The fluorescent lights above the bureau lobby flickered as Jayson stepped through the glass doors, each buzz sending a jolt through his already frayed nerves. His return wasn't exactly stealthy—greeted with loud cheers and a chorus of mock salutes from the bullpen.
"Look who's back from the dead," called James, a junior detective with perpetually crooked ties. "Paris or the Bahamas this time, Jay?"
"Neither," Jayson replied with a forced smile. "Just up north visiting my family."
Simmons, a direct colleague eyed Jayson's slightly broader frame "You sure didn't starve on leave. The missus cook you up some comfort food?"
"Bold of you to assume anyone would put up with me for that long," Jayson shot back, waving them off. "Three months in, and you all start growing soft. Any longer and I might not recognize the place."
The banter felt hollow, rehearsed. Something was off—the way conversations halted when he passed, the sidelong glances. He'd been summoned back a day early from his mandated leave, the phone call terse and lacking explanation. Not standard procedure. Not by a long shot.
Jayson pushed past the chatter and headed straight for Chief Reginald Walter's office. The walk down the corridor felt longer than usual, each step echoing against the linoleum.
The blinds were half-drawn when he arrived, casting zebra-like shadows across the office. Inside, Chief Walter barely looked up from the stack of papers before him. The man was middle-aged, hair cropped military-short, eyes sharp as flint, lips drawn in a permanent grimace that never softened even when he smiled. Thirty years on the force had calcified something in him.
"Close the door," Chief Walter said, not looking up.
Jayson did as instructed and remained standing, even though the chair opposite the desk sat empty.
"You had a good leave? When did you return?" Chief Walter asked, tone neutral, still focused on his paperwork.
"Productive. Early Today," Jayson offered carefully. "Wasn't expecting to be called in though."
"No one ever is," the chief muttered, folding a sheet of paper and sliding it into a drawer with deliberate slowness. Then his gaze locked on Jayson, unblinking and severe. "Sit."
Jayson lowered himself into the chair, maintaining eye contact.
"A closed case," Walter began slowly, each word measured, "a very sensitive one... somehow found its way into a draft write-up at Herald News.?"
Jayson blinked, heart thumping once, hard against his ribs. He kept his face impassive, though his mouth had gone dry.
"I didn't know" he said. Cool. Controlled. Careful.
The chief leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight. "You understand what I'm saying, Jayson? The Westlake investigation. The one we sealed. The one that's supposed to be gathering dust in our archives."
"I understand," Jayson replied.
Chief Walter's desk phone rang. He glanced at it, then pressed a button to silence it.
"Someone's digging. And it nearly got out. This close." He pinched the air between his thumb and forefinger, holding Jayson's gaze. "Would've been a shit storm like we've never seen. Like 'you've' never seen."
Jayson didn't speak, waiting.
"I need to know who at Herald got their hands on that information," the chief continued, leaning forward now. "And more importantly... who fed them. Because that didn't come from a FOIA request. That came from inside."
There it was. The test. The warning. Jayson felt the back of his neck prickle.
"I've got contacts at Herald," Jayson said after a calculated pause. "From that charity benefit last year. I can make some calls, see what shakes loose."
The chief nodded slowly. "Good. Do that."
"Should I loop in Internal Affairs?" Jayson asked, knowing the answer.
"No," Walter replied sharply. "This stays quiet. Between us. For now."
Jayson rose to his feet, sensing the dismissal. "I'll find out."
As he turned to to go, Walter's voice halted his step.
"And Jayson?"
He paused at the door, hand on the knob.
"Be smart about it. If it leaks again..." The man tapped his desk once with his index finger, the sound sharp as a pistol shot in the quiet office. "We'll have no choice but to clean house. Messy house. You understand what I'm saying?"
The threat hung in the air. Clear as day.
"Crystal clear, sir," Jayson replied, voice even.
He stepped out, closing the door behind him, pulse pounding in his ears. The corridor seemed too bright now, the noises from the bullpen too loud. Adrenaline coursed through his system.
He didn't need more proof. They know everything. They were watching. The question now was how close they were, and how much they knew about his own investigation.
As he crossed the hallway toward his desk, he spotted someone leaning near the coffee dispenser—Orion. Orion's usual easygoing demeanor was nowhere to be seen, his face tight with concern.
Their eyes met for a second too long across the room.
Jayson altered his course casually, as if getting coffee had been his intention all along. He approached the machine, nodding at Orion.
"Thought you weren't back till Monday," Orion said, voice low, eyes darting toward the chief's office.
"Change of plans," Jayson replied, punching buttons on the machine. "Everything good with you?"
Orion didn't respond immediately. He glanced at his watch, then around the room. "Too many ears here. You heading out soon?"
"Just came to check in," Jayson said, understanding immediately. "Probably head home to unpack."
Orion nodded, then casually raised his hand as if to pat Jayson on the shoulder. As they made contact, Jayson felt something pressed into his palm—a folded slip of paper and the feel of a solid object. He closed his fingers around it instinctively, the exchange hidden from view by their bodies.
"Good to have you back," Orion said at normal volume, giving a forced smile. "Don't be a stranger."
Jayson thanked him, leaving the coffee untouched on the counter. His hand closed tightly around the note in his pocket.
Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and left the building, nodding at the few colleagues who called out goodbyes. 
He walked briskly to his car, parked three blocks away—a habit he'd developed recently, keeping distance between his vehicle and the bureau. Only when he was inside with the doors locked did he unfold the note Orion had slipped him.
It contained some words in Orion's messy handwriting and a flashdrive.
"You'll find everything you need in there."
He started the engine, mind racing. As he pulled away from the curb, Jayson glanced in his rearview mirror. A dark sedan pulled out behind him.
He made a sudden right turn at the next intersection.
The black sedan had been on his tail for three blocks now, hanging back just enough to avoid suspicion but unmistakably tracking his every turn. Jayson checked his rearview mirror again, knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as the sedan accelerated slightly when he did.
The light ahead turned yellow. Jayson's mind raced—stop or gun it? He eased off the gas as if preparing to brake, then at the last possible moment, he floored it, shooting through the intersection just as the light turned red.
The sedan followed, but its driver hesitated for that crucial split second. Traffic from the cross street had already begun to move, forcing the sedan to slam on its brakes. A delivery truck rolled between them, followed by a stream of cars.
Jayson executed a sharp right at the next corner, then immediately ducked into an alley, cutting his lights. Through his side mirror, he watched the sedan speed past the alley entrance moments later, its driver scanning the main road ahead in vain. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Lost them," he muttered, tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. "For now."
He couldn't risk driving straight home—that would expose where he was living. His apartment in the estate had been his reserved sanctuary unknown to anyone except Nadia. No one from the bureau knew about that location. The only residence they had on file was his one-room apartment five blocks from headquarters. If they discovered where he was actually staying, everything would unravel.
The sky gradually darkened as Jayson sat behind the wheel, his mind fixated on the container. What was inside. He needed answers.
"Think, Jayson," he whispered to himself. "There's only one way to know for sure."
As night fell, Jayson drove back to Meadowbrook Port. He parked several blocks away and changed into the maintenance uniform he'd stashed in his trunk for situations exactly like this. The fake ID badge he'd created swung from a lanyard around his neck as he walked confidently through the port's side entrance.
Two workers stood near a forklift, deep in conversation. Jayson slowed his pace, adjusting his cap lower as he pretended to check something on a clipboard.
"—telling you, man, I've never seen security this tight for a regular shipment," the taller one said, lighting a cigarette.
"That's because it ain't regular," replied the other, a stocky man with beard. "Military-grade stuff in there. Ammunition, weapons, who knows what else."
Jayson casually approached them. "You guys talking about the container from the Midnight Star?"
The bearded man eyed him suspiciously. "Who's asking?"
"New guy," Jayson shrugged, tapping his clipboard. "Got assigned to inventory check. Boss said to double-verify the manifests on all high-security shipments."
The taller man snorted. "Good luck with that. Those suits from uptown won't let anyone near it."
"What's in it, exactly?" Jayson asked, trying to sound bored. "Just so I know what I'm dealing with."
"Ammunition, mostly," the bearded man said, relaxing slightly. "Military-grade stuff. Very hush-hush. Container's headed out tomorrow at dawn."
"Great," Jayson sighed dramatically. "Another late night."
The workers chuckled and moved on. Once they were out of sight, Jayson made his way to the container area. From behind a stack of crates, he spotted it—heavily guarded, just as the workers had said. Taking out his phone, he zoomed in and snapped several photos, making sure to capture the identification numbers and any visible markings.
"Hey! What are you doing there?" A sharp voice called from behind.
Jayson pocketed his phone in one fluid motion and turned to face a security guard approaching with a flashlight.
"Just finishing my rounds," Jayson replied calmly, holding up his clipboard. "Night inventory check."
The guard studied him for a moment. "I don't recognize you."
"Started last week," Jayson smiled apologetically. "Still learning the ropes."
The guard's radio crackled. When he turned slightly to respond, Jayson backed away, then walked briskly toward the exit, fighting the urge to run. His heart pounded against his ribs as he reached his car.
"Ammunition," he said to himself as he drove away from the port. Then it all came together to him. The money for orphanage renovation was funnelled into ammunition importation. And Cedric and Naomi had to die because they found out this."Shit!"
He quietly drove away.