Morning sunlight filtered through dusty blinds, cutting the room into pale slats of gold. Brooklyn hadn't moved from the couch in hours. Wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, her face pale and hollow, she stared blankly at the wall.
Maya sat beside her, a silent sentinel, scrolling through her laptop but never taking her eyes fully off Brooklyn. She kept a mug of tea on the table, untouched and cold.
Ryan stood at the doorway with Tyrone. Both men were dressed in black suits, pressed clean but heavy with the weight of what they were walking into. Ryan straightened his tie with stiff hands, his jaw tight as stone. Tyrone tugged his cufflinks, his usual bravado muted, eyes glancing toward Brooklyn.
"You sure you'll be okay?" Ryan asked quietly.
Maya nodded. "Yeah, we'll be okay."
Ryan looked at Brooklyn one last time. She hadn't flinched, hadn't even acknowledged their voices. He swallowed hard, the pain sitting heavy in his chest, then turned for the door.
"Let's go." he muttered.
They walked out. Tyrone slid into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio before Ryan shot him a look that silenced him. The drive was long and tense, neither of them speaking, only the hum of the engine filling the air.
The funeral was already in motion by the time they arrived. The cemetery was lined with black cars and clusters of mourners, umbrellas dotting the field like dark flowers. The air smelled of wet grass and earth, a drizzle misting down over the polished caskets that lay beneath a white tent.
Ryan tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring at the sight of his uncle's name etched into the wood. Tyrone clapped him gently on the shoulder before they both stepped out.
Inside the tent, Grace and Richard Hale were laid to rest. Family members clutched tissues, the priest's voice low and solemn as he spoke of love, loss and eternal rest. Ryan and Tyrone stood at the back, silent shadows watching it all unfold.
All Ryan could see was Brooklyn's face when the news broke... the way she shattered, the way her sobs had ripped the air apart. He clenched his fists in his pockets, teeth grinding until his jaw ached.
When the service ended, people began drifting toward the exit. That's when the reporters swooped in.
They swarmed just beyond the cemetery gates, cameras flashing, voices rising in a storm of questions.
"Ryan Hale! Any comment on your uncle and aunt's deaths?"
"Do you know where Captain Brooklyn Grant is hiding?"
"Are you protecting her?"
"Is the family of her victims after her?"
The chaos swelled, microphones shoved inches from Ryan's face. His jaw twitched as he shoved past them, his eyes straight ahead.
Tyrone snapped. He shoved one camera down and barked, "Back the hell off!" His voice carried like thunder. "This is a funeral, you vultures!"
Security moved in, pushing the reporters back. Ryan adjusted his coat and kept walking, Tyrone at his side, both of them seething.
"Ryan Hale?" A voice cut through.
They turned. Standing near the line of parked cars was Detective Carter, hands in his coat pockets, eyes sharp but weary. He wasn't dressed like the other mourners. He looked like a man who had come here for a reason and it wasn't to grieve.
Ryan frowned. "Do I know you?"
Carter gave a polite nod. "Detective Carter, NYPD. We need to talk."
Tyrone snorted. "We don't have time for cops with theories."
Carter didn't flinch, he stepped closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "I think Brooklyn was framed."
Ryan froze. His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
Carter exhaled, glancing around before continuing. "I shouldn't be sharing this with a civilian. But... Gabriella Hamilton knew something about Operation Sky Sintel. She and a man named Michael Gray. Now they're both conveniently dead. And Brooklyn..." He paused, his expression conflicted. "She was last seen leaving Gabriella's bedroom the night Gabriella was murdered."
Ryan's face went cold. He turned away, starting toward the car.
"Ryan." Carter called after him. "Listen. It all points to her but I've been doing this job long enough to smell when something stinks. I really think she was framed."
Tyrone stopped him with a hand on the chest. "Hold up, man. Maybe he's got something that could help."
Carter added quickly, "Think about it. Why would a captain in the Air Force be in the middle of an operation civilians knew all about?"
Ryan turned slowly, his voice ice. "Say what you're trying to say."
Carter's jaw tightened. "Someone's set her up. And... about your uncle and aunt? That was General Pierce. I know this because an AFOSI agent was brought in directly by him to take over Gabriella Hamilton's investigation and it had pictures of Brooklyn leaving the room."
Ryan's eyes sharpened. "Who took the case?"
"Agent Daniel Wayne." Carter said, his tone grim.
Without another word, Ryan turned and headed for the RS7. His stride was quick, decisive. Tyrone shot Carter one last look, muttering before following.
Carter stood alone in the drizzle, watching them go, his gut twisting. He had crossed a line sharing that much. But something in Ryan's eyes told him the truth would be carried further than Carter could ever take it.
Inside the car, Ryan gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. His reflection stared back from the windshield, hard and broken.
Tyrone settled into the seat, silence stretching between them. Finally, he muttered, "So... Wayne."
Ryan's jaw clenched. "Yeah, I knew something was off about that bastard..."
He started the car, the engine roaring like thunder. And without another word, they drove into the rain.