“I was in my room sleeping,” Nancy said, smiling with a soft, unbothered expression that made the entire team uneasy. Her voice was calm, measured, almost musical. The kind of voice that could lie without blinking. Director Stephen arched a brow, watching her closely. “And you didn’t hear a knock on your door?” he asked, his tone testing.

  Nancy’s eyebrows furrowed faintly. “ A knock, no,” she said, tilting her head. “I never heard a knock on my door.” Then she paused. For a heartbeat, her gaze flicked away as if she were remembering something. “Maybe because I was on my pill,” she added casually, reaching into her handbag. “I’ve been having insomnia lately, so I took my pill to help me sleep.” She drew out a small white packet from her bag, prescription medication, the kind used by insomnia patients. The logo was visible; the pills were real. She wasn’t bluffing.

  “Oh!” Director Stephen exclaimed, his posture softening a little. “In that case, I am sorry for disturbing you.” His tone shifted, polite now, almost apologetic. He began to turn away. But Nancy wasn’t done. “Is this it?” she asked suddenly, her voice sharper. “You won’t even tell me why you are investigating me?”

  Stephen turned back. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do not worry about that, Doctor Oakham. It is in the interest of national security to keep it in the dark for now.” Nancy returned the smile slowly, her expression unreadable. “Alright, Mister Sabbath,” she said evenly. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” Stephen replied, his tone clipped.

  Nancy adjusted her bag and began walking toward the street. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the pavement; confident, unhurried, untouched by fear. Nathan ducked slightly behind a parked car to keep her from seeing him. His pulse quickened as he watched her walk past, her scent, soft and faintly floral, lingering in the morning air.

  Every step she took away from them made his chest tighten. Is she really innocent, or just that good at lying? Rita’s eyes never left Nancy as she walked away. Her jaw clenched, her tone sharp as she muttered, “She’s lying.” Stephen turned his head slightly, his brow lifting. “What makes you so sure?”

  Rita folded her arms, eyes cold. “Because there was no one on the bed last night,” she said. “I checked through the window. The bedsheet was untouched. There wasn’t even an impression on the pillow.” The Director frowned. “Then if she wasn’t in the house,” he said slowly, “how did she just come out of the apartment? Or have we all turned blind that we couldn't see her go in?”

  The question hung heavy in the air. Rita exhaled sharply, irritation flashing across her face. “I do not know,” she admitted. Her voice trembled slightly, not with fear, but with restrained anger. Nathan had been silent, eyes distant as if chasing invisible pieces in his head. Then, softly, he said, “There’s only one way to find out.” Both Stephen and Rita turned toward him. “What way is that?” Stephen asked. Nathan’s lips curved slightly, a small, knowing smile. “We checked the street CCTV footage surrounding her house.”

  The Director’s eyes lit with approval. “True,” he said with a nod. “We have to do that immediately.”

  “Now move,” he ordered, his tone sharp again. Everyone sprang into motion. Doors slammed. Engines roared to life. The team dispersed in formation, each car heading toward its designated post. Nathan and Rita rode in the same car, the tension between them palpable. The silence was thick, only the sound of the tires slicing over asphalt filled the air.

  Rita sat with her arms folded, her jaw tight. Nathan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles pale.

  “You’re taking this too personally,” she said finally, her voice edged. He didn’t look at her. “You think I’m taking it personally?”

  “You are,” she replied sharply. “Every time she’s mentioned, you hesitate. You defend her. You.”

  “I’m doing my job,” he snapped. His tone was harder than he intended. “If you’re looking for a villain, maybe try waiting until we have proof.” Rita scoffed. “Proof?” She leaned closer. “Nathan, the woman’s timing doesn’t add up. She disappears all night, walks out fresh as morning, and flashes a pill pack like she’s rehearsed it.”

  “She could’ve genuinely been asleep,” Nathan said, though his voice lacked conviction. Rita turned away, biting down a bitter smile. “You’re blind, Nathan. You don’t see it. You feel something for her.” The silence that followed was sharp. Nathan’s jaw flexed. He didn’t deny it. But he didn’t admit it either.

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  When they reached the Vexmoor security control zone, the Director was already there, coordinating officers. Multiple screens glowed under the flickering fluorescent light, showing angles from nearby traffic cameras.

  Nathan and Rita entered quickly.

  “Team One,” Stephen said, gesturing toward the screens, “secure footage from the north and west street corners. Team Two, check the private store cameras across the road. We’ll compare timestamps.”

  Officers scattered to obey.

  Nathan leaned against the table, eyes on the screens. “If she wasn’t home, the cameras would show when she left, or when she returned,” he murmured. Rita nodded stiffly, folding her arms. “And if the footage is missing?” Stephen shot her a look. “Then someone wiped it clean, and that’s a whole different game.”

  For the next half hour, the team split up across four angles of the building, retrieving footage from both day and night. Rita moved quickly, tapping on her tablet, downloading the clips. Nathan coordinated the timestamps. The Director kept pacing, his impatience visible. By the time the last drive was plugged into the analysis console, tension had peaked.

  Stephen motioned toward the console, and the technician began syncing multiple camera angles. The footage from the east street showed a faint figure moving behind the building around midnight. Too blurry to identify,but the height and gait matched Nancy’s.

  Stephen’s lips pressed into a hard line. “That’s enough. No more doubt.”

  Nathan said nothing. His mind replayed her calm smile, her soft voice saying she’d been asleep. How easily she’d produced the pills. How naturally she’d lied—if she had lied at all.

  He felt something twist inside him. It wasn’t just betrayal. It was disbelief.

  Rita stood beside him, arms crossed. “I told you,” she murmured. “That woman isn’t who you think she is.”

  Nathan didn’t reply. His eyes were locked on the screen, watching the flicker of her shadow move through the night.

  Who are you, Nancy? he thought. And what the hell are you hiding?

  They checked all the clips. One by one. Frame by frame. The air in the surveillance room grew thick with tension and fatigue. The hum of the computers echoed against the white walls as Nathan fast-forwarded and rewound the footage. The fluorescent lights above flickered, their cold glow stretching over the detectives’ tired faces.

  Nancy appeared on the screen; calm, tired, walking through the narrow hallway of her apartment complex. Her handbag slung carelessly over her shoulder. Her face half-hidden under the dull lighting of the security camera.

  “There!” Rita leaned forward sharply, her finger pressing against the glass of the monitor. “That’s her. She got home by Seven Forty two p.m.” Nathan nodded, unfazed. “Yeah. Now, let’s see her leave.”

  They all waited. The footage rolled forward. One hour. Two. Three. Nathan sped up the playback, eyes fixed on the timestamp. Nothing. The screen only showed empty corridors, neighbors coming and going, lights flickering in distant apartments, but Nancy’s door never opened again.

  Nathan stopped the video. The silence in the room was deafening. “She never left,” he said simply. Rita frowned, her heartbeat quickening. “That can’t be possible. I saw the empty bed. I know what I saw.”

  Nathan turned toward her, irritation dancing behind his calm eyes. “Rita, we’ve gone through every camera. Every floor. Every angle. There’s no sign of her leaving. Not even the back exit.”

  “I’m telling you,” Rita shot back, “she was at the Vice President crime scene! The way she moved, her height, the coat, the mask, everything matched her!”

  Nathan exhaled heavily. “But she never left her. She couldn’t have been the one. How can she be at home, but yet killed the Finance Minister?.”

  Before she could respond, Mister Stephen, the lead investigator, stepped closer, his gray suit wrinkled from hours of sitting. He rubbed her shoulders gently, like a father trying to calm an angry child. “That’s enough, Rita,” he said softly. “She was home. Maybe what you saw was a trick of light, or the shadows in that dark alley. You know how these things play on the mind.”

  Rita bit her lip, frustration tightening her chest. But Stephen’s tone was final. He was not asking; he was ending. And just like that, the argument was killed.

  “She is innocent,” Stephen declared, turning toward the rest of the team. His voice was steady, authoritative. “There is no way she could have killed the Finance Minister and still be home before we arrived. The timeline makes no sense.” The other detectives nodded silently. One by one, they looked at Nathan.

  Nathan smiled faintly, half in triumph, half in relief. “Then that’s that.” He clicked the mouse and highlighted Nancy’s name on the suspect list. A moment later, with a tap of the keyboard, her name disappeared from the screen. “Cleared,” he said. For the first time in hours, the room seemed to breathe again. Chairs creaked. Papers rustled. Someone yawned quietly in the corner. But Stephen didn’t stay.

  He stepped out into the hallway, leaving the buzz of monitors behind. The building’s corridor was dim and quiet, the only sound was the steady hum of the air conditioning. He walked slowly toward the balcony, the city lights of Vexmoor stretching endlessly below.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and lit one. The flame briefly illuminated his tired face. He took a long drag, then exhaled the smoke into the night air. His mind wouldn’t rest. If Nancy is innocent, he thought, then who the hell is responsible for these murders?

  He took another drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke drifted before him like a fading ghost. One by one, he replayed the pattern in his head,the order, the victims, the meaning.

  First, it was the Chief of Defense Staff.

  Then, the Vice President.

  And now, the Finance Minister. Three of the most powerful men in the country, all dead within weeks of each other. All struck down by the same invisible hand.

  He frowned. “What ties them together?” he muttered under his breath. He took another slow drag, the ember flaring red against the wind. That’s when it struck him, the message.

  October tenth, twenty fifteen.

  He froze. The cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers. That date, he had seen it before.

  A cold chill crawled down his spine as his mind reached back into memory, ten years ago. That same night. That same date.

  October tenth, Twenty fifteen. The night James Sundell and his wife were murdered. “Why didn't I think of this before?”

  He could still remember the sirens that screamed through the city. The blood on the concrete. The sound of the little girl, her face pale with shock as she was dragged away from the wreckage of her home. He shut his eyes, trying to block it out. But the memory came anyway. He had ordered the death of the little girl. And he was told that it had been executed.

  And then, he remembered the words that came with the murders. The same message that was left behind at the chief of Defence Staff's murder scene. The Vice President's Murder Scene. The Finance Minister’s murder scene.

  “Octpber tenth twenty fifteen, the orphan is back.” Stephen’s hand trembled as he lowered the cigarette. It all made sense now. “Lia,” He called. “You didn't die. You are the orphan.”