JUDE
The wind tore past his face as he raced down the street, the city streaking into meaningless color.
Sam's words echoed in his mind like a hammer against his chest.
An arrest warrant has been issued in your name.
Sam's voice, calm and professional, played on loop in his head. Like she was reading off a grocery list. Like she hadn't just destroyed his life.
He gritted his teeth, twisted the throttle harder and screamed into his helmet—raw, wordless. The sound vanished into the night.
How did it come to this?
The handlebars vibrated beneath his grip as his knuckles whitened. His heart slammed against his ribs, too loud, too fast. This wasn't how it was supposed to unfold. Not like this.
The city blurred past—headlights, neon signs, the smeared faces of strangers who'd probably seen the news already. Obsessed ex-boyfriend finally snaps.
He could already see the headlines.
He pulled over on a side street and killed the engine. Forehead pressed against the handlebars, he tried to think.
But the only thought that came was: They're going to arrest me.
Movement in his peripheral vision—a shadow near the streetlight. Jude's head snapped up. A homeless man pushing a shopping cart, harmless, not even looking at him.
His hands were shaking.
He restarted the bike. He couldn't stay still. Couldn't think. Not here. Not yet.
He ended up at a 24-hour car wash on the edge of town. Fluorescent lights. Empty parking lot. The kind of place where no one asked questions.
In the bathroom, Jude locked himself in a stall and pulled out the envelope he'd been carrying for three days.
He'd found it in his jacket pocket the morning after Elena died. Just there. Like magic. Like a nightmare.
He opened it with shaking hands.
Elena's room key. The one to her apartment. The one he'd given back to her when they broke up six months ago.
The one that was now stained with something dark and rust-colored that he knew, was blood.
He had no memory of how it got into his jacket. No memory of being at her apartment that night. But here it was. Evidence. The kind that would bury him.
A toilet flushed in the stall next to him.
Jude froze, listening. Footsteps. The sink running.
The hand dryer. Then silence.
He waited thirty seconds, then dropped the key into the toilet.
It floated for a moment—pale plastic against white porcelain, the bloodstain clearly visible even through the water.
He flushed.
The key spun, caught in the current, and disappeared.
Jude stared at the empty bowl, breathing hard.
I didn't kill her, he thought. I didn't.
So why did he feel like he'd just destroyed his only chance at proving it?
He scrubbed his hands three times before leaving the bathroom. The smell of cheap pink soap clung to his skin, but he could still feel it—the phantom weight of the key, the stickiness of old blood.
Outside, he sat on his bike for a long moment before starting it.
Going home was stupid. If the police had a warrant, they'd be waiting for him. But where else could he go? What was the plan when you'd just been accused of murdering your ex-girlfriend and you couldn't even remember where you'd been the night she died?
His phone buzzed. Alex's name lit up the screen.
Jude's thumb hovered the answer button. Alex would help—wouldnt he? Or would he look at Jude the same way Sam had? Like he was already guilty?
The call rang out. Jude pocketed the phone and started the bike.
And rode into the night with nowhere to go and no idea what came next.
SAMANTHA
Samantha was still seated on the kitchen floor when a knock sounded. She stood up and went to open the door. Alex.
Her chest tightened.
Alex stood at the doorway, hands in his pockets, brows drawn together, watching the empty street.
"It's work," she said, more to herself than to him."The evidence points to him. I can't ignore that."
Alex didn't argue.
She exhaled, trying to shake the image of Jude riding away—furious, broken.
"Alex…" she started.
He opened his arms. She stepped into them, and for just a second, allowed herself to lean on him. He sighed quietly, like he was holding something back.
Her phone rang.
She pulled away and answered, listening without speaking.
"I'll be there," she said finally, her voice cracking.
She lowered the phone.
"I have to go. That was the office." She swallowed. "They found more on him."
A chime sounded.
Both of them looked down.
A grainy photograph filled her screen: a man in a jacket—Jude's jacket—standing outside Elena Harnold's house.
Time stamped: 2:00 a.m.
Her stomach dropped. She hurriedly grabbed her jacket and bag and bid Alex goodbye.
She drove to the courthouse and parked, hands limp on the steering wheel. She didn't get out.
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder.
The ballistics report is back. Weapon matches the .45 registered in his name.
L
She slammed her palm against the steering wheel once, twice, until her hand stung.
This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't a mistake.
They'd been friends for years.
How could he do this?
Inside the office, the smell of stale coffee greeted her. On her desk sat the Elena Harnold file.
She stared at it.
Crime scene photos. Elena—Jude's ex-girlfriend—shot cleanly through the head. Efficient. Final.
Six months ago, Elena had filed a restraining order against him.
Her phone buzzed again.
Neighbor confirms timeline. Saw him leaving around 2:00 a.m.
"Oh God," Sam whispered.
The room felt too small. The fluorescent lights hummed loudly overhead. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to steady her thoughts.
She reached for her phone to call Jude—
Stopped.
Instead, she called Alex.
She grabbed her coat and the folder, her legs trembling as she headed back to her car. Every shadow felt wrong. Every passing face looked like a threat.
I need answers.
As she drove, the city stretched ahead of her, bright and indifferent.
Please don't run, she thought. Just talk to me.
Her phone buzzed again.
She ignored it.
She didn't see the figure watching her from across the street, their expression calm, almost amused.
ALEX
Alex watched Samantha's car disappear around the corner, then checked his phone.
Three missed calls from Jude.
He stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the callback button. Jude would be panicking right now.
Desperate. Looking for someone to believe him.
And I do believe him, Alex thought. That's the worst part.
He'd known Jude since high school. Knew how he got when he loved someone—intense, yeah, maybe a little obsessive. But violent? Never.
Still. The evidence didn't lie.
Did it?
Alex pocketed his phone without calling back and headed to Murphy's, their usual spot. The bartender—Mike—nodded in recognition as Alex slid into their booth. The one in the back corner where they'd spent a hundred Friday nights talking about nothing.
"Three?" Mike asked, already reaching for glasses.
"Yeah." Alex managed a thin smile. "Old habits."
Mike poured and left him alone.
Alex stared at the three drinks. One for him. One for Jude. One for Sam.
Except Jude was running, and Sam was drowning in case files, and Alex was sitting here like things were normal.
He pushed Jude's drink away first. Then Sam's.
His phone buzzed. Sam, this time.
He picked up. "Hey, Sam. I'm at the bar."
Her voice cracked. "They found more on him, Alex. The ballistics—it's his gun. And there's a photo of him at her apartment that night."
Alex closed his eyes. "Jesus."
"I don't know what to do."
"You're doing everything right," he said quietly.
"You're following the evidence. That's all you can do."
"It doesn't feel right."
"I know." He traced the rim of his glass. "Look, I'll come to you. Where are you?"
"The courthouse. But I'm heading home soon."
"I'll meet you there. Okay? You shouldn't be alone with this."
A pause. Then: "Thank you."
She hung up.
Alex sat for another moment, staring at the two abandoned drinks.
Then he finished his own, left cash on the table, and headed out.
The night air was cold. He pulled his jacket tighter and walked to his car, thinking about Jude, about Elena, about how quickly everything could fall apart.