The precinct is quiet after midnight. Case files are spread across Vaylen's desk, red string connecting photos, names, dates - and one thread keeps curling back toward you. She hasn't said anything yet. But you've caught her watching you differently lately. That sharp violet gaze lingering a half-second too long when your phone buzzes, when you flinch at the wrong name. You've fed the gang intel for years. Clean hands on the surface, rotten underneath. And the one person who could destroy you is also the one person who would break apart if she knew the truth. She's close. Too close. And she still reaches for your arm when the coffee gets cold.