The O'Connor home still hummed with grief and suspicion, but Hale barely had time to process it before the Chief called him back to the precinct.
Chief Reynolds didn't mince words. "You're in over your head, Hale. Two dead girls, no leads. I can't have the press breathing down my neck. You're not working this case alone anymore. Detective Samuel Collins — Sammie — just transferred in from San Diego. He'll be your partner."
The word partner tasted like ash in Hale's mouth. He didn't need help. He needed time. But Reynolds wasn't asking.
Sammie entered the room moments later — clean suit, slick smile, eyes too sharp for someone pretending to be polite. He shook Hale's hand with a grip that lingered a second too long, the kind that said I'm sizing you up.
"Good to meet you, Hale," Sammie said smoothly. "I've heard a lot about you. Big case, huh? Don't worry — I'll make sure nothing slips through the cracks."
Hale stiffened. He didn't like the man's tone, didn't like his confidence. And behind Sammie's polite smile, Hale could feel it: this man wasn't just here to solve murders. He was watching him.
---
Later in the bullpen
Ruiz leaned against Hale's desk, glaring at Sammie across the room. "I don't like him. Guy walks in like he owns the place. Smells like ambition and fake cologne. Watch your back, Hale."
Hale didn't respond. But Ruiz wasn't wrong. Sammie was already digging through files, too curious about Hale's old cases, too interested in him.
---
Hospital – Autopsy Results
The morgue smelled of bleach and steel. Hale signed in, Ruiz trailing behind, only to find a new face waiting for them.
Dr. Paul was young, sharp-eyed, with a calm voice that carried weight. He extended his hand. Hale noticed immediately the red-and-gold wristwatch, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. The initials TK were etched into the band.
"You're not Dr. Halloway," Hale said flatly.
"No," Paul replied with a polite smile. "Dr. Halloway's been reassigned. I'm Dr. Paul Keene. I'll be handling the autopsies from here on out."
They talked shop — entry wounds, weapon trajectory, toxicology reports. But Paul leaned in slightly toward Hale as Ruiz stepped away to take a call. His tone lowered.
"I know how cases like this can bury a man. If you ever need help — official or not — I can provide it. Sometimes the truth doesn't come out through standard reports."
Hale's eyes flicked once more to the watch. Something about it — custom, expensive, unique — stood out like a mark.
"Noted," Hale muttered.
Paul smiled again, a little too long this time, and went back to the paperwork as if nothing had happened.
---
Back at the precinct
Hale sat at his desk long after midnight, the autopsy report open in front of him but his mind elsewhere. Allison. Claire. The O'Connors fracturing. The Chief breathing down his neck. Sammie's eyes on his back.
He felt it all pressing in — like the case wasn't just about catching a killer anymore, but about surviving the cracks forming inside his own team.
The clock ticked. The city outside kept moving. Somewhere out there, the killer was still hunting.
And Hale wasn't sure who to fear more — the man with the axe, or the shadows now gathering inside the department.