Page 52 of Midnight at the Magnolia

I flip open the file, the crisp paper cool beneath my fingertips, and my blood runs cold. Security camera footage shows a figure slipping into the back of the Magnolia Diner late at night. The timestamp matches the estimated time of death for our latest victim. The grainy black and white image is fuzzy, but there’s something hauntingly familiar about the way the figure moves.

My detective’s mind catalogs the details automatically:

The fluid grace of movement.

The confident handling of the lock.

The awareness of camera angles.

The precise timing between security sweeps.

My heart recognizes other details:

The slight tilt of the head I’ve kissed.

The curve of shoulders I’ve held.

The graceful hands that have touched my face.

The shadow of hair I’ve run my fingers through.

“No,” I mutter, my mind reeling, the word barely a whisper in the noisy room. “It can’t be.”

“It can, and you knew it would be,”Lauren’s voice, gentle but firm.“You’ve known for weeks. You just didn’t want to see it.”

But as I study the image, I can’t deny the familiar grace of the figure’s movements. It’s Celeste. It has to be. The realization hits me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless. My heart clenches, a war raging inside me between the cop who needs answers and the man who’s desperately in love.

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