Claire Pierce's POV
The lab was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of equipment. I stared at the autopsy results in my hands, my fingers trembling slightly. Everything pointed to Juliana. Every. Single. Thing.
Blood spatter analysis. Fingerprints. The angle of the wound. My own friend—the girl who sat next to me in advanced biochemistry, who shared her notes when I missed class, who celebrated with me when we both got our dream jobs—was a murderer.
I massaged my temples, trying to make sense of it. The evidence was damning. Hugo Ollie's blood under her fingernails. Her footprints in the pool of blood. Her DNA all over the scene.
Yet something felt wrong. The voice message from Hugo that I'd barely glimpsed before Captain Harrison confiscated it nagged at me. Hugo had sounded urgent, frightened even.
I dropped the file on the desk and headed toward the interrogation rooms. I needed to talk to Juliana again—see her face when I questioned her directly.
