The house was too quiet now.
Detective Chief Robert Carter sat on the edge of his son's bed, hands hanging uselessly between his knees, elbows resting on thighs grown too heavy with grief.
The room hadn't changed. The bed was still messy, half-made.
The desk still cluttered with textbooks, soccer cleats, and junk food wrappers. Craig's favorite hoodie still hung on the back of the chair like he might walk back in and throw it on.
But Craig was gone.
And Robert, he didn't know what to do with that.
He was a man who dealt in control. Order. Logic. Thirty years in law enforcement. Fifteen as a detective. The guy people called when things went wrong. He was trained to read killers, calm hostages, handle blood and chaos like it was routine.
But none of it mattered now.
Not when it was his son who had been found hanging from a roof.
Not when the boy he raised, coached, protected, ended up a silent headline in his own city.
Robert ran a hand through his graying hair and looked around the room, searching for something, anything, that could explain what happened. On the desk was a photo frame, turned face-down. He picked it up.
Craig at ten years old. Grinning. Missing a front tooth. Holding a trophy twice his size.
He felt something in his chest twist and snap.
Across the house, Janine was getting ready for work.
Hair pinned. Blouse ironed. Badge clipped.
She hadn't taken a single day off since Craig died. She walked the school halls every day as principal like nothing had changed.
But Robert could see the cracks. The way she stood too straight, spoke too flatly, blinked just a little too often to keep tears from falling.
"We all grieve differently," people said.
But Robert wasn't grieving.
He was seething.
He'd read the scene reports. The autopsy. The interviews. All clean.
No sign of foul play, the paperwork said.
But Robert had been in this business too long to believe what paperwork said.
Boys like Craig didn't just break. Not without a reason.
There was something missing—some shadow in the corners, something not written down. A weight behind his son's final days that no report could quantify.
And Robert felt it in his bones: someone pushed Craig to that rooftop.
Later that evening, Robert sat in his study, the lights off, only the cold glow of his tablet lighting the room.
He had pulled Craig's phone from evidence the night after the incident. Technically, he shouldn't have touched it. But he was more than a grieving father—he was a man with access, and the fire in his chest was louder than the law.
He cracked Craig's lock in minutes.
There weren't many messages. Most were deleted. The browser history was wiped. Social media accounts deactivated.
It was wiped too clean, as though Craig did not want it recovered.
But one app remained. Hidden in a subfolder. An encrypted messenger.
The last conversation on it was short. Cold. Only three messages.
Unknown: You know I'll leak it if I don't get the rest soon.
Craig: Please… I'm trying.
Unknown: No excuses. Two more days.
Robert stared at the screen, breath held. Rage curdled in his stomach.
This wasn't suicide.
This was pressure. Blackmail. Torture in digital form.
He had seen it before, victims pushed to their limits by predators who never raised a hand. Emotional bruises that didn't show up on autopsies.
And now it had happened to his son.
Robert stood, heart pounding.
He didn't know who "Unknown" was yet.
But he would find them.
And when he did, badge or not, he'd end them.
He walked into the kitchen, where Janine sat at the table with a cup of untouched coffee. She didn't look up.
He held up the tablet.
"There's more to this," he said quietly.
"I don't know," she whispered. Distraught.
He sat across from her. For a while, neither of them spoke.
"I keep thinking," Robert finally said, voice strained.
Janine said nothing. Her eyes were glassy.
Robert looked down at his hands, clenched into fists.
"I'm not just going to mourn him, Janine. I'm going to avenge him."
She looked up at him slowly, like she had just risen from underwater.
Fear crept on her face. Worry filled her, as she saw her husband slipping away as well.
"I'm still the principal of the school where my son died," she said, voice barely a whisper.
"Every hallway I walk, I wonder, what was going on in my son's mind? Was I a bad mother? Was it my fault?" Her voice shook.
They were both trapped in the same nightmare, just on different floors of the same burning building.
'But I am not powerless,' he thought. 'I have resources. Access. People who owe me favors.'
He leaned forward, eyes lit with something feral.
"I want everything. Every name. Every rumor. Every whisper about Craig's final days. Because someone, some student, maybe more, knew exactly what they were doing."
He paused.
"And I will break them."
Devlyn walked across the schoolyard like it was any other day. Bag over his shoulder. Calm face. But his eyes scanned every shadow.
Behind the gym, it was quiet. The air smelled of metal and old sweat.
Someone stood waiting by the equipment shed.
Hood up. Back straight. Still.
Devlyn approached slowly. "You're the one who's been messaging me."
The hood dropped.
Martin Reyes.
The student council president. Respected, cheering, and always watching.
Devlyn's expression barely changed. "Didn't expect you."
Martin stepped forward and tossed a flash drive onto the pavement between them. It clattered.
Devlyn crouched and picked it up, fingers light. "So you've been playing detective."
Martin's voice was flat. Disgusted, but measured. "Craig came to me three days before he died. Said someone was blackmailing him. Said he didn't know how to make it stop."
He stared Devlyn down. "I told him to go to the police. He refused."
Devlyn smiled faintly. "So now you're here to avenge your dear friend?"
Martin's eyes hardened.
"I hated Craig," he said, each word clean. "He told me that filmed girls without their consent. He abused his position. He deserved to be exposed."
"But not like this."
Devlyn raised a brow.
Martin took a step closer.
"You blackmailed a coward into the ground and called it justice. That's not justice. That's sadism."
Devlyn's smile sharpened. "People like him deserve to suffer."
"And people like you?" Martin asked.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Then Martin said, cold and quiet, "I'm not here to protect Craig. I'm here because I'm not letting this school turn into your chessboard."
He turned and walked off without waiting for a response.
Devlyn looked down at the flash drive in his hand, then back at Martin's retreating form.
For the first time, someone wasn't afraid.
And that made it interesting.