Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Who Killed Him?

Ava's POV

“I didn't kill him.” I said.

She didn't respond. Her radio crackled. She turned away to answer it, her shoulders tense. I stayed against the wall, my entire being focused on the knife in the bag. A weapon from my kitchen. Under my bed. With my fingerprints.

The story was writing itself, and I was the villain. Then her phone rang. A different tone. She answered it, her back still to me. "Detective Morgan." Silence.

Her posture changed. "You're sure?" Another long pause. "Send it to me." She ended the call and turned around. Her face was pale. "What happened?" I asked.

She didn't answer. She just held up her phone. The screen showed a grainy, black-and-white image from a security camera. A man in a black hoodie stood outside my apartment door, his head bowed. "The building's security camera recorded someone entering your apartment last night," she said, her voice flat.

My heart stopped. "Who?"

"That's the problem." She zoomed in slightly. The image was distorted, but I could see the way he stood. The slight hunch to his shoulders, the tilt of his head. My hands began to shake.

"No."

Morgan noticed. "You know him?"

I couldn't speak. Because five years ago, I had seen that exact posture every single night. I had seen it coming toward me in darkened rooms, and had felt the shadow of it fall across my skin. I had run from it.

The detective looked at me, her patience thin. "Who is he?" My lungs burned for air I couldn't pull in. My throat had closed up. My fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. A single name came to me, a name I had buried under five years of success, five years of healing, five years of pretending I was someone else.

"Ava." The detective's voice cut through the haze. "If you don't tell me, I will assume you're protecting him. And right now, that makes you an accessory after the fact."

The threat broke through the paralysis. I swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Ethan."

Her pen stopped moving. "Ethan who?"

"Ethan Cole."

"Your ex-boyfriend?"

I nodded. "He broke in. He must have..." The words died on my lips. Because a part of me, a deep, terrified part, knew it was too simple. Too neat. "When was this?" She asked, her pen poised over her notebook.

"I don't know. I don't remember." My memory was a shattered mirror, reflecting only fragments, none of them making sense. The pounding door. The blood. Dylan's eyes.

Morgan's face was a mask of professional skepticism. "Five years ago, you got a restraining order against him."

"Yes."

"And you haven't seen him since."

"No."

"But now, he shows up. The night your boyfriend is murdered. And you just... happen to not remember anything."

"It wasn't like that." My voice was pleading. "He was here. He must have done something. To me... to Dylan."

"We'll need a full statement." Her tone was clipped, all business. "And we'll need to locate Mr. Cole."

I watched her walk away, a fresh wave of hopelessness washing over me. Ethan. Just saying his name left a bad taste in my mouth. The past wasn't just knocking on my door. It had kicked it in, leaving a trail of blood and evidence that all led back to me.

The sun was rising by the time I was released, a pale, watery light that did nothing to warm the persistent chill in my bones. They hadn't arrested me, not yet. But they'd taken my clothes, my phone, my laptop. They'd told me not to leave the city. I was a ghost haunting my own life, wearing a spare gray sweatsuit that smelled like police station laundry.

I stood in the hallway, the door to my apartment sealed with yellow tape. I couldn't go back in. I couldn't stay here. I had nowhere to go. A black sedan pulled up to the curb. A man I recognized from the team, the assistant coach, got out. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Ava. Come on. They want you at the arena."

"The arena?" My voice was a rasp. "Why?"

"They didn't say."

The drive was silent. The city blurred past my window, a world that was still turning, oblivious to the fact that mine had stopped. The arena was quiet, the usual pre-game energy replaced by a heavy, funereal stillness. He led me not to the locker room, but to a private office.

The team lawyer was there, a woman named Sharma I'd only met once. Her smile was tight, practiced. "Ava. Please, sit down." I didn't. "What's going on?"

She exchanged a look with the assistant coach. "We're handling the police inquiries. The league has issued a statement. Your game tomorrow is suspended, pending the investigation."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You're suspending me?"

"It's a precaution," she said smoothly. "For now, the focus needs to be on cooperating with the police."

"They think I did it."

"We're not going to speculate."

I looked from her blank face to the assistant coach's bowed head. They were already building a wall around the team, and I was on the outside of it. "I didn't kill him."

"Of course not," Sharma said, but her eyes told a different story. They were the eyes of someone protecting an asset, and right now, I was a liability.

A knock at the door. Detective Morgan entered, her presence sucking the last of the air from the room. Behind her, another figure stepped in, and my breath caught.

Jace Reed.

He was in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from the flashy jerseys he wore on the court. His face was hard, his jaw set. He looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes before his gaze went to the lawyer.

"I need to speak with Ms. Carter," Morgan said.

"Alone."

The lawyer started to protest. "This is highly irregular—"

"Your client is the primary suspect in a homicide investigation," Morgan cut in, her voice like ice. "Nothing about this is regular."

Sharma and the assistant coach left, the door clicking shut behind them. The silence that followed was thick, charged. Jace didn't move, just stood by the door like a statue carved from shadow.

"We found him," Morgan said, her focus on me.

My heart lurched.

"Found who?"

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