Chapter 30 Never Ending
Violet
We end up back at the station.
Again.
The same building. The same smell of old coffee and disinfectant. The same hum of fluorescent lights that makes everything feel unreal, like this is all happening one step removed from my body.
The difference this time is that I’m not alone.
Devin walks at my side, calm and unreadable, a legal wall I didn’t know I needed until now. Camille sits a few chairs away once we’re ushered into a conference room, hands folded tight in her lap, eyes sharp and watchful.
And Detective Calder—
Calder doesn’t approach.
He doesn’t say a word.
He sits at his desk clear across the room, pretending to type, pretending not to watch me out of the corner of his eye like he’s waiting to see how this plays out.
I feel his stare anyway.
“Tell me what this means,” I say quietly, turning to Captain Morales once the door closes behind us. “How did this happen? Why did it happen?”
Morales rubs a hand over his face and exhales slowly.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine,” he says.
He opens the case file and starts flipping through it.
Notes. Or rather—what should be notes.
There aren’t many.
He frowns, flips faster. Opens the evidence log. Checks timestamps. Cross-references reports.
His jaw tightens.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he mutters.
I watch his expression change in real time—from professional concern to irritation, then to something sharper.
Anger.
“Where’s the documentation?” he asks, more to himself than to anyone else. “Chain of custody, witness statements, follow-ups—where is it?”
He looks up at Devin. “Was anything else disclosed to you?”
“No,” Devin replies. “Because it wasn’t logged.”
Morales lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Of course it wasn’t.”
He stands abruptly and strides across the room to where a box sits on a side table—my brother’s box. Or what’s left of it.
He flips it open.
Inside: almost nothing.
No meaningful forensic collection. No supplemental evidence. No detailed reports.
Just absence.
Morales slams the lid shut and turns, fury radiating off him.
He crosses the room in three long strides and stops in front of Calder’s desk.
“What the hell is this?” Morales snaps.
Calder looks up slowly. “Sir—”
Morales grabs the box and drops it onto Calder’s desk hard enough that papers slide.
“Is this a joke?” Morales demands. “Did you even investigate this case?”
Calder stiffens. “I followed procedure.”
“Procedure?” Morales barks. “You don’t have statements. You don’t have notes. You don’t have evidence worth a damn.”
Calder opens his mouth again, but Morales doesn’t let him speak.
“You went after her,” Morales continues, voice rising. “An innocent woman who just lost her brother. You treated her like a suspect without so much as a foundation to stand on.”
I don’t move.
I don’t speak.
I just watch.
“How incompetent do you have to be,” Morales says, shaking his head, “to miss a timeline discrepancy this big? To ignore financial records? To log nothing?”
Calder’s face reddens. “I was working with what I had.”
“What you had?” Morales laughs sharply. “You had nothing. And that’s on you.”
The room is dead silent now.
“This is your final warning,” Morales says coldly. “Get your shit together. Because if I have to clean up one more mess like this, you won’t even be trusted to wear a mall security badge.”
Calder’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at me.
He doesn’t have to.
I’m already thinking about my brother.
About how scared he must have been.
How alone.
How bad things must have gotten for him not to come to me—his sister, the one person who would’ve dropped everything.
I feel something twist painfully in my chest.
Was he afraid of Calder?
The thought slides in quietly.
Uninvited.
And once it’s there, I can’t make it leave.
Because suddenly, the timeline being wrong isn’t the only thing that doesn’t add up.
And the fear I feel now isn’t just grief.
It’s the realization that my brother might not have been running from something—
He might have been trapped.
The door opens again, and Morales steps back in, posture reset, face closed off the way men in power do when they’ve decided something final.
“You’re free to go,” he says.
The words feel strange. Too small.
He continues, “If anyone from this station contacts you about your brother’s investigation—anyone not including me—you tell them to route everything through my office directly.”
I stare at him.
“That’s it?” I ask.
The irritation flashes across his face instantly, sharp and defensive. “Ms. Pierce—”
“I don’t care about the harassment,” I cut in, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. “I don’t care about Calder being reprimanded. I don’t care about lawsuits or complaints or internal politics.”
My throat tightens. Tears burn behind my eyes, and this time I can’t stop them.
“I want to know what happened to my brother,” I say. “I want to know everything. I want someone—anyone—to actually do their fucking job.”
The room goes quiet again.
Morales studies me, really looks this time. Not as a liability. Not as a problem. Just a sister who has already lost too much and is standing on willpower alone.
His expression shifts.
Not sympathy. Something closer to respect.
“I understand,” he says more quietly. “And for what it’s worth—I believe you.”
That nearly breaks me.
“I don’t want revenge,” I whisper. “I just want the truth.”
Morales nods once. “Then we’ll find it. Properly. No shortcuts.”
Camille’s hand slips into mine, grounding, steady. I hadn’t realized I was swaying until she’s there, anchoring me.
“Come on,” she murmurs gently. “Let’s go.”
Devin gives Morales a final look. Not threatening. Just observant. A reminder that this isn’t over.
As we start to walk out together, my phone starts to ring.
The sound is sharp in the open air—too loud, too insistent.
I look down at the screen.
Rowan Ashcroft.
My stomach tightens.
I answer immediately. “Yes?”
There’s no greeting on the other end. No pleasantries. Just Rowan’s voice, clipped and strained in a way I’ve never heard before.
“I need you back at the office,” he says.
Now.
Not can you. Not when you’re able.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
A pause. Too brief to be accidental.
“Yes,” he says. “And it’s moving faster than I like.”
I close my eyes for half a second. The station looms behind me. The weight of everything presses in at once.
“I just left—” I start.
“I know,” Rowan cuts in. His voice drops, lower, tighter. “This can’t wait, Violet.”
The way he says my name sends a chill down my spine. Controlled, but barely. Like he’s holding something back.
I glance at Camille. She’s watching my face, already reading it.
“I’m on my way,” I say.
“Good,” Rowan replies. “Come straight to my office.”
The call ends before I can say anything else.