," she said softly, "we've been partners for three years and I've never seen you just… breathe. Tonight feels different."
Jay offered a faint smile, uncertain. "That's because you've only seen me at work. The version of me that's… hunting something."
Her gaze flickered down to his lips and then back up again. "Maybe I'd like to see the other version more often."
The room seemed warmer now, the air thicker. She didn't move away, and for a heartbeat, Jay thought—maybe—
But his mind betrayed him.
Then, as though some invisible tide had pulled at him, Jay set his fork down and leaned back. His eyes dropped to the wine glass in his hand.
"My wife… she loved this wine," he said, almost absently. "Said it tasted like autumn bottled up. She'd drink it slow, just enough to blush her cheeks."
His voice deepened, the words carrying the well-worn weight of something recited countless times before. "She was everything. The kind of woman you think you'll grow old with. We were expecting our first child. I used to talk to her belly at night… tell our kid stories about the world."
Elisha listened, expression unreadable. Jay didn't notice—he was lost in the memory. "Then… some animal took that away. Slaughtered her. Took my child. And every day since, I've hunted that face in my head. I can't go a day without the case file. It's all I have left of her."
The kitchen was very still now. The only sound was the faint clink of Elisha setting down her fork. She leaned forward, her voice calm, almost soft.
"Your wife…" she began, her tone slow, deliberate. "I'm sure she didn't expect her time with you to be so short. And that murderer… robbed her of her jewels after the slaughter."
Jay's brow furrowed.
"She treasured the ring you gave her so much," Elisha continued. "Well…" Her lips curved slightly. "It looks better on me now."
Jay blinked. The words hung in the air like a slow, burning fuse.
"What did you just say?" His voice was low, careful.
But then his eyes moved—slowly, almost unwillingly—to her hand.
The ring.
The gold band, delicate, with the tiny, imperfect diamond he had saved for months to buy. His wife's ring. Sitting on Elisha's finger.
He froze. His chest tightened—not from fear yet, but from the dawning, impossible understanding. That detail… only three people could know. His wife. Himself. And ...the killer.
Elisha's eyes locked on his, and for the first time in years, Jay felt a cold weight pressing against his ribs. He repeated her words under his breath, each syllable heavier than the last. "The murderer… robbed her of her jewels."
And in that repetition, his world split in two—before and after the knowing.
He didn't feel the first stab until the blood rose in his throat.