Page 71 of Torgash

Stepping back. Letting go. All the shit I never learned how to do.

Two years I thought I was the only one who could save this place. Three weeks with her and I find out there's more than one way to win a fight.

Now I get to finish what she started. Clean up the mess we both made. Make sure the woman who destroyed herself for people she barely knew gets something out of it.

Doesn't matter that it's killing me. Doesn't matter that I'll never see her face again. Doesn't matter that every breath feels like swallowing glass.

She walked away from everything that mattered to her.

The least I can do is let her sacrifice mean something.

Chapter Fourteen

Nova

I've been counting ceiling tiles for an hour when the alarm finally goes off.

Three months in Atlanta, and I still don't sleep. My body runs on three-hour chunks—enough to function when surveillance jobs run past dawn.

I swing my legs over the side of the narrow bed, bare feet hitting cold laminate. My apartment doubles as a workspace. Six hundred square feet with walls covered in surveillance photos and case timelines. The kitchen table disappeared two weeks ago under stacks of background checks I've pulled through former colleagues who still owe me favors.

No badge doesn't eliminate options.

Derek Sullivan. Living as David Martinez in Jacksonville. I've known his location for four years—Atlanta PD contacts made that simple. Location was never the problem. The problem was proving which badges helped him fabricate his alibi, which files got buried, which evidence disappeared.

Until Royce confirmed what I'd suspected—the proof exists.

Six years of hitting dead ends because I followed procedure. Respected chain of command. Trusted the system. Now I can pursue leads that would have gotten me suspended.

Derek thinks a new identity and bought alibis will keep him safe. He's wrong.

He was wrong.

I push through fifty push-ups, forty sit-ups, thirty burpees. Physical conditioning is an asset I might need. My PI license permits investigation, not arrest. When I finally track Derek down, I want options.

The shower runs cold after three minutes. I've stopped noticing. Cold is just another variable, like the restlessness that followed me from Shadow Ridge. Nothing a caseload can't fix.

Coffee brews while I dress. Black tactical pants, gray t-shirt, holster that doesn't carry a badge anymore but still holds steel. The weapon stays concealed—a PI with visible hardware makes people nervous. Contingency I hope never to need.

My phone buzzes. Romano—my old partner from Atlanta PD. Early for him to call.

"Nova." He sounds different. Tight, almost careful. "Are you sitting down?"

"What happened?" My coffee mug stops halfway to my lips. Shadow Ridge. The MC. Ash.

"Someone's reopened Carman's case." Romano pauses, letting that sink in. "New evidence submitted to the DA yesterday. Serious material—witness testimony, financial records, forensics that were buried during the original investigation."

The mug hits the counter harder than intended and cracks along the handle. "What? How?"

"Don't know details yet. But there's more." His tone drops. "Package came with credentials from some high-powered law firm in New York. Letterhead that made the Chief sit up straight.This wasn't some random tip—this came through channels with power."

New York. My grip tightens on the phone. The timing feels too precise for coincidence.

"Figured you'd want to know right away." Romano sounds puzzled. "Nova, who the hell do you know with enough pull to fast-track a six-year-old cold case overnight?"

I'm halfway through telling him I don't know when my call-waiting beeps. Unknown number.

"I need to take this," I tell Romano. "Call me if anything else breaks."

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