Before stepping inside, I find the photos and video of Nora. The sight of them makes my blood boil all over again, but I don't hesitate. One by one, I delete them, my thumb pressing harder with each swipe. I probably shouldn't be doing this from some legal point of view, but at least she'll be able to sleep easy knowing they're gone. When they're deleted, I exhale sharply, my chest loosening ever so slightly.

I square my shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline, and push through the station doors. The cool, sterile air inside smells of coffee, cleaning products, and faint regret. A middle-aged officer behind the desk glances up. His uniform is crisp, badge polished, and his nameplate reads Deputy Officer Stanton.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. His eyes narrow slightly, scanning me with a mix of curiosity and wariness that I've grown used to over the years.

“I’m here to report something,” I say, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. “And to turn myself in."

Stanton raises an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "You're reporting something and turning yourself in?”

"Yes, sir."

There's a pause as he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. "You're Sullivan's boy, right?"

I fucking hate that question, but I don't flinch. Instead, I straighten my posture, meeting his gaze. I hate that I even have to own up to it.

"Yes, sir."

Stanton studies me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. "I've heard things about you."

Great.

Here it comes—the judgments, the assumptions, the shadow of my father's reputation looming over me yet again. But then Stanton surprises me.

"Nick has mentioned you a couple of times," he says, leaning forward slightly. "Says you've been helping him out over the summer."

His words catch me off guard, and I clear my throat, trying to cover the brief flicker of surprise. The last thing I expected is Nick talking about me here, of all places.

“Well, he needed help, so." I shrug, keeping my tone casual.

Stanton gives a small, almost approving nod and motions toward a chair. "Sit tight. I'll be back."

"Wait," I say quickly, pulling the phone from my pocket. "The thing I wanted to report—it has to do with this."

I hand him the phone, already unlocked. Stanton's face hardens as he scrolls through the images, his brows furrowing in disgust. The ticking of the wall clock fills the silence between us.

"Is this your phone?" he asks, his voice clipped.

"What? No," I reply quickly, bile rising in my throat at the thought. "It belongs to the guy I… well, the guy I beat the shit out of at a party. That'll probably get reported tomorrow, so I figured I'd come forward first. Save them the hassle of involving my mom."