Before Jason could continue, Eli's voice cut in—gentle, but firm.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this here—like this. She deserves clarity… and we should get in."
He turned slightly, his hand resting on the doorframe as he looked at me.
"Come inside."
The door creaked open, and a few seconds later, Denise stepped into the room. Her gaze was unreadable—sharp, scanning, like she was bracing herself for something to go wrong at any second.
Jason followed behind her. The tension in his face and body was so taut, I could feel it pressing against my skin like static.
Eli motioned toward the worn-out sofa and the small chair near the bed. He didn't say much. He didn't need to.
Just having him there grounded me. His quiet strength filled the space in a way words never could.
"Sit," Eli said softly.
Jason took the chair without hesitation, though he looked like someone about to confess to a crime he didn't know how to explain. His eyes barely touched mine before dropping to the floor. He gripped the edge of the armrest like it was the only solid thing in the storm he was caught in.
"I didn't know how to say this," he began, voice thick with strain.
I watched him take a deep breath. Watched the way his chest rose and fell like he was forcing the words out one breath at a time.
"I went to your apartment, Janica," he finally said. "To get the journal I'd told you about—the one I thought might help us make sense of all this. But when I got there…"
He rubbed his temples, trailing off.
"…the place had been tampered with. Someone had been there."
I didn't move. I didn't speak. I just looked at him, waiting—because I needed more than half-truths. I needed the whole story.
Beside me, Denise shifted. Her arms crossed like a lawyer mid-cross-examination.
"What do you mean, tampered with?" she asked. "Be specific."
Jason met her eyes—probably surprised by her tone—but Denise didn't flinch.
"Drawers pulled out. Books tossed. I couldn't find the journal."
"And you didn't call the police or even me?" she pressed, her voice flat, unimpressed.
Jason's jaw tightened. "I panicked. I hadn't told you I was going there."
Denise's phone buzzed then—sharp and sudden, slicing through the tension like a blade. She glanced at the screen, and something in her expression shifted. Quietly, she stepped aside.
"I'll be right back," she muttered, and walked toward the corner of the room. Her voice was low and clipped as she answered the call.
I watched her silhouette—still, focused… dangerous.
That wasn't a casual call. I could tell by the way her back stiffened. Something was happening. Something she hadn't expected.
Silence wrapped around us again. Eli remained near the doorway, arms folded. Jason sat with his hands clenched, eyes locked on the floor.
He looked like he wanted to say something—anything—but every time he opened his mouth, he closed it again.
And I… I just watched him.
I didn't know if I believed all of this. Or if I just wanted to believe it badly enough.
Denise returned a minute later. Her expression was calm, but I knew her well enough to see the shift behind her eyes. Something had moved.
"I'm sorry about that," she said to no one in particular, though her eyes locked directly onto Jason's. Her voice was softer now—but there was steel beneath it.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back on the pillows.
We were just getting started.
"Tell me about the journal you were after," I said.
Jason hesitated. He looked down at his hands as if they held the memory themselves.
"It was just before your mom got really sick," he said slowly. "We were at that café near my office. She left the journal on the table when she went to the washroom. She didn't realize it."
Denise blinked, processing. "You opened it?"
He looked up briefly. Guilt flashed through his eyes. "The first page was already open. There were notes—fragmented thoughts. But one name kept coming up—Peterson. And there was another name… I can't quite remember it. It started with an L or maybe a K."
Denise's gaze sharpened, narrowing in like a hawk.
"A name you can't remember just happens to be the one someone broke in to erase?" she asked.
Jason flinched slightly. "I'm not lying. I didn't memorize the journal. I didn't think I needed to. Then everything happened so fast."
Denise straightened her spine.
"I want access to that apartment. Every trace they left—I want it bagged, logged, and followed." Her voice cut clean through the air. "And Jason? No more secrets."
She walked closer, gaze steady.
"We need to retrace every moment from what you remember—and anything Janica can recall about the man she wrote in the journal. Peterson's already in custody, but we've got nothing on Job. No trace. No lead to that house he tricked you into."
She paused. Letting the weight of her words settle between us.
Then she turned to Jason.
"You need to take me to the first place you ran from that night—the one where you left Janica behind."
Jason stiffened.
"I've been instructed to stay alert," Denise said, her voice cool but edged like a drawn blade. "Which means we start pulling every thread
now—not later. Whatever was in that house… whatever you saw or didn't—I need to see it for myself."