Stanton's lips twitch, as if he's trying not to smirk. "So, let me get this straight—you beat up a guy, took his phone, and then came straight here?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how did you know there'd be photos like this on his phone?"

Because he's a twisted bastard who hurt the girl I love.

Because monsters don't always look like monsters.

Because sometimes the worst predators hide behind familiar faces.

"Call it intuition," I say instead, keeping my tone measured.

Stanton's brow rises skeptically. "Intuition, huh?"

"Yes, sir," I repeat, my gaze dropping to my hands. The dried blood on my knuckles tells its own story.

He doesn't buy it. I can tell by the way his eyes linger on me, unblinking and assessing. But he doesn't press further. Instead, he exhales sharply and stands, the chair scraping against the linoleum floor.

"All right. Don't move. I'll be right back."

As he disappears down the hallway, I exhale slowly, rubbing my palms against my thighs. My knee bounces involuntarily while I look at the clock on the wall, each second dragging painfully slowly. The buzz of the fluorescent lights mixes with distant phone rings and radio chatter, a symphony of late-night law enforcement.

I am so, so fucked.

I'm still sitting in the same spot twenty minutes later, my leg bouncing impatiently, when the sound of my name snaps my head up.

"Nate."

Nick strides into the station, his presence commanding as ever. His dark eyes find mine immediately, filled with what looks like relief rather than disappointment. Stanton follows close behind, still holding Evan's phone.

"Nick?" I ask, standing, confusion and gratitude warring in my chest.

He stops in front of me, nodding once before turning to Stanton. "Thanks for calling me, Danny."

Danny? How close are these two?

Stanton looks between us, his voice calm. "Your boy here did the right thing coming in. If this Evan kid tries to press charges, he's going to have a hell of a time explaining what's on this." He holds up the phone for emphasis, disgust flickering across his features.

Nick's eyes narrow as he takes the phone from Stanton, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Good. And Nate? Is he free to go?"

Stanton grins, something knowing in his expression. "He's good to go."

Nick claps him on the shoulder, like old friends do. "Appreciate it, Danny. Really."

Stanton nods, then lowers his voice. "By the way, did you sort out that issue with—" He stops himself, trying not to look in my direction as if he'd give something away.

Nick's jaw tightens briefly before he nods. "Yeah. It's handled. Thanks again, Danny."

The ride home is quiet, the hum of Nick's truck filling the space like white noise against my thoughts. Streetlights pass overhead in rhythmic flashes, each one marking another moment of silence between us. Finally, I break it.