She stood in the morgue, the sterile air heavy with the scent of antiseptic.
The technician opened a labeled stainless steel drawer and withdrew the body of the man she had seen laughing just hour’s ago—the monster who had hurt Lexi.
The one who had tried to kill her.
Now, in this cold, lifeless room, he lay still, a pale and fragile shell of the fury he once embodied. All that rage, anger, and hatred were gone, replaced by silence and stillness.
Nothing but an empty, hollow vessel.
Nothing but dust.
Is this what she had wanted?
Her chest tightened. Had she, soone sworn to save lives, taken one with her own hands?
Could she believe herself capable of sothing so inhumane, so final?
Wasn’t it their oath to save... not to kill?
The questions gnawed at her as she stared at his lifeless form. How would she live with herself if it were true?
If she had crossed that line, could she ever go back?
One thing, however, was undeniable. As she looked at his cold, pale body, she realized she had wanted him to die.
Deep down, she had believed he deserved it.
She felt no remorse, no sympathy, and that absence of emotion terrified her more than anything.
The bright, unyielding morgue lights made it worse, illuminating every detail she wished to avoid. She had demanded to see his body, yet now, standing here alone, she was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the last two weeks, but it was as if she had hit a wall of impenetrable darkness.
Nothing.
Her own mories were betraying her, locking away the truth like a secret too dangerous to reveal.
And yet, deep in the silence of that cold room, one chilling thought persisted.
She didn’t regret it.
And that made her feel worse.
She stood frozen, staring at Conner’s lifeless body. The air in the station was cold, but the officers were colder. Laz was being interrogated in a nearby room.
Lexi, Reg, and Leah entered, their faces tense. Lexi gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as sobs escaped her.
Frida knew Lexi’s heart. She hadn’t wanted Conner to die, she wanted him to change, to beco a better person. That’s why she cried, staring at the white sheet covering his body.
Reg, on the other hand, stood stoic, devoid of remorse or sympathy. Frida understood why, Reg had hated Conner for years. If asked, she would say Conner deserved this for being cruel, for the harm he had caused.
But would that hatred drive Reg to kill him?
Frida’s eyes darted to Reg, doubt creeping in. Reg and Laz were alike in many ways, they both harbored secrets. It made her wonder: Could Reg’s hatred have been strong enough to lead her to murder?
And then there was Lexi. Could Conner’s abusive behavior have pushed her to such an extre?
Frida had heard about the ti Conner stord into the hospital and smashed Lexi’s heart monitor, hissing that he wished she’d die. Would that have been enough to drive Lexi to this?
But Frida couldn’t rule herself out either. She had grabbed a knife during a fight with Conner, and the thought had crossed her mind, he deserved to die.
Yet, she couldn’t rember what had happened yesterday. She had been downstairs, but his body had been tossed from her floor.
According to the detective, Conner had been dead before his body was thrown over the railing, a calculated move to cover the truth.
The killer was thodical, strangling him and leaving him in a tub of water for 24 hours before staging the scene.
The detective suggested Conner had been waiting outside her door with a gun, harboring ill intent.
Frida shivered, unable to piece together her mories. The last thing she recalled was visiting Laz on the island two weeks ago. Everything afterward was a blur.
Fragnts of mories flashed in her mind, making her stomach churn. The station’s sll, cold, antiseptic, tinged with decay, pushed her over the edge.
She staggered back, feeling lightheaded, and Laz caught her by the waist.
Everyone was a suspect. Reg had hated Conner. Lexi had suffered at his hands. And Frida herself couldn’t trust her own fractured mory.
She needed to get away. Away from this nightmare. Her mother had a villa in Hawaii, far from the winter snow that stifled her. She was allergic to the cold, and she craved sunshine and solitude.
As she turned to leave, Laz stepped into her path. "Excuse , Laz," she murmured, trying to sidestep him.
"Are you going to run away from ?" His voice was quiet but firm.
She stopped, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Are you going to run away from my heart?" he asked, stepping closer.
"Are you going to turn your back on us?"
His words hit her like a hamr. She turned and pushed past him, but he followed her into the night. The cool breeze stung her face, and her boots crunched in the deep snow.
"I’m not running," she said softly.
"Yes, you are," he countered without hesitation.
She spun around, her voice rising. "Laz, everything isn’t about you! Everything isn’t about us! Sotis it’s more complicated than that."
He slid his hands into his pockets, his calm voice piercing through her anger. "Then we communicate. You know, that little thing we agreed on."
Her frustration boiled over. "It’s easy for you. It’s easy because I’m not the one keeping secrets from you. I’m not the one who hurt you and betrayed your trust."
"You’re right," Laz admitted. "I’ve hurt you. I deserve your resentnt. But everything I’m doing is to protect you."
"From the truth!" she snapped. "You’re protecting from the truth. Do you hear yourself?"
"Yes, because I know you need to figure it out yourself," he said, his voice tinged with pain. "If I tell you, it’ll unlock sothing that could break you. I’ve watched you disappear before, Frida. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t lose you."
His voice cracked, and she saw the tears welling in his eyes.
"Fine," she said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. "I’ll figure it out myself."
She slamd the cab door shut, and as it drove away, her tears spilled over.
It’s not you, Laz. It’s .
I don’t trust myself, she thought, the painful truth carving through her as she stared out at the falling snow.
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