His tone wasn't rude.
Just uninterested.
Evelyn pressed her lips together for a second.
Fair enough.
She opened the file in front of her and spread several papers across the table.
Her pen tapped once against the page.
Silas watched every movement calmly.
"So," she said, looking up at him again.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions."
His expression didn't change.
"Then ask them."
Evelyn slid the notes slightly closer to herself, organizing the information she had written the night before.
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
"Are you ready, Mr. Montclair?"
Silas let out a low, effortless laugh, the kind that made the air feel thinner, more electric.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" he said, voice teasing, eyes glinting with amusement. "Fine. Go on."
Evelyn swallowed the flutter in her chest and straightened. She began methodically, laying out her evidence, each question precise, her voice steady despite the heat curling in her stomach.
Silas's replies were sharp, biting, and… intoxicating. Each answer carried weight, arrogance, and a confidence that made her pulse accelerate against her will.
"You think this changes anything?" he asked once, leaning slightly closer, his dark eyes piercing. "That your little notes and files matter to me?"
She clenched her fists, frustration mounting. Every instinct screamed at her that he was dangerous, yet the pull he had over her was undeniable. She leaned forward, the distance between them shrinking, her voice edged with urgency.
"We have to work together," she said, forceful. "This isn't just about evidence. People are being hunted. Those men who tried to kill us on the private road… they were bailed, and then—gone. Minutes later. Someone is after us. Someone's on my neck. If we don't—if we don't cooperate, it's over before it even begins."
Silas regarded her quietly for a moment, that teasing smirk returning to his lips. Then, he asked, deceptively casual, "And what makes you think I care?"
Evelyn's throat tightened. Her lips parted, and before she could stop herself, a small, almost foolish admission slipped out.
"Maybe… maybe because you like me."
The words hung in the air, heavy, dangerous.
Silas's smirk sharpened, dark amusement flickering in his amber—or was it brown?—eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," he murmured, lean forward slightly, the heat of him almost unbearable. "You're imagining things, Detective."
Evelyn's chest heaved. She wanted to retort, to insist, to push back, but the tension in the room was suffocating. And yet… she couldn't look away.
The game was on, and both of them knew it.
Evelyn's gaze hardened, and she asked once more, carefully, measured, desperate for some cooperation. "Silas… are you going to help me or not?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. "No."
Her jaw tightened. She gave him one last look, the heat of frustration and resolve simmering in her chest, and without another word, she began packing—papers, recorder, everything she'd risked herself to gather.
The air between them was thick, almost tangible, as she straightened, bag in hand. She didn't glance back. Not at his smirk, not at the quiet amusement in his dark eyes. She left him there, calm and untouchable, and moved swiftly down the hall.
Once inside her station room, she let the door click shut behind her and sank into a chair, exhaling sharply. Anger, doubt, and a spark of determination twisted inside her. If she was going to prove anyone wrong, she would prove this man spectacularly wrong. Tonight. There would be no room for misjudgment.
She reached for the paper she had folded carefully earlier, the name scribbled in her hand like a promise: Van Monks.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. That man, that name, that lead… she would have a word with him tonight. And when she did, she would uncover everything—whatever Silas hid, whatever secrets he carried.
Her pulse quickened. This wasn't just investigation. This was war. And she would fight.
---
Evelyn's fingers trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone. She scrolled to Melissa's number, took a deep breath, and pressed call.
The line clicked, and a hesitant voice answered.
"Evelyn? Is that you?" Melissa's tone was wary, like she already knew trouble was coming.
Evelyn shifted in her chair, tugging at the edge of her sleeve. Her hands fidgeted with the pen she had set down earlier. "Melissa… I need information. About a man… Van Monks. Do you know him?" Her voice was low, urgent, but her heart thumped in her chest like it wanted to escape.
There was a long pause. Evelyn could almost hear Melissa thinking, weighing whether to speak. "Monks?" Melissa finally whispered, her voice shaky. "Why… why are you asking me about him?"
Evelyn leaned forward, her fingers curling into a fist on the table. "Because he's dangerous. And I need to know where he is. I know you owe me a favor, Melissa… it's time."
Melissa hesitated again, a sigh escaping her lips. "Evelyn… I—I shouldn't. He's not someone you just walk up to. You could get hurt."
Evelyn's throat tightened, frustration bubbling up. "I don't have time for excuses. If you know him, I need his address. Please."
There was another pause, then a shaky breath. "Okay… fine. I'll tell you. But promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise," Evelyn said, her voice firmer this time, though her pulse still raced.
Melissa rattled off the address quickly, words tumbling out as if afraid linger on them. Evelyn scribbled it down, her mind already racing ahead. Tonight, she would confront Van Monks. Tonight, she would get the answers she needed.
Her hands shook slightly as she hung up, but she forced herself to steady her breath. She couldn't let fear control her. Not tonight. This was the end of the line—her final chance to stop Silas's shadowed path, and she could feel it deep in her bones.
*******
Evelyn cursed under her breath as she stepped closer to the grimy building, the stench of Mognat City hitting her like a fist. Her heels clicked against the cracked pavement, a harsh, discordant rhythm that matched her racing heartbeat.
This would be her final bust—her last push to expose Monks, and perhaps, finally, put an end to the shadow of terror looming over her life.
The streetlight flickered once, then went out, leaving the alley in near darkness. Evelyn pressed herself against the wall, surveying the decrepit façade of Monks' hideout. Broken windows, rusting metal doors, the unmistakable aura of crime clinging to every corner.
Her stomach churned. This place… it reeks of lawlessness. And yet, this is where the trail ends. Or begins…
She slipped inside through a side door she had scouted earlier, silent as a ghost. Her recorder was already in hand, ready, hidden in the palm of her gloves. Each step was calculated; each shadow a potential threat. The faint murmurs ahead told her she was in the right place.
Evelyn crouched behind a battered counter, peering through a crack in the wall. Her pulse quickened as she heard them—Monks and his men, voices low but sharp, coated with greed and jealousy.
"Silas thinks he can cheat us," one of the men spat, slamming a fist on the table.
"Cheat us?" Monks' voice rasped, irritation lacing his words. "He's been taking our shares from the deal. But the cops won't catch him—we're the ones cleaning up the mess."
Evelyn's mind raced. She had heard whispers before—Dallas had mentioned Silas might be trading something risky—but she had tried to dismiss it, to doubt. Now, every word made the doubt crumble. So it's true… or at least part of it. But what exactly is he cheating them on? Her pen itched in her pocket.
The men laughed, rough and careless, outlining the next route to move the goods without leaving a trace for the police. Evelyn's stomach twisted as the scope of their audacity hit her. They're planning an ambush. If Silas—or anyone else—walks into this… She swallowed hard, her pulse a drum in her ears.
She edged closer, careful, almost holding her breath. The smell of smoke and cheap liquor burned in her nose. Her recorder captured every word—their scheming, their plotting, their hatred for Silas.
"Tomorrow, we hit the northern route," one of them said. "No mistakes. If the leader of Mognat interferes, Silas… we end him."
Evelyn froze. Her knuckles went white around the recorder. The words were clear. They're targeting him. And if I'm caught here… there's no one to save me. Her mind screamed, but she forced it down. She had to record, she had to know.
Her foot nudged a chair. It toppled with a loud crash. Instantly, all heads turned. The room went silent for a heartbeat, then Monks barked an order.
"Grab her!"