Chapter 15 "Variance"

They had expected the pattern to grow clearer. 

Instead, it bent.

Grace’s file sat open on the desk, next to the autopsy photos. 

The carving was precise. But something in her face had been different. 

Not pain. Not fear.

Peace.

“She didn’t suffer,” the Medical Examiner said. “Whoever did this...cared. It wasn’t the same kind of kill.”

Brandt stood at the window, arms crossed. “The killer made a statement. A mercy, not a punishment.”

LeClair's gazed stayed on the photo. “Which means… there’s judgment involved. A scale. A reason.”

They turned back to the board.

Each time had meaning. That much was clear.

6:00. 8:15. 3:11. 2:06. 1:06. 3:06.

No sequence. No shared minute hand.

The symmetry wasn’t in the numbers. 

It was in the roles.

Factory. Permits. Construction. Oversight. Cover-up. Consequence.

Brandt scribbled something on a notepad, tore the page free, and held it up:

TIME WAS TAKEN

Marcus frowned. “What?”

“That’s what this is about. Every one of them-directly or indirectly-stole years from someone else. Denton buried safety reports. Teague signed off on false permits. Kravitz cut corners. Harrow enforced silence. Voss erased truth. Grace lost her twenties.”

He let the words hang.

"That wasn't just death. It was theft."

Marcus's voice was low. “And now someone’s reclaiming that time.”

Their eyes shifted to the last untouched photo on the board.

Amelia Carr. The woman who made it official. 

The paper trail queen.

“She’s not just another name,” Brandt said. “She’s the final link. Every path ends with her signature.”

 “Then we find her," Marcus said. "Before he does.”

Brandt turned. “He?”

Marcus hesitated.

“There’s something in the carving style. A weight. A learned pattern. This isn't a young killer. He knows how to read time in a body-and how to correct it.”

Silence stretched.

Then Marcus spoke again, almost to himself.

“R.C.”

Brandt's eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Initials. Old Medical Examiner's report. Didn’t mean much then. But if he was M.E? He'd know time of death. Cut angles. How long a body can bleed.”

Brandt added quietly, “And how to stage a message.”

Marcus stared at the board.

Eight spaces. 

Six full. 

One shadowed.

One empty.

“We’re running out of time.”

Reviews

[Rebecca hall]

You are such a great and talented writer. Thank you so much for taking the time to write stories and for creating such interesting ones for us. As an artist, I’d love to share some cover art ideas for your upcoming story, and I also have plenty of ideas in mind for the one I’ve already read. If you use any other platform like Discord, please share it with me so we can chat more comfortably there.