Chapter 7 THE FOX

ARIA PO‌V

I wake up - yet he’s already left.

The bed’s still warm where he was lying. I hear movement out back near the stove. The coffee machine sputters like it always does. One shelf shuts after being opened. Spoon taps mug, just once.

Normal morning sounds.

I gaze up at the roof, just trying to recall the way breathing works.

Last night, when I got back, a crane sat on the countertop - pale, clean, just like the rest of them.

He grinned the moment I brought it up - claimed he built it with me on his mind. While speaking, his eyes lit up slightly, like recalling a quiet victory.

I had no clue what was on his mind.

I wake up. Then my coat sits on the chair - same spot as last night. So I check the pocket, pulling out the keys.

My fingertips touch the sheet.

I yank it free.

An origami fox.

Slanted ears. A narrow snout instead. Her tail arched - sort of like a hook.

I didn’t leave it right here.

My chest tightens.

Ethan stands by the stove as I enter the kitchen - scrambled eggs sizzling, toast browning. A tune hums from him, one I’ve never heard before.

He glances up - then grins.

"Morning. Coffee's ready."

"Thanks."

I hold up the fox. "Did you put this in my pocket?"

He checks it. Then agrees.

"Yeah. Made it last night while you were sleeping. Thought you'd like it."

"When did you put it in my coat?"

This morning. Earlier than when you opened your eyes.” He arranges the eggs on a plate. Puts one down across from me. “Not feeling it?”

I check his face - honest, kind, real.

"No, I—it's nice. Just surprised me."

"Good surprised or bad surprised?"

"Good."

He bends down, presses a kiss to my forehead. 'Have something now - last night’s meal went mostly untouched.'

I take a seat. Then I grab the fork. The eggs don't taste like anything.

He’s sitting opposite, holding his plate. After one bite, he stares my way. His eyes stay on me while I eat.

You good? He says.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately."

"Work's been crazy."

"The origami case?"

I nod.

"Any progress?"

"Not really."

He leans over the table - then brushes my hand.

"You'll figure it out," he says. "You always do."

I glance down - his hand rests on mine. It feels warm, sort of solid. A quiet moment stretches between us.

I’m trying to step back.

I don't.

I reach the station before anyone else. It’s calm inside. Hardly anybody shows up till around eight.

I head right to my desk, then open the case files.

Five people died. Then another one - so now it’s six. Each murder happened like the others. Everybody had a bird nearby.

I pull up the map from yesterday. Then I tag every spot. After that, I check each point again.

Next up, I toss in Ethan’s regular hangouts once more - his workspace, that little book nook, the café he scribbles in, also the fitness spot.

I glance at the display.

Three killings took place near spots he visits - close, just a short walk away.

Yet it’s an urban spot. While tons head there daily.

I’m putting together reasons to doubt my partner - crumpled notes, missed chances.

I shut the map.

Check out the victims' details first.

Sarah Jennings. Then there's Rebecca Holt. Next up, Lisa Tran. Followed by Michael Cordero. After that, Jane Doe. The sixth one? We don't know their name yet.

I went through their days. Work stuff. Loved ones. Daily habits.

They’ve got nothing in common - just how they ended up dead.

I open Ethan’s schedule. Then check it against the dates.

Ethan claimed he'd been working out when it happened.

Victim two: Writer's retreat.

Victim number three? Ditched the book event halfway through.

Victim four: Writing stuff at home.

Victim five: Asleep.

Victim six: No clue where he’d gone. Didn’t bother asking.

I slump into the seat.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Could be my mind’s just slipping away.

Perhaps it’s best if I drop this now.

My phone buzzes.

Text from Ethan.

Been wondering 'bout you lately. How's dinner sound for tonight? I can handle the cooking.

I gaze at the display.

He’s flawless - every single time. Always nails it, no matter what.

He brews my coffee. Then I fold tiny paper creatures before I wake. After that, he checks in on how things went. While paying attention without looking at his phone.

Perhaps this is it - just someone kind who cares for me.

I reply: That works.

Three little spots show up right away.

So excited. I really care about you.

I secure my phone.

Put it down flat, facing the table.

"Kane."

I leap. Glancing skyward.

Marcus shows up at my desk. Holding two coffees. Then he puts one near me.

"You're here early," he says.

"Couldn't sleep."

Get in line," he says, plopping down on my desk’s edge. His eyes land on the monitor. "You’re still chasing that paper-folding dude?"

"Yeah."

"You're looking at this like it's personal."

"It's not."

"Aria."

I shut the laptop. "I’m okay, Marcus

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He watches me closely. That stare of his - like he’s doubting every word, yet won’t press further.

"Alright," he says. "Just don't burn yourself out. We need you sharp."

"I'm sharp."

"You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I'm fine."

He lifts his arms. Alright. Calm down

He stands up, then heads over to his desk.

I fire up my laptop once more.

Look hard at the documents.

At Ethan's calendar.

On the map where every red dot shows up.

Dinner’s set once I walk through the door.

Pasta. Or garlic bread. Maybe wine.

Ethan put out the plates. There are candles on it. He even used cloth napkins. As if we’re eating out somewhere fancy.

"This is nice," I say.

"Figured we could use it." He pulls out my chair. "Sit."

I do.

He pours the wine, then takes a seat opposite me.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Long."

"Anything new on the case?"

"Not really."

He spins noodles around his fork. Then he eats one bite. After that, he just looks at me.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks. "You seem distant."

"I'm just tired."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He smiles. "If you say so."

We munch quietly for sixty seconds.

After that, he blurts it out.

"I heard there was a seventh victim. Different city again, right?"

I freeze.

Fork moving toward lips. Halfway there it stops.

I put it there.

"What?"

"The origami killer. Seventh victim. I thought I saw it on the news."

I look at him.

"It wasn't on the news."

"No?"

"No. We're keeping it quiet. How did you know?"

He stops for a sec. Then grabs a quick drink from his glass.

Then he smiles.

"You must've mentioned it. Didn't you?"

My blood turns icy.

"I didn't."

"Are you sure? Maybe last night. You were pretty out of it."

"I didn't tell you, Ethan."

He puts the glass on the table. Then turns to face me.

Really looks.

"Then I must've overheard it somewhere. At the bookstore maybe. People talk."

"Nobody knows yet."

"Aria."

"How did you know?"

He slumps into his seat - quiet, still.

"I don't know. I just thought I heard it somewhere. Maybe I'm mixing things up."

I stay quiet.

He leans over the table - then brushes my hand.

"Hey. It's okay. I probably got it confused with something else."

I yank my hand away.

"Yeah. Probably."

He seems calm. Yet there’s no sign of stress either.

Just smiles.

"Finish your dinner," he says. "It's getting cold."

I grab my fork.

Yet I never touch food.

I just stay put.

Staring at him.

He looks right at you.

As if he reads my mind straight away.