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“Captain wants to see you. Get your ass in there.” He thumbs behind him towards the shut door.

My anxiety rockets upwards, but I keep it under wraps not giving anything away.

I killed them. I really did it.

Jerking my head in a nod, I sidestep the Sergeant, and heading to the Captain’s door, I rap on it.

“Come in!”

Hesitantly, I twist the handle and pull the door open.

Detective Sumac stands on the opposite side of the Captain’s desk.

The Captain sits with his hands folded and his forehead pressed down.

The energy is charged, and part of me wants to run for it.

He has to know.

“Detective Sumac was just leaving.” The Captain straightens, offering me a tight-lipped smile. “He provided the list of names from the emails received.”

Sumac offers me a single inclination and a quirk of his lips before heading out and shutting the door behind him.

“Sit.” The Captain gestures at the empty chair across from him.

I want to do anything else, but I fall into it before my urges win.

“Sumac was explaining the emails, and we have already chased down several leads with them. But…” Captain gets up, walking around the desk. “Son, I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I know you want to stay as far from your family name as you can, but I’m not sure if you are safe.”

I look up at him, as he sits on his desk next to me, staring me down.

His arctic eyes are sharp and piercing, even surrounded by crow’s feet. When we met, his hair was black, but it’s all gray now.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I know we both hoped Julienne Napolitan’s death was a fluke. An accident.” He reaches behind him, grabbing a folder and throwing it down in front of me. “A house exploded several hours ago. I just received confirmation that Rondelle Napolitan and…your uncle, Chard Aldente, were inside.”

I wince at the pictures. “No other victims?” I ask, not looking up from them.

“No. Just these two.”

Relief hits me hard.

I turned down the timer. I killed the two men.

But no one else.

I’m not a monster.

Forcing my attention away from the pictures, I land on the Captain. He seems worried. Frayed. Exhausted.

He sets a hand on my shoulder. “Son, five years ago I welcomed you onto the force with open arms. But you know I have always looked out for you.”

It was true. When he found me as a teenager shortly after the deaths started popping up, he could have easily arrested me and thrown away the key. Instead, he offered guidance to stay out of trouble.

And years later, when I hit the breaking point with my family, I stumbled my way back to him, armed with a new name and searching for a job.

“I know,” I agree. “What do you need?”