Chapter 4: Broken Telephone.

The pizza box sat half-open on Akari's coffee table, grease congealing on lukewarm cheese. I picked at a slice, the crust soggy under my fingers. Somewhere between the funeral and Akari's trembling hands on my chest, my appetite had vanished.

Faint snores drifted from her bedroom down the hall. She'd collapsed into bed after blowing her nose raw, leaving me alone with the hum of her ancient fridge and the rasp of my own breathing. Moonlight slashed through crooked blinds, cutting the shadows into jagged pieces. I pulled the pistol from my waistband, set it next to the pizza like a morbid centerpiece. Metal gleamed dull under the flickering overhead bulb.

Three sharp knocks rattled the front door. My spine snapped straight. The snoring didn't falter.

I palmed the gun, flicked off the safety with a practiced thumb. The fogged glass window beside the door showed a distorted silhouette. My pulse throbbed in the cut on my cheek as I peered through the peephole.

Nothing. I shook my head, irritated at my mind's tricks. 

The night pressed in heavily against the small apartment. I glanced around at the dimly lit room, noticing the echo of the day in every shadow. Akari had long since retreated to bed. The apartment, once a refuge of awkward laughter and shared sorrows, now lay abandoned save for the lingering aroma of oregano and melted cheese. the open pizza box sat on the battered coffee table, its cardboard edges crumpled and stained with grease. I shifted uncomfortably on the threadbare couch and reached for a slice.

I lifted the pizza; the cheese stretched in a viscous string as I bit into it. I tried to appreciate the familiar taste, but each chew reminded me of the bittersweet memories from earlier. The apartment held little warmth now—only the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Even the muted light from the streetlamp outside crawling through the window cast corners in unsettling outlines.

I set the slice aside for a moment and rubbed my eyes, glancing at the half-empty pizza box as if it could reveal secrets like a battered diary. With Akari's absence, I had all the time in the world to contemplate the twists of the day. The dead weight of grief and responsibility pressed down on me as I considered the unsettling events of the funeral—the smirks and opaque sorrow on unfamiliar faces, even the cold sneer I'd glimpsed from Sebastian.

I knew the solace of solitude would be short-lived. A vibration on my phone startled me, pulling my thoughts from the realm of half-chewed memories and half-eaten pizza. I fumbled with the device, recognizing the bold red name flashing on the screen: Joseph. I pressed answer, and his voice unfurled immediately, steady despite the distance.

"Ellis," Joseph started, his tone measured though laced with urgency, "you awake?"

"Always," I replied, stifling a sigh as I took another bite of pizza. "It's past midnight, isn't it? You're the late one tonight."

"You know how these things go. Listen," he began, and there was a pause, as if he were weighing every word. "I've been digging into the details. There's something off with Hana's death—something they're not telling us."

My heart skipped a beat at his tone. "Off? You mean the autopsy, the bullet trajectory…?"

"Not just that," he countered. "Someone mentioned that the wound reports have inconsistencies. A few whispers at the morgue, murmurs from someone in the lab. They're saying the angle of the bullet doesn't match the official narrative."

I chewed slowly, the taste of melted cheese turning bitter in my mouth. "Is someone running interference from the inside?"

A heavy silence crackled through the line before he answered. "I can't be sure yet. But there's an informant—a voice, really—saying that Hana might have been silenced from more than just a stray bullet. The phrasing… it's as if they knew her more intimately than anyone should. The details have been scrambled, Ellis."

I paused and looked around the darkened room, as if the walls themselves might be listening. "Scrambled details? You mean her cause of death might have been staged?"

"Maybe not staged entirely, but manipulated." His tone tightened; every word seemed wrought with the weight of carefully chosen hints. "The wound report, the autopsy... even some of the phone records have missing intervals. It's as if someone intervened to cover up the truth."

I set my now-cold slice of pizza on the table, my mind churning through the implications. "Do they suspect anyone? Who would have that kind of reach?"

Joseph's sigh resonated even through the phone's tinny connection. "I've heard names whispered—figures who never bothered to step out of the shadows. And Ellis, your return to the island… it's stirring up more memories than you might like. It's as if you're a catalyst again."

I exhaled sharply, feeling the sting of old guilt. "I left all those memories behind for a reason. But, if there's even a shred of truth behind these inconsistencies, I need to act. I can't just stand aside while the truth gets erased."

There was a brief pause then his voice softened. "I know your drive. But be careful. The deeper you dig, the more you risk unearthing things that might hurt more than just yourself."

"Risk? I'm not in the habit of shying away from danger. I left because I thought I could outrun this towns ghosts; it seems they're faster than I was."

A low rasp punctuated his response. "Ellis, remember our childhood? We vowed to keep each other safe, Hana's death isn't just another case—it's personal. I get that, but be careful"

I ran a hand through my tousled hair, tasting the remnants of pizza along with the bitterness of memory. "I wasn't around to protect her, and I hate that. But I'm here now. To make things right I need every bit of truth I can get."

He chuckled softly—a sound that tried and failed to travel warmth through the static on the line. "I'll send you what I've gathered so far. There's a report from the lab that mentions discrepancies in the blood samples. An anonymous tipster mentioned someone trying to alter the records minutes after the autopsy. I'm following up, but it won't be long before I have more."

I felt the room grow colder as his words sank in. "Altered records… that means someone deliberately interfered. Was Hana trying to tell someone something before… before it was too late?"

"Maybe," came his measured reply. "I don't think she intended for her secrets to follow her into death, but someone clearly wanted to bury them—permanently."

The conversation paused again, and I found myself glancing at the silent kitchen counter where the remnants of dinner dishes lay neglected after our shared meal earlier. I picked up another slice absent-mindedly, the crust crumbling beneath my grip.

"Joseph, you mentioned something about missing phone records," I probed, my voice lowering. "What exactly did you hear?"

Another pause, then he spoke, careful with his words. "There were gaps. A series of calls that simply vanished, as if someone scrubbed them clean. And one call… it was from a number that shouldn't have been there—untraceable, really. Minutes before Hana's estimated time of death, someone's voice said something cryptic: 'You should have stayed away from what you don't understand.' I brushed it off at first, but now...?"

I ran my thumb over a scar that traced its way near my temple—a souvenir from another case—feeling the sting of old wounds. "That sounds like a warning. Seems like a setup."

"Or a desperate attempt to wipe clean a trail," he corrected quietly. "I'll continue to follow up. There's also speculation that one of our old faces—someone from school maybe—might be implicated. But it's too soon to say. Nothing is concrete yet."

I leaned back, the ache of loss and betrayal intermingling with my determination. "I'll get to the bottom of this. Hana deserves nothing less. And… this old island hasn't changed. Its quiet corners hide far more than we ever suspected."

A pause reigned, punctuated only by the low hum of the refrigerator and my own measured breathing. Then Joseph's tone shifted, dropping to something almost vulnerable. "You need to watch your back. I know you look like you're handling it, but these forces are more tangled than they appear. The deeper the investigation, the higher the stakes."

The weight of his warning settled heavily between us. "I appreciate the concern. But I left this town once thinking I'd outrun its shadows. Now they've chased me back, and I'm not turning away. I'll tread carefully, though I won't hide."

"Good," he murmured, followed by a hollow laugh that resonated with memories of shared hardship. "I almost miss those days when we were young, unburdened by all the world's nonsense."

My gaze drifted to the window, where the nocturnal world pressed in with starless indifference. "Sometimes I wonder if there's redemption in knowing the truth, or if knowledge is just another chain. But I can't stop now."

"Exactly," Joseph replied, the firmness in his voice rekindling the fire within me. "Hold on to it. And if you need backup, you know who to call."

A long silence followed as I mulled over his words. I set the phone down gently, feeling its vibration like a dying pulse in the quiet. "I will, Joseph. I promise." My voice carried more conviction than I felt in that moment.

I listened to the fading hum of the call, then exhaled, almost in resignation. The conversation had left me with more questions than answers—cryptic reports, edited records, an unidentifiable number, and the ever-looming shadow of someone from our past. My half-eaten pizza sat as a silent witness to the unspooling mystery.