Noah didn't sleep.
He lay on his couch fully dressed, one arm over his eyes, the city pressing its noise through the windows in dull waves. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again—
Evan on the floor.
Hands clawing at nothing.
Breathing like glass.
At 5:12 a.m., Noah gave up on pretending rest was possible.
By 5:34, he was back at the station.
The building felt different in the early hours. Quieter. Honest in a way daytime never was. The kind of quiet that didn't perform.
He headed straight for Records.
Mara, the night technician, blinked at him from behind her monitor. "You look like you lost a fight with gravity."
"I need the footage from Holding Wing C. Last night."
Her eyebrows rose. "That bad?"
"Worse."
She didn't ask again.
The video loaded.
Grainy. Colorless. A fixed angle.
Evan on the bed.
Still.
Then—too sudden.
His body locking.
The fall.
The way his hands searched the floor like it might answer him.
Noah stood rigid.
He watched Evan try to breathe.
Once.
Twice.
Fail.
He watched the moment his knees hit.
The soundless scream.
The guard rushing in too late to understand what he was seeing.
And the pointing.
Weak. Desperate.
Like Evan was trying to hold the world together with one finger.
Mara whispered, "That's not an act."
Noah didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He watched until the clip ended.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Each replay carved something deeper into him.
He shut the screen off.
"Pull everything on Harrow Bridge last night," he said quietly.
Mara hesitated. "Noah… you don't usually chase ghosts this hard."
"I'm not."
He was chasing something worse.
Something alive.
By late morning, paperwork began to bury him.
Statements. Timelines. The suspect from the bridge. The woman's testimony.
Alive.
Alive because Evan broke apart on a concrete floor.
Noah signed his name at the bottom of a report and stared at it like it didn't belong to him.
He wondered, distantly, how many lives were worth one person's sanity.
The door to his office opened without knocking.
Kai walked in holding two coffees and a paper bag.
"I bring peace offerings and carbs."
Noah looked up slowly. "How do you always know where I am?"
"I can smell emotional damage."
Kai set the coffee down. "Rhea made me buy croissants, so you'd stop looking like a haunted filing cabinet."
Right on cue, Rhea appeared behind him, hair tied too tight, expression unimpressed.
"You're welcome in advance," she said.
Noah exhaled.
Not relief.
But something close.
Kai dropped into the chair across from him like he belonged there.
"You disappeared last night."
"Work."
"Work doesn't usually involve ignoring twelve messages."
"Eleven."
Kai squinted. "You counted?"
"By accident."
Rhea crossed her arms. "You look bad."
"Thank you."
"No, I mean… medically."
Kai leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Did something go wrong with your… psychic murder guy?"
Noah froze for half a second.
Kai noticed.
"…that bad?"
Noah looked away.
"He collapsed."
Rhea's expression softened instantly. "Is he okay?"
"He's alive."
Kai let out a breath. "That's good. That's—"
Noah cut in, quiet. "It didn't look survivable."
Silence settled.
Kai reached across the desk and nudged one of the coffee cups closer to him.
"Drink," he said. "Before you start solving crimes as a hallucination."
Noah almost smiled.
Almost.
Rhea checked her watch. "I need to get back to autopsy reports."
Kai stood too. "Walk you?"
"You just want my parking spot."
"I respect your consistency."
She rolled her eyes but didn't move away when he fell into step beside her.
At the door, Kai looked back at Noah.
"You're not allowed to break," he said lightly. "You're the emotionally repressed pillar of this entire institution."
Noah snorted. "Get out."
Kai saluted. "Try not to adopt another tragedy today."
They left, bickering softly.
The office felt colder after.
Noah stood.
Went to the window.
Far below, the city moved like nothing had happened.
People crossed streets.
Bought food.
Laughed.
Lived.
In a small white room beneath the station, Evan sat alone, learning how to breathe again.
Noah pressed his forehead to the glass.
"You're not a weapon," he whispered to no one.
"And you're not allowed to die to prove it."
But the city didn't answer.
And neither did the thing making decisions in the dark.