Page 4 of Vital Signs
The thought rang hollow even in my own head. But what was the alternative? Let Tyler stay nameless? Let his killer go unpunished?
I almost put the phone down. Almost walked away. Almost did the right thing.
Then I thought of that tattoo again. Someone had to see him correctly. Someone had to fight for him the way no one had fought for me during Roche's trial.
The phone grew warm in my palm. My other hand trembled as I lifted Tyler's right hand from the table. The skin was cool and waxy against mine.
One more chance to stop. One more moment to be better than Roche.
I pressed Tyler's finger against the sensor.
The phone unlocked, screen glowing in the dim room.
My stomach twisted. I'd crossed a line I swore I never would. But I was looking. I was seeing. And maybe that made all the difference.
In his messages, I found brief exchanges with someone named Hunter about meeting locations and side effects. I opened hisphotos and started scrolling through them, pausing on the familiar image of a fierce-looking man with striking Asian features. The same man I'd seen lurking outside the funeral home earlier that morning.
My breath caught. Dangerous-looking. Handsome—no, beautiful—in a way that made my pulse quicken.
Heat crept up my neck. I was looking at a dead man's phone, finding photos of someone I had no business thinking about like this. Tyler's friend. Tyler's connection. Not mine to want.
But I wanted anyway.
The prep room door opened, and I scrambled to lower the phone, turning and hiding it behind my back like a child caught stealing.
River's eyes narrowed, and I immediately regretted thinking I could hide anything from my boss.
"He's trans," I said, my words harsh. "The body from county. They sent his things, so I thought..." I slowly brought the phone out, waiting for the reprimand.
"Good thinking," River said and strode into the room. "County probably didn't even bother to try to identify him."
The validation hit me like a drug. River didn't care that I'd broken the rules. He cared about results.
My shoulders slumped. "I don't think they did."
But underneath the relief was something else. Something that made my skin crawl and my pulse quicken in equal measure. River had just approved something I knew was ethically questionable. Had validated the exact kind of boundary-crossing that I'd sworn I'd never engage in.
And part of me—the part that was tired of being the victim, tired of watching the guilty walk free, tired of following rules that protected no one—was grateful for it.
The same part that wanted Hunter. That had broken into a dead man's phone to find him. That would do it again without hesitation.
Was this what falling felt like? Becoming someone who crossed lines and didn't look back?
Was I becoming like River? Like the Laskins? Was this what justice required?
"Get anything from that?" he asked, gesturing to the phone.
"Maybe." I frowned down at the screen and scrolled through a few more pictures, pausing on one of the deceased holding up an ID card. He was grinning from ear to ear and pointing to the M gender marker. My throat tightened.
"Tyler Graham," I said and lowered the phone. "His name was Tyler Graham."
River grunted. "What's with the pill bottles? NervEase. NeuroPath. These aren't drugs I've ever heard of."
"They might be experimental drugs." My expression soured. "University runs drug trials all the time. Maybe he was doing drug trials for money?"
The anger that had briefly subsided came rushing back, but this time the rage built more slowly. More deliberately.
If he had been part of drug trials, it meant he’d trusted the medical system. They were supposed to protect trial participants. Yet he'd died anyway.
