Chapter 25 - Breath before the fall

The detective's gaze swept over the room, sharp and assessing.

Too sharp.

I forced myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way my body ached, the way my head still felt off-balance.

But it didn't matter. He noticed.

His eyes landed on me, flickering over my face, my posture—everything.

"You don't look well," he said smoothly. Too smoothly. "Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

I tensed.

He wasn't asking because he cared.

He was watching. Calculating.

And then—his gaze flickered toward Kaze.

The silence stretched.

And I knew what he was thinking.

I knew exactly how this looked.

I was in his room. Alone. Sick. Weak.

And worse—I wasn't talking.

I saw the shift in the detective's stance. The way his expression sharpened, like he'd just stumbled onto something important.

Like he smelled blood in the water.

"You were there that night, weren't you?" he asked, his voice light, casual. But his eyes—they weren't.

I swallowed. "I—"

"You found the body." His tone didn't change. "You knew her."

My hands clenched against the blanket.

"She was your best friend, wasn't she?"

The pressure tightened around my chest.

I couldn't—

I couldn't do this.

"You must be devastated," he continued, his voice just sympathetic enough to sound real. "And yet, through all of this—through all these questions, all this suspicion—you haven't said a word."

I forced myself to breathe.

It was a trap.

A carefully constructed trap.

"People process grief differently," I said, barely recognizing my own voice.

The detective hummed. "Of course."

He took a slow step forward.

I stiffened.

"But you weren't just grieving that night, were you?" he asked. "You were running."

My stomach dropped.

His head tilted slightly, watching my reaction.

"I've seen the footage," he murmured. "You weren't just scared. You were terrified."

I swallowed hard.

"I wonder why that is."

He let the question sit.

Let the air in the room turn suffocating.

And then—he took another step closer.

Too close.

I barely had time to process it before—

"She needs rest," Kaze's voice cut through the moment.

Cold. Unshakable.

I turned sharply—

He was still leaning against the desk, looking entirely unbothered.

Like he hadn't just stepped in.

Like he hadn't just cut the tension with a single sentence.

The detective's gaze flickered. Just barely.

But I saw it.

The brief shift. The realization that he was losing control of the conversation.

Still, his smile didn't waver. "I'm sure she does."

But he didn't step back.

And neither did Kaze.

For a long moment, the two of them just stared.

And I—I wasn't sure if I was breathing.

The air between them was charged, the detective waiting for an opening, for something to crack—

But he just stared back, unreadable.

The silence stretched.

And then—

The detective exhaled, slow and measured. "I'll come back when you're feeling better."

A pause. A flicker of something in his gaze.

And then—he turned.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

But my relief was short-lived.

Because I turned back to him—

And he was still watching me.

Not with amusement. Not with triumph.

Just watching.

Like

he was waiting for me to break next.

The door shut behind him, leaving behind a silence so suffocating it felt alive.

I didn't move. Neither did he.

The weight of what almost happened—of what could have been said—still hung between us, fragile and unfinished.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. My heart was still racing, still caught in the pressure of the detective's presence, of his questions, of the way he had seen straight through me.

"You weren't just scared. You were terrified."

I hated that he was right.

I hated that he had seen it too.

I exhaled sharply and forced my head up. "You were going to say something."

His eyes met mine, calm again. Empty again.

"Was I?"

I gritted my teeth. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "This. Acting like nothing happened. Like you weren't about to-"

I stopped myself, shaking my head.

He was waiting. Watching. Letting me spiral.

Like he always did.

But this time, I refused to let him take control.

I met his gaze head-on. "I saw it."

His fingers twitched. Just barely.

But I caught it.

"I saw it on your face before the detective walked in," I said, voice lower now. "You were going to tell me something."

He didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.

I took a step forward. My body still felt weak, but my mind—my resolve—was stronger now.

"What was it?" I pushed. "What were you going to say?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was something foreign. Like he was deciding what version of himself to give me.

And then—so quietly I almost didn't hear it—

"You don't want to know."

A chill ran down my spine.

I swallowed. "Try me."

His jaw tightened.

For the first time, he looked unsure.

And somehow—that was more terrifying than anything else.

Because he wasn't just lying to me.

He was lying to himself.

I took another step closer. "You act like I haven't already seen the worst of you," I whispered. "Like I don't already know what you are."

His lips parted slightly.

But I wasn't done.

I pushed further. "What could possibly be worse than what I already know?"

Something flickered in his eyes.

Something dark.

Something dangerous.

And then, almost too soft to be real—

"Everything."

The word sent a sharp, cold weight straight to my chest.

I sucked in a breath. "Then tell me."

He didn't.

Because of course he didn't.

Instead, he let out a slow exhale, his mask slipping back into place.

And just like that—the moment was gone.

He took a step back, putting distance between us again.

I stared. "You're never going to tell me, are you?"

His expression was unreadable again, his voice flat. "No."

Frustration burned through me. "Why?"

He blinked, once.

And then—

"Step off a ledge, and gravity pulls you down."

His voice was quiet, steady.

"It's not personal."

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one that matters."

I clenched my jaw. "You really think that, don't you?"

He didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

Because I already knew.

This was who he was.

Who he chose to be.

And yet—

I couldn't look away.