I watched in silence as the forensic team worked methodically around Hugo's body. The rhythmic clicking of the crime scene photographer's camera felt like a countdown to my inevitable arrest. Every flash illuminated the gruesome scene – Hugo impaled on that rusted rod, his blood pooled dark and accusatory beneath him.
Detective Morris stood a few feet away, conferring with another officer. Their hushed tones and occasional glances in my direction made my stomach knot tighter.
Nathaniel had been forced to wait outside the crime scene perimeter, but I could feel his presence – watchful, protective. It gave me strength, even as my world crumbled around me.
"We're ready for the body," Detective Morris announced.
A slender woman in a white lab coat approached, her rubber-gloved hands holding a medical kit. Something about her confident stride seemed familiar. When she turned, I felt my breath catch.
Claire Pierce. My closest friend from middle school.
