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Then I remembered Ethan tossing me his old laptop when he shipped out.
“Keep this dinosaur alive for me, May. It reads anything.”
That laptop was in a box in my hall closet.
Dead battery.
Cracked corner.
Covered in dust.
But I still had it.
Because grief makes museums out of ordinary things.
“Yes,” I said.
Pike shook his head. “No. Evidence chain. We need to log it.”
Dr. Price said, “Deputy, with respect, if that man has military access, how long before someone higher up requests it?”
Pike didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
His radio crackled.
Ellis’s voice came through.
“Uh, Pike? You need to come out here.”
Pike pressed the button. “You got him?”
“No. Truck’s gone.”
Pike cursed under his breath.
Ellis continued, voice tighter now.
“But there’s something behind the dumpster.”
Rook lifted his head.
A sound came from him that made every person in the lobby look down.
Not a growl.
Not a whine.
A warning.
I knew before we opened the back door that something was wrong.
The clinic’s rear alley was narrow, lined with trash bins, old pallets, and the rusted AC unit that rattled every summer like a dying lawn mower.
The air smelled like rain and oil.
Deputy Ellis stood near the dumpster, one hand on his flashlight, the other hovering near his sidearm.
He looked sick.
“What is it?” Pike asked.
Ellis pointed.
On the wet pavement lay a navy-blue duffel bag.
Military issue.
Zipped shut.
No name tag.
Rook pulled toward it, claws scraping concrete.
I did not let him get close.
Pike crouched and used a pen to lift the zipper.
Inside were three things.
A bloodstained dog muzzle.
A stack of cash wrapped in bank bands.
And my brother’s missing watch.
The world narrowed to that watch.
Black face.
Scratched steel rim.
Cracked leather strap.
I had given it to Ethan the Christmas before his last deployment.
The military told us none of his personal items had survived the blast.
My father had punched a hole through the garage wall when he heard.
My mother had sat at the kitchen table staring at her empty hands.
I reached for it.
Pike caught my wrist gently.
“Maya.”
I pulled my hand back.
Calm.
Breathe in.
Count four.
Breathe out.
Count six.
Do not give grief the wheel.
Not here.
Not yet.
Rook sniffed the air.
Then he turned away from the bag and stared at the tree line behind the clinic.
His ears rose.
His body went still.
Something was out there.
Pike saw it too.
“Inside,” he said.
Nobody argued.
Back in the clinic, Dr. Price closed the blinds.
Kelly locked the exam room doors for no reason except fear needs tasks.
Deputy Pike called it in.
Not as a dog incident now.
Evidence tampering.
Threats.
Possible military fraud.
Possible homicide connection.
Words became heavier as he spoke them.
Rook stayed glued to me.
Every time I shifted, he shifted.
Every time I breathed too fast, he pressed his shoulder into my leg like he remembered how to hold people together.
I looked down at him.
“Where have you been?” I whispered.
His eyes softened.
If dogs could answer, the world would have fewer graves.
Deputy Pike ended the call.
“State police are sending someone,” he said. “Could be an hour.”
An hour.
Maddox could be anywhere in an hour.
The capsule sat inside an evidence envelope on the counter, sealed but not gone.
I stared at it.
Pike followed my gaze.
“No,” he said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“He knew Ethan.”
“Maybe.”
“He knew Rook.”
“Yes.”
“He had my brother’s watch in a bag outside my workplace after trying to kill my brother’s dog.”
Pike looked exhausted. “Maya.”
“You think I’m being emotional.”
“I think you’re being exactly as smart as you always were, which is what worries me.”
That almost broke me.
Almost.
Because Aaron Pike remembered me before the funeral.
Before my father drank himself into a stroke.
Before my mother stopped singing in the kitchen.
Before I became the kind of woman who could watch a man threaten a dog and still keep her hands steady.
I looked at the evidence envelope.
“I’m not going to steal it.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to make a copy.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Maya.”
“If this disappears, what do we have?”
He said nothing.
“If someone calls your sheriff and tells him national security, what do we have?”
Still nothing.
“If Maddox comes back with paperwork signed by a man with stars on his shoulder, what do we have?”
Pike looked away.
Rook put one paw on my shoe.
That was when Pike made the first choice that night he could never unmake.
He picked up the envelope.
Held it for one second.
Then set it back down.
“I need coffee,” he said.
And walked into the break room.
Kelly stared at him.
Dr. Price stared at him.
I moved.
Fast.
Clean.
I took the capsule from the envelope, photographed it from every angle with Dr. Price’s phone, then plugged it into the clinic’s ancient desktop using a reader from our microchip drawer.
The screen blinked.
For one horrible second, nothing happened.
Then a folder appeared.
CALDER_FINAL.
My hand stopped over the mouse.
Kelly whispered, “Oh no.”
There were six files.
Five videos.
One text document.
The video thumbnails were dark.
Night vision.
Bodycam or helmet cam.
The text document had a title that made the skin along my arms rise.
IF ROOK FINDS MAYA, PLAY THIS FIRST.
Nobody spoke.
Even Pike had come back to the doorway, coffee untouched in his hand.
I clicked the file.
A black screen opened.
Then my brother’s face appeared.
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