Chapter 6

KEVIN’S POV

“Casey?” I shout into the apartment, my voice echoing off the walls, but only silence answers me, and when I call Cedric’s name and then Cynthia’s, nothing comes back except the pounding of my own heartbeat.

For a second I can’t breathe. My gaze drops to Cynthia’s rabbit lying on the floor, abandoned and alone. She carried that thing everywhere, hugged it at the hotel, slept with it every night, and seeing it left behind hits me harder than the blood because kids don’t walk away from the things they love unless something makes them.

“Fuck.” The word tears out of me, I grab my phone immediately, call Zelene first and get voicemail, call Jeremy and get nothing, then building security, then the police, then anyone who might know where the hell she is.

My hands feel too slow, my thoughts too loud, because all I can see is Zelene’s face, the shaking hands, the fear in her eyes, the way panic flashed across her expression every time I got too close to the truth, and now she’s gone. God, please don’t let me be too late.

The apartment fills up fast with uniforms, security staff, crime scene technicians, and a nonstop stream of questions, so many damn questions that I can barely hear myself think.

I stand near the kitchen while officers move through the apartment taking photographs.

Detective Rivera arrives twenty minutes later, she studies the apartment for less than a minute before crouching beside the broken glass then she stands again.

“No forced entry.” I stare at her. “What?” “The lock wasn’t damaged.” My jaw tightens. “What does that mean?”

“It means whoever entered wasn’t breaking in.” The answer doesn’t make me feel better, It makes me feel worse.

Rivera walks slowly through the apartment examining, thinking and watching then she stops near the blood. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” She glances toward me. “The scene.” Something about her tone immediately pisses me off. “What about it?” Rivera crosses her arms. “There’s evidence of a struggle.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“But something feels wrong.” I stare at her. “Wrong how?” She studies the room again. “Too visible.” The words make my stomach tighten. “What does that mean?”

“It means whoever did this wanted somebody to find it.” Silence settles heavily between us then Rivera adds quietly, “This feels staged.”

I hate hearing that because staged means planned, planned means intentional and intentional means somebody knew exactly what they were doing.

Jeremy arrives fifteen minutes later, the second he steps through the door I know something’s different.

The calm businessman is gone along with the perfect composure he usually hides behind, and for the first time since I’ve known him, Jeremy looks genuinely terrified.

His eyes sweep across the apartment, taking in the broken furniture, shattered glass, blood on the floor, and Cynthia’s rabbit lying abandoned near the kitchen, and all the color drains from his face.

“Where is she?” Nobody answers. “Where the hell is she?” His voice cracks, the sound surprises all of us including him. Rivera steps forward. “Sir……..”

“Don’t.” Jeremy barely looks at her, his gaze finds mine instantly like a missile locking onto a target. “You.” I step toward him immediately. “What about me?”

“This happened because of you.” Anger flashes through him. “You couldn’t leave it alone.” Something snaps inside me. “Are you serious right now?”

“You started digging.”

“I started asking questions.”

“You made her visible again.” The words hit harder than they should. Rivera steps between us before things get worse.

“Gentlemen.” Neither of us listens. “You knew she was scared,” Jeremy says. “And you knew why.” Jeremy goes still for half a second. “You do know.” His jaw tightens, mine does too. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Then stop blaming me.” His eyes burn with something that looks dangerously close to guilt and for the first time since meeting him I realize Jeremy genuinely cares about her. Like he’s been carrying this burden for years and he’s terrified it finally caught up to her.

An hour later security recovers the building footage. Everybody crowds into the security office—Rivera, Jeremy, me, two officers, and the security guard, who rewinds the recording before pressing play, and a hallway appears on the screen with a timestamp in the corner: 7:43 PM.

My stomach tightens then Zelene appears alive, walking quickly and the children beside her. Casey carrying a backpack, Cedric beside him, Cynthia hugging her rabbit.

Nobody’s forcing them or threatening them. “What the hell?” I mutter and jeremy looks just as confused.

The footage continues as Zelene reaches the elevator then suddenly she freezes.

Every muscle in my body locks because I know that expression. Fear, the kind that hits when you see something you hoped never to see again.

“What is she looking at?” Rivera asks. Nobody knows and whatever caught her attention is off-camera but her reaction says enough.

She grabs Casey’s arm hard, Cedric immediately notices something’s wrong while Cynthia starts looking around nervously.

Then Zelene says something fast, the children react instantly and then they run. All four of them disappear down the hallway out of frame then the footage ends.

Silence fills the room as nobody speaks or moves because whatever Zelene saw scared her enough to run.

Hours later the apartment finally empties, most officers leave. Rivera continues investigating elsewhere and Jeremy disappears to make calls.

For the first time all night I’m alone, I walk through the apartment again slowly. Looking harder and thinking because something doesn’t fit.

Something’s missing, then I notice a tiny loose panel beneath the kitchen island.

My pulse jumps, I crouch immediately and carefully pulling it open. Inside sits a single envelope which has my name written across the front.

Kevin, I stop breathing because I recognize the handwriting immediately. Zelene, I tear it open. Inside is an old newspaper clipping.

Yellowed edges, creases, age. My eyes move across the headline then lower and lower.

Until I reach a photograph, the photograph showed a middle-aged politician with an expensive smile, a perfectly tailored suit, and the kind of presence that came with power, his face circled in red ink like a target.

My stomach tightens, under the photograph are handwritten words. *She died because she trusted him.*

The room feels colder, I stare at the handwriting again, definitely Zelene’s.

Then my eyes catch something else, A date written across the top corner, three days ago. Meaning Zelene wasn’t chasing old ghosts, she was actively investigating recently.

The realization crashes into me all at once. The fear in her eyes, fake identities, hidden records and Jeremy protecting her.

Zelene panicking whenever I got too close to the truth. This wasn’t paranoia or some unresolved tragedy. She found something big enough to make people move and big enough to make her disappear again.

I stare at the clipping then at the circled politician and suddenly one terrifying thought settles into place. Whatever Zelene discovered, someone was willing to spill blood to keep it buried.