Charlie chuckled quietly, the sound catching in his throat halfway through. The situation was absurd no matter how he turned it. A grown man with a badge, a code of ethics hammered into him for decades, and a reputation he'd bled for—being steered around by someone he didn't know.
Someone who wasn't supposed to exist.
Someone who might be doing the right thing.
Or something very, very wrong.
"We'll see what happens next," he muttered, staring at the note again. "I'll be waiting for your call… Anonymous."
The signature stuck. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was deliberate. A name chosen by someone who understood exactly what it meant to leave no face behind.
—
Back home, my bedroom lights stayed off. Curtains sealed. Silence enforced. A small flashlight was strapped to my forehead, angled low, dim enough that nothing bled under the door. Getting caught awake by Mom wasn't an option. Questions would come. Concern would follow. Then limits.
I opened the files.
Kyle Milson's profile unfolded cleanly, almost too clean. History. Records. Associations. Loose ends tied just well enough to pass unnoticed. With this alone, I'd already secured a solid chunk of evidence. Not enough to convict, but enough to make sure he couldn't pretend to be invisible anymore.
Enough to strengthen a case if it ever reached court.
Next came his acquaintances.
I worked slowly, methodically. Faces matched to names. Names matched to habits. Habits matched to locations. At first it felt scattered. Then the overlap began.
One face appeared twice. Then again.
Then another.
Men I recognized from multiple videos surfaced again and again, like a pattern refusing to stay hidden. Same circles. Same timing. Same movements. Same cruelty, rehearsed until it looked casual.
This wasn't chaos. This was routine.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. My fingers ached, my eyes burned, but my mind stayed razor-sharp. Hyperfocus had its grip on me now, and it didn't let go gently.
Outside, the sky lightened. Black faded into gray. Gray into something close to morning.
"It's morning…" I muttered.
I recited the names of all five men from the second video under my breath. Not like a prayer. More like a warning. Like if I stopped saying them, they'd vanish again.
Next target: the victim.
That part fought back hard.
Missing persons reports were a mess. Incomplete. Poorly tagged. Buried under neglect. I filtered by date, location, physical description. Too many near matches. Too many dead ends. Too much noise.
Time stretched. My jaw tightened.
Then—
"Found you."
The words slipped out before I realized it. A smile tugged at my lips, small and involuntary, but my eyes stayed sharp. Calculating. The kind of smile that didn't come from relief, but from alignment. From things clicking into place too perfectly.
The rush hit.
I hated how much I liked it.
"Fuck…" I muttered, already rehearsing excuses for the eye bags Mom would definitely notice. Late sleep. Headache. Screen strain. Anything but the truth.
Once everything was sorted into encrypted folders, nested and sealed, I shut the PC down. The silence afterward felt heavy, like the room was watching me back.
I washed my face with cold water. Let it drip. Let it sting.
For a moment, the crimes faded. Washed away with the water running down my bangs.
Then reality snapped back into place.
"BABY! GET YOUR ASS UP AND EAT BREAKFAST! YOU HAVE A CHECKUP TODAY!"
"Oh shit…"
Friday. Of course it was Friday.
The routine swallowed me whole. Nagging. Kisses. Food shoved into my hands before I could protest. Fruits, pancakes, milk, biscuits. Mom packed a lunch box and snacks like she always did when clinics were involved. Like I might disappear if she didn't.
Minutes later, we were out the door.
My brother picked us up. Alice sat in the back seat, legs swinging. Almost six now. Too quiet. Too observant.
"H-hi, Uncle…" she said softly.
"Hey, Alice." I smiled. "You coming with us for the checkup?"
She lit up instantly, talking nonstop about doctors and hospitals. She'd been obsessed ever since she learned how to talk. I listened, half there, half still buried in timestamps and faces.
The hospital smell hit me as soon as we stepped inside. Disinfectant. Clean and dizzying. Not comforting. Not terrible. Just familiar.
We split from my brother and Alice and headed toward Uncle Chang's office. Mom's brother. Our family doctor. Someone who'd known me long enough to spot lies before I finished telling them.
I sat while he talked casually with Mom, running through the usual questions. Symptoms. Changes. Complaints.
Nothing.
On paper, I was clean.
Mom stepped out to refill her water bottle.
The door clicked shut.
The room shifted.
Uncle Chang turned to me, that familiar mischievous look on his face. The one he only used when he already knew more than he was letting on.
"So," he said quietly, "any updates on your tech stuff? Your sneaking?"
I hesitated. Not because I didn't trust him.
Because once this was said, it couldn't be unsaid.
"Uncle…" I swallowed. "I'm pretty fucked."
His expression froze.
"I found a crime video," I continued. "Actually, more than one. I traced faces, locations, patterns. But if I report it, I get arrested too. Decoding private files without consent is illegal."
The clipboard slipped from his hands.
Paper scattered across the floor.
"WHAT?!"