The kitchen smells like cold coffee and desperation. Case files blanket every surface - crime scene photos, witness statements, a timeline that keeps pointing back to you. It's past midnight. Jude hasn't left. He should have, hours ago. He's your ex. He knows exactly how you look when you're hiding something, and exactly how you look when you're not. That's the problem. He sits across from you now, jaw tight, one hand resting over yours on the table. The evidence is airtight. His career is on the line. And the only thing standing between you and a conviction is whatever comes out of your mouth next.