Page 51 of Midnight at the Magnolia

The grace of her movements in the bayou.

Her quick thinking under fire.

The way she positions herself in rooms, always aware, always ready.

How she tenses when sirens pass, just slightly, but enough.

Lauren would be disappointed in how long it’s taken me to see it.“Love blinds,”she used to say,“but justice needs clear eyes.”Right now, my eyes are anything but clear when it comes to Celeste.

By the time I arrive at the precinct, the morning rush hour is in full swing. Each step toward the building feels like another step toward an inevitable collision between my heart and my duty.

“Remember what happened last time you ignored your instincts?”Lauren’s voice whispers. I touch the spot where my engagement ring used to sit. Yes, I remember. The price of willful blindness was her life.

But this time... this time the price might be my heart.

Inside the precinct, I’m surrounded by a flurry of activity. The air crackles with tension, the rapid-fire clicking of keyboards and urgent voices creating a cacophony of impending action. Every sound seems to echo the pounding of my heart, the rhythm of secrets about to break open.

“You always said the truth has a sound,”Lauren’s memory whispers.“Like thunder before a storm.”The atmosphere in the precinct feels like that now—the electric charge before lightning strikes.

Phones ring incessantly, adding to the chaotic symphony. Reeves is barking orders, his voice cutting through the din. Officers are suiting up, the sound of Velcro tearing and guns being checked adding to the frenzied atmosphere. I catalog each preparation with the same obsessive detail I’ve been applying to Celeste:

The weight check of bulletproof vests.

The sharp snap of magazines being loaded.

The practiced movements of veteran cops.

In the midst of it all, a file lands on my desk with a thud, the impact sending a small cloud of dust into the air. My heart skips—every new piece of evidence feels like another step toward a truth I’m not sure I want to find.

“New evidence just came in,” Reeves growls, the smell of his strong coffee and stale cigarettes invading my space. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Sometimes the worst truths come in manila folders,”Lauren’s voice echoes. I remember her saying that, just days before she died. Before her own case file landed on someone’s desk.

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