The public records annex didn't feel like a place where people died. It was far too ordinary for that, defined by concrete walls, humming fluorescent lights, and a vending machine that never worked properly. The lobby was full of faded posters explaining how to request documents that nobody actually wanted until they desperately needed them.
But the parking lot behind the building told a different story. It was dim and mostly empty, illuminated by a single sodium lamp that cast a sickly yellow glow over everything it touched. Calvin Rourke sat dead in his car. He wasn't sprawled out or slumped in a dramatic pose; he was simply leaned forward against the steering wheel, looking as if he'd nodded off mid-thought.
His window was cracked open just an inch, allowing rain to slide down the glass in slow, steady lines. Brian stood near the open driver-side door with his hands on his hips, his expression tight with the kind of frustration that came when a scene insisted on looking far too simple.
"County records clerk," Brian said. "Forty-eight. Married. No priors. Patrol thought heart attack."
Lucas was crouched near the rear tire, his eyes fixed on the ground, while Alex hovered near the annex door with a tablet, pulling access logs. Isaiah stood beside Harley, keeping his usual quiet watch.
Harley leaned in toward the body. Calvin's face had a faint sheen—either sweat or rain mist—and his lips were slightly parted. His hands rested on the wheel, but the grip didn't look like a sign of panic. It looked like tension held for far too long. She examined his neck, then his ears, and finally his fingertips. There was nothing obvious, but her stomach tightened nonetheless.
"This isn't a heart attack," she said.
Brian glanced at her. "Because?"
Harley pointed at the unfastened seatbelt. "If he drove here, he wears it. Records annex employees aren't exactly adrenaline junkies."
Lucas looked up from the pavement. "So he wasn't driving."
Harley nodded. "He was placed."
Isaiah's eyes narrowed slightly at the implication. "Post-mortem movement."
Brian exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling in. "Great. Murder in a government parking lot."
Alex looked back from his screen, his expression grim. "It gets better."
No one laughed. Alex turned the tablet toward them to show the data. "Rourke badged out at 5:12 PM."
Lucas frowned. "And now it's...?"
Alex checked the timestamp. "Body was discovered at 9:40."
Brian's jaw tightened. "So a four-hour gap."
Harley's gaze moved toward the annex door. "Any cameras?"
Alex nodded. "Lobby cam. Rear parking cam. But—"
"But?" Isaiah asked.
Alex swallowed hard. "The rear cam has a missing segment from 7:58 to 8:06."
Eight minutes—long enough for anything that mattered to happen. Brian's mouth tightened. "Isn't that convenient."
Harley stared at the screen. The missing segment wasn't just a blackout; it was a loop, showing the same image of the rain and the empty lot repeating over and over. Her eyes flicked to the time marker. Her pulse didn't spike, but she felt a familiar pressure at the base of her skull. It wasn't proof yet, but it was a pattern.
Isaiah watched her face change. "You're thinking about the other loops," he said quietly.
Harley didn't answer. She didn't need to.
__
Inside the Annex
The lobby smelled like paper dust and cheap cleaning solution. The clerk at the front desk—a young man with a tired face and a too-bright county badge—looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on earth.
"You knew Calvin Rourke?" Brian asked.
The clerk nodded quickly. "Yes. He trained me."
"Did he mention anything unusual today?" Lucas asked.
"No."
Harley leaned slightly on the counter, her voice staying even. "Any visitors who asked for specific records? Anyone who didn't fit?"
The clerk blinked, looking confused. "People ask for records all day."
"Any person who didn't fit," Harley repeated.
He hesitated, then admitted, "There was a woman. Not old, not young... maybe thirties. She wore a hoodie and asked for a copy of something, but she didn't want the official process. She offered cash and said she needed it tonight."
Brian's expression hardened. "What did Calvin do?"
"He told her no. He said she'd have to file the request."
Harley's gaze stayed on him, unsatisfied. "And then?"
The clerk swallowed hard. "She left."
No, Harley thought. She wasn't satisfied with that answer.
__
The records office in the back was tidy in the typical government way—everything labeled and placed exactly where it was supposed to be. Calvin's desk sat near the corner, resting under a flickering fluorescent panel.
Alex pointed at the monitor. "Last login: Calvin. 7:41 PM."
Brian frowned. "He badged out at five."
Lucas turned sharply. "So he came back."
Harley stepped closer. On the desk lay a manila folder stamped with an internal code: GH-03-11A. Harley went very still. Isaiah felt the shift in her and stepped closer without making a sound.
Brian looked at the code and frowned. "What's that?"
Harley didn't answer immediately. She stared at the stamp like it might bleed. It was the same format as the analog index tag—the one tied to her father, the one that had been transferred to restricted custody and manipulated. Now, it was sitting in Calvin Rourke's workspace as if someone had placed it there with intent.
Isaiah's voice dropped. "Is that—"
Harley nodded once. "Yes."
Lucas's face tightened. "This is yours."
Brian looked between them, confused. "What the hell is that file doing here?"
Alex's eyes were wide. "It's not supposed to be in public records."
Harley opened the folder carefully with gloved hands. Inside was a single, clean, typed sheet with the header: Certified Copy — Incident Summary. It wasn't the original, but a copy. The body of the report was mostly blank, except for one line near the bottom: TIME: 2:14 AM.
Harley didn't breathe, and Isaiah's jaw tightened in response. Brian just stared. "No."
"It's following you," Lucas whispered.
Harley closed the folder slowly. She didn't look scared; she looked insulted. It felt as if someone had stepped into her house and rearranged something small just to prove they could.
Isaiah watched her. "You think Rourke didn't just stumble into this."
Harley's voice was low. "He was used."
__
Alex's tablet pinged again. He stared at it, then went pale.
"What?" Brian asked.
Alex turned the screen toward them, showing a new badge entry. It wasn't Calvin's. Someone had just accessed the annex from the rear service door right now. The name displayed on the screen read: ELDEN SHAW.
Brian blinked. "Isn't that the guy who owns Briar Lane?"
Lucas stared at the name. "He's in a care home."
Harley's voice was quiet. "So someone is using dead names again."
Isaiah was already moving. "Lights out," he said.
In the back hallway of the public records annex, the fluorescent lights flickered once—as if the building itself had just held its breath.