Phelp

s, the raw agony of their grief. He watched my mother collapse into my father's arms, her cries sharp and piercing. Hi

results back, Arthur." His voice was heavy, formal. "The fibers from the scarf found at Erykah's apartment are a 100% match to the

devastating truth. "The Jane Doe from the factor

out a guttural roar, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish, and sagged to the floo

I had never seen there before. The professional detachment, the cold analytical mind, evaporated. All that was left was raw, uncom

isn't possible. It can't be." His face was a mask of di

arring intrusion into the suffocating grief. He fumbled for it, his hands shaki

phone, cutting through the silence. "He's here! Garth Figueroa! He's got me! He ju

ith the shock of my death, now snapped into focus, a

bring anyone, he'll blow me up right away! Oh god, I'm

devastating truth of my death, and the immediate, desperate plea f

ctor, resurfaced. "Where are you, Ivy? Tell me exactly where you are!" He looked at Bilal, his face contorted

Ivy's panicked voice cut through. "He said he'

m going," he barked at Bilal, already heading for the door. "Send backup, but tell them to hang back. I have to go in alone first." He didn't wait

cked up his radio, his face grim. "All units, Detective Holmes is en route to a possible hostage

aking hold. Would he truly grasp the depth of his neglect now? Would he see the monstrous irony of this situation? Or would he simply save Ivy and continue living in his self-made delusion? I couldn't tell. His