"No…"
The word felt heavy leaving her mouth.
"I don't have any evidence."
A murmur rippled across the panel immediately.
Evelyn forced herself to keep speaking before they could cut her off.
"I'm still working the case," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "And I'm close. I can feel it."
One of the senior agents leaned forward, unimpressed.
Feeling isn't evidence, Agent Ashford.
She ignored the comment.
"I just need more time," she continued. "Let me speak with him again. Tomorrow."
The room fell quiet.
"With who?" someone asked.
Evelyn met their eyes.
"Silas Montclair."
That name changed the air instantly.
Several members of the panel exchanged glances. One of them even scoffed softly.
"You expect us to authorize another meeting with a man suspected of running half the underground trade in Mognat city?" Mr. Collins said.
"I expect you to trust your detective," Evelyn replied.
The words came out before she could stop them.
The room erupted.
Voices layered over each other.
"This is reckless—"
"She already compromised the operation once—"
"We could lose the entire investigation—"
Evelyn stood there through it all, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Finally Mr. Collins raised his hand.
Silence slowly returned.
He studied Evelyn for a long moment.
"You're asking for one more chance."
"Yes."
"And if you fail?"
Evelyn didn't hesitate.
"Then remove me from the case."
The panel broke into another round of quiet argument.
Minutes passed.
Evelyn kept her face still, but inside her pulse hammered harder with every second.
Finally Mr. Collins leaned back in his chair.
"One meeting," he said.
Evelyn's breath caught.
"Tomorrow."
The room fell silent again.
"And Agent Ashford…"
His gaze sharpened.
"Next time we ask you that question…"
He tapped a finger once against the table.
"You better have an answer."
---
The meeting dissolved around her.
Chairs scraped, low conversations began, files closed. The panel was already moving on, but Evelyn couldn't hear any of it over the pounding in her own head.
One meeting.
That was all she had left.
She pushed her chair back a little too hard and stood.
No one stopped her when she walked out.
The door shut behind her with a dull click.
The hallway outside the conference room stretched long and empty, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. For a moment Evelyn just stood there, staring ahead like she'd forgotten how to move.
Then she exhaled sharply.
"Damn it."
Her heels struck the floor as she started down the corridor, faster than necessary. Each step carried the same restless frustration building in her chest.
What was wrong with her?
She had investigated men like Silas before. Powerful men. Dangerous men. Men who could bury people without leaving a trace.
She had never hesitated.
Yet today, standing in front of that panel, the truth had lodged in her throat like a stone.
Evelyn stopped near the corner of the hallway and pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead.
"Get a grip," she muttered.
This wasn't complicated.
Silas Montclair held her secret.
That was the reason.
He knew what had happened in that room. He knew she had been there. If he decided to talk, the entire operation could collapse. Her career could collapse with it.
Of course that made her careful.
Of course that made her hesitate.
Her jaw tightened as she straightened.
"Yes," she whispered to herself. "That's all it is."
It had nothing to do with him.
Nothing to do with the way he walked into that brothel like the place belonged to him.
Nothing to do with the quiet authority in his voice when he told those men to step aside.
And absolutely nothing to do with the way he had lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing at all.
Evelyn's breath caught before she could stop it.
Her fingers curled slowly into her palm.
"No," she said again, firmer this time.
She wasn't that foolish.
Silas Montclair was a suspect.
A dangerous one.
A man she intended to bring down.
Whatever strange pull she thought she felt was nothing more than the pressure of a man holding leverage over her.
That was the only explanation.
It had to be.
Evelyn pushed away from the wall and started walking again, her pace sharp and determined.
Still, the image of his smirk lingered in the back of her mind.
And the fact that she couldn't completely erase it irritated her more than she cared to admit.
Because Evelyn Ashford trusted facts.
Logic.
Evidence.
Not the unsettling awareness of a man who looked at her like he already knew exactly how the game would end.
---
Evelyn slipped into one of the smaller rooms inside the station.
The place was quiet, just a metal desk, two chairs, and a tired lamp throwing weak light across the surface. Perfect for thinking.
She shut the door behind her and sank into the chair.
For a moment she just stared at the empty desk, replaying everything that had happened in her head.
Then she reached for a pen.
"Think, Ashford," she muttered.
If the panel wanted evidence, then she would start piecing together everything she had seen with her own eyes.
The pen scratched softly against the paper.
October 25.
She underlined the date.
Visited Silas Montclair during his grand opening.
Her mind drifted back to that day immediately. The luxury. The calm arrogance in the way he moved through the place like he owned the world.
And the closet.
Her pen moved again.
Observed packets of condoms in his closet.
Evelyn paused, staring at the line she had written.
It hadn't meant much at the time.
Now it did.
Her pen continued moving.
Later sighted at a brothel.
She leaned back slightly, tapping the pen against the paper.
"What's your connection there, Silas?" she murmured.
The brothel itself wasn't illegal by itself in the way some operations ran, but the men connected to it often were.
Her eyes drifted back to the notes.
Another memory surfaced.
Dallas.
Silas's uncle.
The way he had spoken about his nephew.
Evelyn wrote again.
Dallas Montclair — Silas's uncle.
Then beneath it:
Dallas said Silas "only takes risks."
She frowned slightly.
"What kind of risks?" she whispered.
Business?
Illegal deals?
Something worse?
Her pen hovered again before writing the next thought.
Why was Silas carrying a gun that night?
She circled the question once.
If he was just a businessman attending a grand opening and visiting places around the city, then why was he armed?
Men like Stephan Quinlan carried guns.
Criminals carried guns.
People who expected trouble carried guns.
Evelyn stared down at the page.
Somewhere in these details was the truth about him.
And tomorrow…
Tomorrow she would ask him every one of these questions.
She exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair.
The tension of the day finally began creeping into her muscles.
Her eyelids felt heavy.
"Just a minute," she murmured.
The pen slipped loosely from her fingers as she rested her head against her arm on the desk.
The lamp continued to glow softly over the scattered notes.
Silas Montclair's name sat at the top of the page.
Surrounded by questions.
Questions Evelyn intended to make him answer.
But before she could plan the next move…
Sleep quietly claimed her.
---
Morning came too quickly.
Evelyn had barely slept, but by the time the station began to stir with the usual rhythm of phones and footsteps, she was already dressed.
Dark jacket. Hair neat. Expression controlled.
Professional.
At least on the outside.
She stood in front of the mirror in the small restroom for the third time that morning, adjusting the collar of her jacket.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Sharp. Composed. Unbothered.
That was the version of herself she preferred.
"Good morning, Mr. Montclair," she tried quietly.
The words sounded stiff.
She sighed and rubbed her temple.
In all her years interrogating suspects, she had never once rehearsed a conversation beforehand. Not once.
Yet here she was.
Talking to a mirror.
Evelyn straightened again.
"You'll answer my questions," she said to her reflection this time.
Better.
More like her.
She gave a small nod to herself, grabbed the file from the counter, and turned away.
Enough preparation.
It was time.
The interrogation room was already occupied when she stepped inside.
Silas Montclair sat at the table like he had been there for hours.
Relaxed.
One arm resting against the back of the chair, fingers loosely folded together. His posture carried the quiet ease of someone who didn't feel the slightest pressure being inside a police station.
His eyes lifted the moment she entered.
Calm.
Observant.
Watching her.
Tyler stood near the door, arms crossed.
Evelyn walked in slowly and placed the file on the table before sitting across from Silas.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The silence stretched between them, thick and deliberate.
Silas's gaze held hers, steady and unreadable.
Evelyn refused to look away first.
Several seconds passed before Silas finally broke the stare, glancing aside as if the contest had bored him.
Tyler shifted slightly behind them.
Then he gave Evelyn a small nod.
Without a word, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The door closed.
Now they were alone.
Evelyn cleared her throat lightly, forcing her voice into something neutral.
"Good morning, Mr. Montclair."
Silas leaned back slightly in his chair.
"You didn't bring me here for pleasantries, Detective."