Ridge leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "We'll tell you everything," he said, his voice steady but firm. "Both of us. When Campbell gets here."

Frank gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on Ridge for a moment before he reached for the glasses. He poured two measures, the amber liquid catching the dim light, the soft clink of glass against glass breaking the silence. Then he glanced over at me, his expression unreadable but quietly assessing.

I shook my head, declining. The faint scent of the whiskey reached me as he set the bottle down. He got up from his seat, the worn soles of his boots scuffing faintly against the floor, and handed one of the glasses to Ridge. His movements were deliberate, almost too casual, but the tautness in his shoulders betrayed the tension coiled beneath the surface.

"Do either of you mind if I smoke?" he asked, pulling a battered cigarette packet from his pocket and tapping it against his palm with a rhythmic snap.

I shook my head, hesitating for a beat before speaking. "Would you mind if I had one?" My voice came out softer than I expected, the words tentative and edged with unease. It was the first time I'd spoken directly to him all night, and the moment felt heavier than it should have.

Frank raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he slid the cigarette packet across the table. The paper rustled slightly as I picked it up. Ridge's gaze flicked to me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but he remained silent. Frank pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, the soft scrape of metal on metal as he flicked it open echoing in the still room. The flame flared briefly, casting flickering shadows on the walls before steadying. He walked to the window, pushing it open with a faint creak. The chill of the night seeped into the room, mingling with the lingering warmth of the whiskey and faint traces of cigarette smoke.

Frank rummaged in a sideboard beneath the television, the dull clink of objects shifting before he retrieved an ashtray. He placed it on the table, its surface scarred with faint burns and traces of old ash, and then sank back into his chair.

I leaned forward, the cigarette trembling slightly between my fingers, and lit it. The sharp, acrid taste filled my lungs, unfamiliar and biting. My throat burned faintly, but the sensation anchored me, giving me something to focus on. Frank leaned back, the glowing ember of his cigarette catching in the dim light as he took a slow, deliberate drag. The acrid scent swirled in the air, mixing with the faint mustiness of the room and the cool night breeze filtering in through the window.

"You don't seem the type," Frank said after a moment, his voice light but probing, the words curling lazily through the smoke-filled air.

I exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward in ghostly spirals. "I'm not," I admitted, my voice rougher than usual. "Just feels like the kind of night for it."

Frank gave a faint nod, his sharp eyes flicking to Ridge, who sat quietly with his glass of whiskey resting against his knee. The faint clink of ice shifting in the glass punctuated the silence. "Can't argue with that," Frank muttered, his gaze returning to me.

Ridge was taking a sip of his drink when my phone began to buzz on the table, its vibrations cutting sharply through the low hum of the room. He looked at me, silently asking permission to answer. I nodded.

"Hello?" Ridge's voice was low, steady. His eyes flicked to Frank as he listened. "She's downstairs. Can you go let her in?"

Frank stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the faint sizzle of embers filling the air as he ground it down. He stood, his chair scraping softly against the floor, and left the room without a word.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Ridge and me alone in the thick stillness. The faint hum of distant traffic drifted in through the open window, mingling with the curling smoke that lingered in the room like a restless ghost.

Ridge set my phone back on the table, his fingers brushing briefly against its surface before he leaned into his chair. His sharp eyes fixed on me, their intensity softened by a flicker of concern. "You good?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

I nodded, though my chest felt tight, my breaths shallow. "I'll feel better once we've told her everything," I said, my voice steadier than I expected, though a faint tremor lingered beneath the surface.

Ridge gestured for me to come sit next to him. I stubbed out my cigarette, the faint hiss of extinguished embers breaking the quiet. Rising quickly, I moved to his side. The seat was warm where he'd leaned against it, and I sank into it without hesitation. His hand found my arm, the brief, firm pressure grounding me in the moment. He rubbed it gently, his touch steady and reassuring, before letting his hand fall away. He straightened, his composure returning just as the muffled sound of footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

The door opened moments later, and Frank entered with Campbell following close behind. She stepped into the room, her coat draped over her arm, and her sharp eyes immediately swept over the space. Her gaze lingered briefly on the ashtray before landing on Ridge and then me, her expression calm but probing.

She hung her coat on the back of a chair and crossed her arms. "Right," she said briskly. "Let's hear it."

Ridge leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the whiskey glass still in his hand. "You might want to sit for this," he said, his tone steady but laced with tension.

Campbell raised an eyebrow but took the chair opposite him. She set a small notepad on the table and clicked her pen, her sharp gaze flicking between us. "I'm listening."

"I made Ridge take me to Ambers during the search.... I have a key we didint break in" I reached into my pocket. "I was looking at a note book and this fell out" I set the paper on the table. Campbell's pen hovered over the notepad as she glanced up, her sharp gaze locking onto me. "So you found this before I told you about the scarf," she said, her tone edged with disbelief. "And you didn't think to mention it?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my hands twisting together. "I didn't think it was important," I admitted quietly. "At least, not at first. It's just... vague. I thought it was more like a prank or something—like whoever's doing this wanted to mess with me."

"Of course it's important," Campbell snapped, setting her pen down with a sharp click. "Anything left in Amber's room, especially something like this, is important. You don't get to decide what's relevant and what's not—that's my job."

Her words stung, but I knew she was right. I glanced at Ridge, who gave me a small, reassuring nod but stayed silent.

Campbell leaned back in her chair, her gaze narrowing slightly. The tension in the room thickened as she studied me, her expression shifting from frustration to suspicion. "There's a reason you're telling me this now, isn't there?" she asked slowly, her tone measured. "What else?"

Her question hung in the air like a challenge, and I felt the weight of Ridge's gaze on me as my stomach churned.