Fifteen Years in a Fist
Karl stands alone in Interview Room Three, mind reeling from Louise's revelations. Then Sergeant Claiborne enters with a question that cuts straight to vulnerability: whether Karl is too close to this case. Before Karl can deflect, Claiborne opens his fist to reveal something impossible—a torn scrap of paper from fifteen years ago. A relic that should have been destroyed. Evidence that the past never stays buried.
The door closes behind Louise. Karl's carefully maintained composure fragments immediately. Kain missing. Jamie silent. And Karl stands at the centre of a case that threatens to excavate everything he buried fifteen years ago.
Sergeant Claiborne enters with measured precision, his presence shrinking the already claustrophobic room. His questions aren't about the case—they're about Karl. About how close he might be. About what he might be hiding.
Then Claiborne extends his hand and opens his fist.
A small, torn scrap of paper. Karl recognizes it instantly—the texture, the tear pattern, the weight of what it represents. Something that should not exist. A ghost made tangible.
The warning that follows is clear: dangerous times require careful navigation. But the real danger isn't the case. It's what Claiborne knows—and what he might do with that knowledge.
