The O'Connell house was silent, but not the kind of silence born from peace. It was the heavy silence of grief, where every breath felt like betrayal and every word carried suspicion.
Allison's mother sat on the couch clutching her daughter's favorite pink sweater, rocking it against her chest like a child. "She was supposed to be safe," she whispered. "She called me that night. She called me and I couldn't do anything." Her voice broke, collapsing into sobs.
Across the room, Allison's father stood rigid, fists trembling at his sides. "She was never safe. Not in that city. Not with the people she ran with." His eyes flicked toward his son. "And you knew it."
Her brother, Michael, shot up from his chair. "Don't you dare. Don't you put this on me. I told her not to go to Spencer Club. I begged her. She didn't listen." His voice cracked, caught between guilt and fury.
The mother looked up sharply, her tear-stained face twisting. "So why did she go then? Who was she meeting? You knew something, Michael. I can see it in your eyes."
Michael's chest heaved. "You think I'd ever hurt her?"
The father slammed his fist on the table. "I don't know what to think anymore!"
The room fractured under the weight of grief. Every word was an accusation, every silence an unspoken doubt. The family wasn't just mourning Allison. They were tearing themselves apart over her ghost.
---
At the precinct, Detective Hale stared at two whiteboards crammed with photos, names, and timelines. Allison's smiling face. Claire's broken body. Two girls. Same city. Same brutality.
And yet—nothing connected.
Ruiz leaned against the wall, arms folded. "The brother's hiding something. I'm telling you. Maybe it wasn't the Bald Man at all. Maybe Allison's death was personal."
Hale shook his head. "No. The axe, the precision, the note—it's him. It has to be."
"Then explain Claire," Ruiz shot back. "Different place. Different setup. Same ending, yeah—but maybe we're chasing two killers. Or worse, maybe someone's helping him."
Hale rubbed a hand over his tired face. The room swam. His chest was tight.
The Chief's words still rang in his ears: "One week, Hale. One week or you're off this case."
He stared at the board until the lines blurred, until Allison and Claire's faces seemed to stare back at him with the same silent question:
Why didn't you save us?
Hale's hands trembled. He wanted to smash the board, tear the photos down, scream until the city cracked open. Instead, he sank into his chair, his throat burning, his voice barely a whisper.
"I'm losing them."
And for the first time, Ruiz didn't argue.
He just stood there in the silence, both of them drowning in the sound of the ticking clock.