Chapter 4

【Claire's POV】

The confirmation hit me like a physical blow to the chest. Jade Thompson is dead. The name echoed in my head as I knelt there in the wet earth, clutching her broken glasses.

For the first time in months—maybe years—I felt something pierce through the comfortable numbness I'd wrapped around myself like an expensive coat. Guilt. Raw, devastating guilt that cut deeper than any hangover, sharper than any morning-after regret from my nights at Blue Moon.

I thought about all those times I'd looked right through Jade like she was invisible. The way I'd smirked when she wore those hand-me-down clothes, carefully cleaned and pressed. How I'd rolled my eyes when she'd timidly ask if she could borrow one of my designer tops that I'd carelessly tossed in the trash. She'd always been so grateful, so careful with my castoffs, treating a used Armani blouse like it was made of spun gold.

And now she was dead. Dead. The word felt foreign in my mind, too real, too permanent for someone like me who lived in a haze of alcohol and artificial highs.

"Miss, I need you to answer my question." Detective Reid's voice was firm but not unkind. "How did you know where to find those glasses?"

I looked up at him, this serious man with his badge and his authority, and felt something I hadn't experienced in years: the desire to tell the truth. Not because I had to, not because I was caught, but because for once, something mattered more than my own comfort.

"I'll tell you," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "But not here. Not like this."

Riley was crying now, soft hiccupping sobs that reminded me how normal people reacted to tragedy. I envied her that ability to feel things simply, directly. My own emotions were all tangled up with this strange excitement, this electric awareness that cut through my perpetual fog.

Detective Reid studied me for a long moment. I could see him cataloging details.

"What's your name?"

"Claire Coleman."

Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition, maybe. The Coleman name carried weight in Silverwood, had for three generations. My mother's company logo was on half the buildings downtown.

"And you were Jade Thompson's roommate?"

"Yes." The word came out as barely a whisper.

"Ms. Coleman, I'm going to need you to come with me to the Silverwood Police Department for questioning. Both of you."

I stood up slowly, my legs shaky from kneeling in the cold mud. "No," I said, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. "Just me. Riley doesn't know anything about this. She was studying all night—she's always studying. Leave her out of it."

The detective looked between us, evaluating. "Ms. Patterson will need to provide a statement regardless, but we can handle that separately."

Riley grabbed my arm. "Claire, what's going on? "

I turned to look at my roommate—earnest, hardworking Riley who was going to ace her LSATs and become a lawyer and live a normal, productive life. The kind of life I'd never wanted, until maybe right now.

"I'll explain later," I lied. How could I explain that while she was highlighting constitutional law, I was dreaming of murder in vivid, terrifying detail? "Just... go back to the dorm. Study. Do what you always do."

Detective Reid was already walking toward the main path, clearly expecting me to follow. I did, but not with the reluctance I should have felt. Instead, there was this weird anticipation building in my chest. This was real. This mattered. For the first time since I'd started drinking myself into oblivion, something was more compelling than the bottom of a bottle.

The ride to the police station was silent except for the squeak of windshield wipers and the radio chatter I couldn't quite make out. I sat in the back of the detective's car, watching the familiar streets of Silverwood pass by. I'd driven these same streets drunk more times than I could count, had Samantha pick me up from bars and clubs all over town, but I'd never seen them from this angle—sober, alert, heading toward consequences instead of away from them.

The Silverwood Police Department was a squat brick building that looked exactly like every police station in every movie I'd ever seen. Fluorescent lights, linoleum floors, the smell of coffee and stress. Detective Reid led me through a maze of desks to a small room with a metal table and two chairs.

"Have a seat, Ms. Coleman. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

I shook my head. The air conditioning was cranked too high, and I was still wearing my thin jacket from the morning. The cold was making me shiver, but it also felt cleansing somehow, like it was burning away the fog I'd been living in.

"Before we begin," I said, "I need to know something. I need to confirm some details before I can tell you why I knew where to find those glasses."

Detective Reid sat across from me, his expression unreadable. "I'm listening."

I took a breath, trying to organize the chaos in my head. "I need you to answer five questions. Exactly, honestly. And then you'll understand why I know what I know."

He nodded slowly. "Go ahead."

"First," I said, my voice getting stronger with each word, "Jade's high heels. Is one of them missing?"

Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe, or suspicion.

"Second, her left earring. Is it gone? The small diamond studs her mother gave her?"

Now he was leaning forward, studying my face intently.

"Third, her neck. Are there marks around her neck? Like someone grabbed her?"

"Fourth," I continued, my heart pounding, "her phone. Her old flip phone with the cracked screen that she was too broke to replace. Is it missing?"

Detective Reid's hand had moved to his notepad, but he wasn't writing. He was just staring at me.

"And fifth..." I paused, because this was the detail that had woken me up screaming. "She was face down in the water, wasn't she? Drowning. That's how she died."

The silence in the room was deafening. Even the air conditioning seemed to quiet down, waiting for his response.

"How do you know these things, Ms. Coleman?"

"I dreamed it," I said simply. "I dreamed all of it. And Detective Reid? This is the most real thing that's happened to me in years."

He shook his head slowly. "I deal in facts and evidence, Ms. Coleman. Not dreams."

"So do you think I'm a suspect?"

He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Currently, Ms. Coleman, you're definitely a person of interest."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the cold room with nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights and the weight of what I'd just admitted.

I sat there for what felt like hours, shivering and thinking about Jade's broken glasses, about the dreams that felt more real than my waking life, about how this terrifying clarity was better than any high I'd ever chased in any bar in Silverwood.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered under my breath, wrapping my arms around myself. "What kind of half-assed operation are they running here?" The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry insects, and I could hear muffled voices from somewhere down the hallway, but nobody seemed to give a damn that I was freezing my ass off in here.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday? The night before?

"Shit," I whispered, pressing my palm against my empty stomach. "I'd kill for a burger right now. Or even those nasty vending machine sandwiches."

When the door finally opened again, it wasn't Detective Reid. It was a younger man in a standard FBI uniform, clean-cut and serious.

"Ms. Coleman? I'm Special Agent Derek Hayes, FBI Seattle Field Office. I've been brought in to continue your interview."

I looked up at him, exhausted and cold and somehow more awake than I'd been in months. "Great. Another skeptic. Look, Agent Hayes, I haven't eaten anything since yesterday, and my mother's security detail is probably looking for me by now. Can we make this quick?"

Agent Hayes sat down and opened a file folder. His expression was completely neutral as he looked up at me.

"Ms. Coleman," he said quietly, "every detail you just described is accurate."