The door clicked shut behind her, the sound dull against the still air. Aubrey stood on the curb, satchel slung across her shoulder, staring up at the house in front of her. The sky hung low and gray, the kind of overcast that pressed gently against the world without threatening rain.

  Dry autumn air brushed against her face, cool but not biting. A loose scatter of orange and red leaves skittered along the sidewalk, caught in small gusts that curled around her boots before tumbling toward the lawn.

  The house itself looked almost too perfect—white trim, freshly swept steps, curtains drawn neatly. It stood there like a framed picture, calm and untouched, as if nothing inside could break.

  Aubrey adjusted the strap on her shoulder and let out a quiet breath. She hadn’t seen Mia since the transfer, and the neatness of the house made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite name. Perfect places always had a way of feeling staged. She stepped off the curb and started toward the porch, boots crunching over stray leaves.

  A few minutes later, Aubrey found herself stepping over the threshold, the scent of lemon cleaner hanging in the air. She followed Mia’s foster parents down a narrow hallway, their voices low and polite as they made small talk about the neighborhood and how Mia was “adjusting well.” Aubrey nodded where it felt appropriate, eyes drifting over framed family photos that didn’t belong to Mia.

  Halfway down the hall, the foster father slowed, turning toward her with a practiced smile.

  “We’ve already signed Mia up for a few programs,” he said, voice carrying that crisp pride reserved for résumés. “Youth debate club, a mentorship program at city hall… things that’ll give her a head start.”

  The foster mother chimed in without missing a beat. “It’s important she’s exposed to real opportunities early. Structure, ambition—that’s what helps kids thrive.”

  “Mia’s always been into drawing,” Aubrey said, a hint of confusion slipping through. “She’s pretty good at it, actually.”

  The foster mother let out a light laugh, exchanging a quick look with her husband.

  “Oh, of course. Drawing is lovely,” she said. “But it doesn’t exactly pay the bills or get you into college, does it?”

  The father nodded, picking up the thread. “Community programs, debate, council prep—that’s where real character is built. It’ll give her a foundation she can use in the real world.”

  Aubrey gave a slight, automatic nod, even as something in the exchange left her unsettled.

  As they started walking again, the father’s tone softened. “She’s adjusted faster than we expected, honestly. Our son’s been a big help with that.”

  “He’s just a couple grades above her,” the mother added, her voice warm with pride. “Such a kind, gentle boy—always including her in whatever he’s doing. Keeps her busy, gives her someone to look up to.”

  Aubrey nodded, tucking her hands into her coat pockets as they neared the end of the hall.

  The mother gave a light knock on the door before pushing it open. “Mia, look who’s here,” she called gently.

  Mia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a sketchbook balanced on her knees. Her face lit up almost on cue when she saw Aubrey. “Hey!” she said brightly, setting the book aside. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it held steady—practiced.

  Aubrey stepped in, returning the smile with a softer one of her own. “Hey, kid.”

  The foster mother smiled, resting a hand lightly on the doorframe. “We’ll give you two a bit of time to catch up,” she said.

  “Dinner’s in about an hour,” the father added with an easy nod before they both stepped back into the hallway. The soft sound of their footsteps faded as they made their way toward the kitchen, leaving the room quiet again.

  Aubrey shifted her satchel off her shoulder and let it rest against the wall. “You’ve got a nice setup here,” she said lightly.

  Mia’s gaze flicked briefly toward the window before settling back on Aubrey. “The last couple weeks have been… okay,” she said, her voice soft but steady. There was a careful neutrality to it, like she’d practiced sounding fine. She smoothed the fabric on her jeans with her palms, a small, distracted motion.

  Aubrey gave a light nod, taking another step into the room. “That’s good,” she said quietly.

  An awkward silence stretched for a few seconds, the kind that made Aubrey suddenly aware of how still the house was. She shifted her weight, then tilted her head slightly.

  “Debate, huh? You like arguing?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

  Mia’s lips curved into a faint, polite smile. “Not really,” she murmured. “They just… signed me up for it.”

  Aubrey glanced down at her nails, inspecting them like the conversation was no big deal. “Well,” she said lightly, “if you argue with him about it enough, maybe he’ll regret the idea.”

  Mia let out a quiet scoff, the corner of her mouth lifting into the smallest hint of a smile.

  Mia scoffed softly. “Or worse,” she said, her voice just above a murmur, “he tells me I’m right.”

  Aubrey raised her eyebrows, covering her mouth with her hand as a quiet giggle slipped out. The sound was enough to make Mia laugh too—short and unexpected, but real. For a moment, the room felt a little less careful.

  Aubrey leaned back slightly against the wall, her tone casual. “You got a good enough pencil here?” she asked. “Can’t have an artist slacking off.”

  Mia hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the corner of the room before dropping back to her hands. “Yeah… they don’t stop me from drawing,” she said quietly. “I don’t know. It just feels like I never can.”

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  Aubrey’s eyes wandered around the room until they landed on a small painting hanging slightly crooked on the wall. The brushstrokes were clumsy and the colors bled into each other, more enthusiasm than technique.

  She tilted her head toward it. “When did you paint this?”

  Mia’s eyes brightened a little. “Nope! That was Manny!” she said, a flicker of genuine excitement in her voice.

  Aubrey blinked, a little surprised. “Who’s Manny?”

  Mia’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My foster brother,” she said, the words coming a little quicker now. “He knows I’m too busy to draw, so he paints for me sometimes!” Her face lit up as she spoke, a genuine, almost bashful smile spreading across it.

  Aubrey crossed the room and eased down onto the edge of the bed beside Mia. For a moment, she just sat there, watching the faint blush still lingering on the girl’s cheeks.

  “He must be a good brother,” Aubrey said softly after a brief pause.

  Mia’s smile lingered, her eyes dropping to her hands. “Yeah,” she murmured. “He is.”

  Aubrey’s gaze drifted toward the window, her thoughts slipping somewhere distant for a moment. When she looked back, Mia was fiddling with her hands, her earlier excitement mellowing into a shy stillness.

  “You know,” Aubrey said softly, “I had a brother too. He sounds like Manny.”

  Mia looked up, her eyes curious but gentle. “He must have been a good brother then,” she said.

  Aubrey nodded slowly, a small smile settling on her face. For a brief second, her eyes softened, somewhere between here and the past.

  Mia studied her, still fiddling with her hands. “Did… something happen to him?” she asked quietly.

  “Well…” Aubrey started, then paused for a long moment, her eyes drifting toward the floor. “Uh…” Another pause followed, heavier this time. “I haven’t seen him in years,” she finally said. A small smile crept onto her face. “Last time I saw him, I was your age.”

  Mia didn’t respond right away. Her brow furrowed slightly as she stared at Aubrey, confusion flickering in her eyes. She tilted her head just a little, like she was trying to understand but didn’t quite know what to say.

  “I used to live with my parents too,” Aubrey said after a moment, her voice steady but quieter than before. She glanced back at Mia, her expression softening. “But… something bad happened. His name is Arthur. He’s a little older than me. My father tried to hurt me and—”

  A sudden knock on the door cut her off. The foster mother poked her head in, cheerful as ever. “Mia! Before dinner I need you to clean your bathroom!” She gave Aubrey an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt, detective. I’ll need her in about five to ten minutes.”

  Aubrey nodded. “Of course.”

  The woman disappeared down the hall, leaving the door ajar as the quiet settled back in.

  Mia shifted on the bed, her eyes widening just a little. “And?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Aubrey paused, her gaze unfocused for a moment before settling back on Mia. “Basically… he protected me,” she said quietly. “Arthur did.” She drew in a slow breath. “He was taken into foster care after giving my father a broken wrist.”

  She let out a soft sigh, the weight of the memory slipping into her voice. “They lied so he wouldn’t get in trouble. So Arthur got taken away instead.”

  Aubrey’s lips curved into a small, unexpected smile. A quiet chuckle slipped out, and she brought her hand to her mouth almost reflexively. “He used to stand by the door when they fought,” she said softly. “So I’d feel safe.”

  Mia’s eyes softened as she looked at Aubrey. “I wish Arthur were my brother,” she said quietly.

  Aubrey felt a faint warmth creep up her neck; she smiled, a touch of pink in her cheeks. “But you have Manny,” she said gently. “He’s just as good.”

  Mia nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small, content smile.

  Aubrey cleared her throat softly. “Just in case Manny’s ever not around…” she said, reaching for her satchel. She unbuckled it and pulled out a small white stuffed bunny, its fur a little worn but clearly well cared for.

  She held it out to Mia, her cheeks warming as she smiled. “When I felt scared or confused, I’d just hold onto Jack,” she said, a faint blush coloring her face.

  Mia reached out and carefully took the bunny, as if it were fragile. She pulled it against her chest and gave it a quick squeeze, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Thanks, Mia,” she said with a playful grin.

  Aubrey smiled back, a little caught off guard but warmed by it. “You’re welcome… Brooke,” she replied.

  Mia’s smile softened, and after a brief pause, Aubrey leaned in and wrapped her arms around her. Mia hugged her back, the bunny still tucked between them.

  Aubrey stood, brushing off her coat. “Well, I have to go,” she said. “I’ll check back around sometime.”

  She leaned down slightly, putting a hand to her cheek as if sharing a secret. “Don’t stop drawing,” she whispered, finishing with a playful wink.

  Mia straightened up and gave her a mock salute, the bunny still tucked under her arm. Aubrey laughed softly and headed for the door, the warmth of the room lingering behind her as she stepped out.

  As Aubrey made her way down the hallway, the faint smell of dinner wafting from the kitchen, the foster mother stepped out from around the corner.

  “Thanks for coming, detective,” she said warmly, lowering her voice as she leaned in a little. “I heard you guys got the bastard who did it,” she whispered.

  Aubrey glanced back at her with a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You don’t have to worry,” she said. “Thanks for having me.”

  Right then, her phone buzzed sharply in her coat pocket. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and lifted a finger politely. “I’ve gotta take this,” she said, already moving toward the door.

  She pushed it open and stepped outside as she answered the call.

  Hey! There’s my killer catcher!” Jamie’s voice rang out on the other end, bright and teasing.

  Aubrey scoffed, shaking her head as she stepped off the porch. “You’re so cringe, Jamie,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

  “Good, you fuck,” Jamie shot back, laughing lightly. “But really—just calling to congratulate you, girl. They’re saying he could’ve killed like fifteen or sixteen total. Isn’t that crazy?”

  Aubrey stepped into the cool evening air, the sound of traffic humming faintly in the distance as she listened.

  “Yeah,” Aubrey said, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she started down the walkway. “But who even knows. He’s got his whole life to make a deal in there. He’s the only evidence we have for all the rest.”

  “True. At least he’s caught now,” Jamie said. “I mean, a hitman is crazy, but can you imag—”

  “Hey, Jamie?” Aubrey cut in, her tone shifting slightly. “Can you do some digging into a name for me?”

  “Uh… yeah,” Jamie said. “His sidekick or something?”

  “No,” Aubrey replied, her voice steady but quieter now. “Arthur Archer. He’s my brother.”

  “Uh—wow. Okay,” Jamie said after a beat. “I mean, I can, Brooke… but you’re just gonna drop this on me with no context?”

  “I kind of have to, Jamie,” Aubrey said, her voice softening but still insistent. “Please… just tell me what you can find.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Jamie said. “But you owe me breakfast and a story.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Aubrey replied, already slowing her pace. She hung up and slipped the phone into her coat pocket, her gaze drifting toward the overcast sky. Clouds stretched low and heavy above the street, the kind that made the world feel muted.