The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Amara hadn't spoken to me since the party. She moved around the house like a ghost, taking care of Israel, preparing meals, but barely looking me in the eye. Every word was short. Cold. Distant.
I deserved it. But I couldn't ignore the feeling that something bigger was unfolding—and I wasn't going to sit back and do nothing just because the judge said to.
That night, after Amara and Israel fell asleep, I opened my laptop and accessed the forensic database through a secure backdoor only a few of us knew existed. I wasn't officially on the case, but that didn't mean I couldn't investigate.
The information from the Judge's call was vague, but one phrase stood out from his notes: The list continues.
I began cross-referencing the names of those arrested in the corruption case with recent security logs, financial transactions, and sudden resignations in the legal system. Within an hour, a pattern emerged—names of individuals in high offices who had quietly disappeared from public records. Scrubbed clean.
Someone was still protecting the system from the inside.
I picked up my phone and texted Emma:
"We were right. It's not over. Meet me tomorrow, 8AM. Same place."
The next morning, I left a note for Amara, kissed Israel's forehead, and drove off without a word.
Emma was waiting at the small café we used to meet during the first case. She looked tense but determined.
"You found something?" she asked.
I nodded and slid my tablet across the table. "There's another layer. The judge wanted us out because the next target might be... someone in our own department."
Emma's eyes darkened. "Then we don't wait."
We made a plan. Quiet. Off the record.
That night, when I returned home, Amara was waiting in the living room, arms crossed.
"You went to her," she said.
"I'm doing what I was born to do," I answered. "You know that. You married a man who chases truth, no matter the cost."
"And I married a man who once made me feel like I came first," she shot back. "Not your job. Not your partner. Me."
I paused.
"I'm doing this for Israel too. For you. So that she grows up in a country where justice means something."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Then promise me you'll come home. Alive. Whole. And that she'll never grow up wondering if her father left her behind for his job."
I walked over, gently took her hand. "I promise."
But even as I said it—I wasn't sure if I could keep that promise.
Not this time.