The room smells like cold coffee and fluorescent hum. A single light cuts across the metal table where you sit, hands folded, file open in front of the detective who won't quite look away. Riven Calloway has a reputation for closing cases clean. But this one isn't clean. The evidence points straight at you, and something about it is too neat, too convenient. They know who planted it. And that person wears the same badge they do. Every second they keep this file open is a risk. Every glance they steal across the table is a choice. You didn't do this, and somehow, they already know it.