The town woke up to a different headline.
"CASE REOPENED: NEW EVIDENCE PROMPTS FURTHER INVESTIGATION INTO MAX TURNER'S DEATH."
No details.
No suspects.
Just enough to confirm what everyone already felt—
This wasn't over.
Detective Hale stood at the front of the station, facing a room full of reporters.
"We are reopening the investigation due to inconsistencies in the timeline and emerging evidence," he said. "We ask the public to remain calm and allow us to do our jobs."
"Do you believe the wrong person was blamed?" a reporter shouted.
Hale didn't hesitate.
"I believe the truth hasn't been fully told."
At school, the reaction was immediate.
Teachers whispered.
Phones buzzed.
Eyes turned—again—toward the group.
But this time, it wasn't just suspicion.
It was a curiosity.
Dangerous, hungry curiosity.
Kevin read the headline three times.
Then he looked up.
Jack was already watching him.
Smiling.
At the hospital, the machines kept their steady rhythm.
Until they didn't.
A small shift. A breath. A twitch.
Nick's eyes opened.
Slowly.
Pain hit first. Then confusion. Then memory.
Fragments at first.
The theater.
The text.
The car.
Then—The garage.
Nick gasped.
A nurse rushed in. "Hey—hey, you're okay. Just take it slow."
Nick grabbed her wrist weakly. "I need—" his voice cracked. "I need to talk to someone."
Detective Hale arrived within the hour.
He stood at the foot of the bed, watching Nick carefully.
"Take your time," Hale said. "Start wherever you can."
Nick swallowed.
"I remember the garage," he said.
Hale didn't react. "What about it?"
Nick's hands trembled. "Max was yelling. There were guys holding Jack. He was messed up—bleeding, barely standing."
"That matches the reports," Hale said.
Nick nodded. "Yeah. But… that's not all."
Hale stepped closer.
Nick's voice dropped. "Max pulled the gun."
Hale's expression stayed neutral. "Go on."
"Jack kicked him. Hard. Max fell. The gun dropped." Nick's breathing quickened. "Jack moved fast. Faster than he should've been able to."
Hale didn't interrupt.
"He grabbed the gun," Nick continued. "Max tried to get up—and Jack—"
Nick stopped.
His eyes widened.
"Jack didn't hesitate."
Silence filled the room.
"He shot him," Nick whispered. "Right away. Not scared. Not panicked."
Hale's voice was steady. "Self-defense can look like that."
Nick shook his head weakly. "No… you don't get it."
Hale leaned in slightly. "Help me understand."
Nick's voice broke.
"He shot the other two."
A pause.
"Then he stopped."
Nick stared at the ceiling, breathing uneven.
"He looked at the gun," Nick said. "Wiped it. Not everything—just parts. Like he knew exactly where to touch."
Hale's jaw tightened, just slightly.
"And then," Nick continued, "he put it in Max's hand."
The room went still.
Hale didn't speak for a moment.
When he did, his voice was quieter.
"Did anyone else see this?"
Nick swallowed. "I don't think so."
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
"I—" Nick hesitated. "I wasn't sure. It felt… wrong. Like my brain was filling things in."
Hale nodded slowly. "Memory under trauma can be unreliable."
Nick turned his head.
"But this doesn't feel wrong," he said. "It feels clear."
Later that day, Hale stood outside the hospital, staring at his notes.
Kevin approached him.
"You talked to Nick," Kevin said.
Hale didn't deny it.
"He remembers something," Kevin added.
Hale looked at him. "You already know what it is, don't you?"
Kevin didn't answer.
Hale folded his notes.
"This isn't a self-defense case anymore," he said quietly.
Kevin nodded.
"No," he agreed. "It never was."
Across town, Jack sat in his room.
His phone buzzed once.
Unknown number.
He read the message.
We need to talk.
Jack smiled.
Not surprised.
Just… ready.