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THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE HER WAITING ROOM, had grown louder in the last few minutes. More movement. More radios buzzing low on people's hips. She kept her eyes on the glass panel of the door, watching officers pass in and out without pausing. Then a soft knock.

Amira looked up to find Evan in the doorway, hand still on the frame, clipboard under his arm. "They're ready now," he said simply. "Come on, I'll take you down."

She stood without a word, smoothing down her coat as she followed him back into the corridor. A constable with a half-empty mug walked past them with a quick "alright" directed at Evan, who nodded in return but didn't slow.

They didn't speak as they walked-just moved steadily past desks and clipped footsteps, turning off the main stretch of corridor toward the cells. This wing was quieter, the noise tapering off as they reached the end of the hall. Before entering, Evan stopped at a small keypad to the left of the heavy security door and entered a short code. The lock clicked open with a low mechanical sound, and he pushed it with his shoulder holding the door open just enough for her to pass through first. "Just down here," he muttered.

She followed him into the narrow corridor. The lights were harsher here, humming overhead, and the walls were bare except for a few yellowed information posters no one had read in years. They walked all the way to the end, past identical closed doors marked with faded numbers, until Evan slowed and nodded toward the last one.

He opened it, stepping in first.

The cell was dry-no tray, no sink, no toilet-just a fixed bench bed on one side and a thin blanket folded flat across it. Jamie was sitting near the back, upright but slightly hunched, his arms resting loosely on his legs. He wasn't fidgeting, wasn't crying-just staring at the wall opposite him like he'd been doing it for hours.

Eddie stood nearby, arms crossed, his voice quiet as he leaned closer to his son. A female nurse was seated on a low plastic chair, clipboard balanced on her knee. She wasn't touching anything, just asking a list of questions-standard welfare check. Name, age, how he was feeling, if he understood where he was. Her tone was flat but not unkind.

Amira stepped inside slowly and gave a nod, acknowledging the space but not interrupting it. The other officer inside-young, broad-shouldered, standing near the door-tilted his head slightly in recognition but didn't speak.

She moved to the corner of the room, staying out of the nurse's line of sight, and kept her hands tucked into her coat pockets. Her eyes flicked from Jamie to Eddie and back again. Jamie didn't look at her. Didn't look at anyone, really.

"That's her," Eddie was saying quietly. "Solicitor for the girl's family. She's just here because she has to be. Not gonna say anything to you, alright?"

The nurse scribbled something down and moved on to the next question. Amira watched the scene unfold for a few more minutes. It wasn't often she felt out of place in legal situations. Eventually, the nurse stood and clicked her pen shut. Eddie leaned down, whispered something else to his son, and stepped back.

Evan touched her arm lightly. "That's it for now."

She followed him out.

The coded door buzzed again behind them. As they stepped back into the corridor, the sound of the main station returned-phones ringing faintly, footsteps echoing on tile. Amira adjusted her coat sleeve and finally exhaled.

"Fuckin' hell," she muttered, her voice low and a little concerned. "That's a baby. Look how skinny he is."

Evan kept walking, scratching at the edge of his beard. "Yeah. Gave him some cornflakes earlier but the kid ain't eatin' ."

They turned a corner, back toward the broader hallway that fed into reception. "He said anything?"

"Not really. Asked for his dad a few times and said he didn't do it. That's about it. Not a lot of energy in him."

They turned a corner, walking past another pair of officers who glanced up but didn't speak. "Do you think he did it?" she asked.

Evan shrugged slowly, like the question sat somewhere on his back. "Had a case back in Doncaster few years ago, yeah?" he said. "Girl went missing. Year Nine. People said she had a good reputation, that sort of stuff. Two days later, they found her near the canal. Turns out it was her cousin. Fourteen. No warning. No signs. Not even a row between them."

She made a face. "Jesus."

"Yeah," he replied. "Thing is, you never really know. Sometimes it's the ones you'd never peg. Sometimes it's the obvious one. But this lad? I don't know to be honest."

They stepped into the reception corridor. It was slightly busier now-two civilians sitting quietly in the corner, one officer walking back and forth between the desk and the interview room. The light here was stronger, harsher, the kind that made everything look a bit worse than it actually was.

Evan turned to her. "You need anything else while you're here?"

She shook her head gently. "Not at the moment. But let me know if anything changes, yeah? If the Millers' solicitor turns up, or something new comes in."

"I'll give you a ring."

"Appreciate it."

He nodded once, peeled off toward the far end of the hall, and left her standing near the reception desk.

BY THE TIME SHE STEPPED OUT INTO THE CAR PARK, the air had thinned in that specific way that meant the day was speeding ahead without her. She moved with steady purpose, but every step felt slightly less certain than the one before. Her legs weren't weak exactly, just slow to catch up with the weight in her head. She tried adjusting her scarf, rubbed at her brow once, then again when the ache behind her eyes started pulsing deeper.

It came on quickly-the dizziness. Just enough to stop her for half a second before pushing forward. She kept one hand on the side mirror as she opened the car door. She didn't sit straight away. Instead, she stood with her weight braced on the frame and blinked hard.

The blood came as she leaned down into the driver's seat, sudden and warm, slipping from her left nostril before she registered it. She cursed under her breath-quiet, hard-pulling her sleeve up instinctively, then remembering herself and reaching for the glovebox instead. She fumbled past insurance papers and a spare charger before finding an old packet of tissues, the cardboard box bent at the corners, barely hanging on.

She pressed one to her nose, tilting her head slightly forward-not back. She knew better. She'd done this before.

Her hands moved automatically to the water bottle in the cup holder, unscrewing the lid with her thumb while she pulled a blister pack of Tylenol from her coat pocket. One left. She pressed it out through the foil with a flick of her nail, swallowed it dry before chasing it with a long sip of lukewarm water.

The bleeding slowed. Her pulse didn't.

She sat there for a minute with both hands gripping the wheel, elbows locked, eyes on the dashboard. The car smelled like fabric softener and stress. Something she couldn't quite name had been building behind her eyes since that morning-maybe longer-and now it was pressing against the base of her skull like a low hum.

When she finally turned the ignition, the radio came on louder than it should've, some breakfast panel replaying interviews she didn't care about. She turned it off without listening.

The drive to her office wasn't far, but she took it slow. She stuck to the left lane. Didn't check her messages. Didn't look at the clock. At a red light, she reached up to touch her nose again, just to check. No more blood, just the dry tack of tissue where it had been.

She parked behind the building, same spot as always, and locked the car without thinking. Her bag was heavier now, but she couldn't tell if it was the weight of the case files or the weight of everything else.

Upstairs, the hallway lights flickered the way they always did, but she didn't stop to glance. Her office door was half-closed. She nudged it open with her hip, dropped her bag by the filing cabinet, and sat without even taking her coat off.

She opened the notepad first. Legal pad, yellow, lines already half-filled with rushed handwriting from earlier that morning. She turned to a fresh page and started writing-name, time of visit, notes from observation, Jamie's behaviour, physical state, procedural details, nurse present, Eddie Miller's attitude. She wrote quickly but clearly, the way she'd trained herself to do over the years.

Her pen slowed when she got to Jamie's condition. She tapped the edge of the pad twice with her finger, then wrote: "Severely withdrawn. No eye contact. Physical signs of fatigue. No visible injuries." Then, in brackets beneath: "Didn't touch food. Father attentive. Nurse appropriate."

She paused.

A small, uninvited thought started crawling its way forward-what if it had been Adam? What if someone came into her office and said his name like that, with that tone, like it was already attached to something unspeakable?

She could see him there, in that cell. Legs too long for the bench. Shoulders hunched. Not speaking. Head down.

It was stupid. Boarding school had crossed her mind before, usually in the thick of cases like this-when the world outside felt sharper than the one inside their home.

But it was always a passing thought, born more of fear than logic. It wouldn't protect him. No school, no postcode, no set of iron gates could guarantee that nothing bad would ever touch him. And what would that even mean? Her living somewhere else, seeing him on weekends like a visitor? Sending him a kiss through the phone and hoping someone else reminded him to eat?

It was ridiculous. She wouldn't survive that. Neither would he. The door creaked slightly as someone walked past, then doubled back. Carolyn.

"You alive in there?"

Amira didn't look up. "Barely."

Carolyn leaned against the doorframe, holding a mug with both hands like she wasn't sure if she was offering it or just holding it for herself.

"That the Leonard case?"

"Yeah."

"Anything I need to know?"

"Not yet. Just making notes. It's early."

Carolyn nodded slowly, then looked at her more closely. "You alright?"

"Long morning."

Carolyn made a noise that wasn't quite sympathy but not quite sarcasm either. "Alright, well... shout if you need anything. You want a tea?"

"I've got water."

"Gross."

Amira gave the faintest smile and went back to her notes.