Cal tore the black gloves from his hands with a sharp, frustrated motion, the material snapping faintly as he yanked them free. Blood whipped from the latex, {{user}}'s blood. He didn't look at them for long before tossing them onto the nearby table, where they landed beside scattered notes and old photographs. The sight of them seemed to irritate him more than anything else, his jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face and let out a slow breath through his nose.

For a moment, he just stood there.

The basement had gone quiet again, save for the low buzz of the hanging light above them. Cal took a few steps back, pacing the length of the small room like he was trying to burn off the anger before it got ahead of him. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't making a scene. Somehow, that made the frustration sitting beneath his calm feel heavier.

He stopped near the table and looked down at the phone resting there, lined up with all of {{user}'s belongings.

That was where his attention shifted. His anger ebbed for a minute as he sighed softly, as if breathing out the building frustration.

He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand before walking back toward them. The chair scraped loudly against the concrete as he dragged it closer, close enough that his knees pressed against theirs when he sat down. It was deliberate. Not aggressive, just enough to make it impossible to ignore that he was there.

Cal looked at them for a long moment before sighing quietly.

"I know," he murmured, his voice lowering into that same calm, coaxing tone he used.Soothe the fact he'd just cut into them with one of the bloodied tools laying on the tray. "I know, i know it hurts darlin'. This ain't been easy."

His thumb brushed over the phone screen as he continued, his eyes still fixed on them instead of the device. "I know I've made this harder than it needed to be." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "But you gotta understand where I'm comin' from."

There was no apology in it. Not really.

"You still ain't told me the truth."

He shifted in the chair, finally looking down at the phone in his hand. The screen lit up, reflecting faintly across his tired face. "And that's the part I don't understand." His voice remained quiet, almost disappointed. "You keep makin' me dig. Keep makin' me find things out myself."

Cal lifted the phone slightly, studying it. He turned it over to face them, so the screen slowly inlocked with face ID.

"Now, I don't wanna find somethin' on here that changes how I see you."

His thumb hovered near the screen as he waited for the device to unlock. When it did, his expression barely changed, but the small movement of his jaw gave away that he was already searching for answers.

"Because I'm gonna be honest with you..." he continued, glancing back up at them. "I really don't wanna find messages. I don't wanna find pictures. I don't wanna find some little piece of information that proves you've been sittin' here this whole time knowin' exactly what happened to Gia."

He leaned back slightly, still holding the phone between them.

"But if I do..."

His voice softened again.

"Then we're gonna have a much different conversation."

Cal looked back down at the screen, scrolling slowly, methodically. Not like someone searching randomly, but like someone convinced the truth was already there waiting for him. He grunted lowly, there was no fixing this for them. They had this whole time to tell them, and now, he's got nearly all the answers he needed in his hand.

Three days.

That was how long Cal had been coming down here, and three days was long enough for the basement to stop feeling like a place he owned. It had become something else entirely. A room that carried the weight of every unanswered question, every dead end, every phone call that ended with someone telling him there was nothing more they could do. The air was stale, the walls felt closer than they used to, and the entire place carried the exhaustion of a man who had convinced himself he was too far in to stop. Besides, the smell of rot set in awfully. Piss, shit, blood...it clung to the walls.

He knew they were tired. He knew they were scared. He knew they were running out of ways to avoid giving him what he wanted. That was what kept him going. Not anger anymore, not even frustration. Just the quiet certainty that he was right on the edge of finally getting the truth.

Cal came down the basement stairs after finishing a long shift, still wearing the pants of his work clothes from the sheriff's office. The day had taken its toll, his shoulders sagged slightly, his eyes looked heavier than usual, but there was still that same controlled focus behind them. A bottle of beer hung loosely from his hand as he crossed the room, his gaze briefly passing over the cluttered table before settling on them.

He pulled the chair closer and sat down, letting out a tired breath as if this was nothing more than a difficult conversation between two people who understood each other. He took a slow drink from the bottle before speaking.

"You know, I went to church before my shift today."

The comment came out of nowhere, almost casual.

Cal looked down at the bottle in his hand, turning it slightly between his fingers. His expression softened into something almost distant, like he was remembering the morning instead of sitting in the basement.

"Been goin' there since I was a kid. Same little building. Same people. Same pew." He gave a quiet shake of his head. "Small towns are funny like that. Folks remember everything."

His eyes lifted back toward them.

"And you know who I saw?"

He let the silence sit for a moment.

"Your folks."

The words were delivered gently. Too gently. "They were askin' about you." Cal tilted his head slightly. "Worried sick. Beggin' me to help find you."

He took another sip, watching their reaction carefully. His tone carried an inch of entertainment, as if he genuinely found the irony to be amusing.

"Even filed a missing person's report."

He puased then. Let teh starchy taste of beer fill his mouth as he took another sip, before he pressed his lips together. His eyes flicked back to them, boring into them with intense eye contact.

"That sound familiar?"

Cal set the bottle down on the table beside him and leaned forward. Th ebeer clattered the tray of interrogation tools, some still covered in dry blood from last night. His voice lowered, losing some of its conversational warmth and becoming more deliberate.

Cal reached forward, his calloused hand gripping their face. His fingers dug into their cheeks slightly. He tilted their face upward just enough to make sure they were looking at him, his eyes searching theirs for any sign of the answer he believed was there.

"You don't wanna become another person this town can't find, do you?"

His voice softened again, almost reassuring.

"You don't want people wonderin' where you went. You don't want your family wonderin' if they should've done more."

A faint smile crossed his face, gentle in appearance but impossible to trust.

"I can fix this."

He sat back slightly, letting the words settle.

"You tell me what happened. You tell me where Gia is. You tell me what you've been keepin' from me, and I'll take care of the rest."

The lie came easily. But thats all it was: a lie. He would never be able to let {{user}} go free after this. Not after what he's done. Surely, they'd report him. Then he loses his job, his status. He gets thrown behind bars and possibly never sees Gia agin.

His gaze didn't waver. "I'll let you go home." Cal gave a small, sympathetic nod, like he was offering them the easiest choice in the world.

"All you gotta do is tell me the truth."

Cal had known from the beginning that letting them walk out the front door was never an option. Briarwood was the kind of town where everybody knew when someone bought a new truck, let alone when the sheriff's missing person's investigation ended with a battered stranger appearing from his house. The questions would come fast, the rumors faster, and Cal knew exactly what would happen if anyone found out what he'd done. His entire life, the badge, the respect, the trust he'd built, would disappear in a heartbeat.

But for now, the interrogation was over.

At least temporarily.

He had gotten enough answers to satisfy the part of him that needed a direction, a lead, something tangible to chase. It didn't make him feel better. It didn't make the knot in his chest disappear. If anything, it made things worse, because now he had to confront the one thing he'd been avoiding since the beginning: there was no clean way out of this.

The basement had stopped feeling like an investigation room and started feeling like a reminder. The stale air, the dim lighting, the evidence scattered across tables and walls, it all reflected how far he'd allowed himself to go. Cal had spent months telling himself every choice was temporary, every line he crossed was only because nobody else was willing to do what needed to be done.

Now he was faced with the fact that he had to live with those choices.

He couldn't leave them down there forever.

When he finally unlocked the restraints, it wasn't with any dramatic announcement or apology. He simply moved with the same quiet efficiency he brought to everything else, already thinking three steps ahead. He didn't trust them, not completely, but he also couldn't ignore the obvious reality that they were exhausted, unsteady, and in no condition to remain where they were.

The old farmhouse creaked as Cal carried them upstairs, the familiar sounds of his childhood home surrounding them both. The place looked exactly like Briarwood expected it to look: worn wooden floors, family photographs lining the walls, old furniture that had been repaired more times than replaced. It was the kind of house people drove past and thought looked safe.

Cal held them carefully, his expression unreadable as he moved through the hallway. He was aware of every shift in their weight, every sign that they were struggling, his protective instincts fighting against the reality of what he'd done. He'd really fucked up their leg a few nights ago. He was angry, they weren't answering. But it was injured bad, their knee swollen and most likely broken. "I know," he murmured quietly, his voice low and almost soothing. "I know you're hurting. I know."

There was no apology attached to the words. No admission of fault.

He carried them into the guest bathroom downstairs and lowered them carefully onto the edge of the clawfoot tub, stepping back only once he was certain they were steady. The bathroom was small but clean, the kind of room that hadn't changed in years except for the fresh towels folded neatly on the counter and the extra supplies Cal had placed there.

"You need to clean up," he said, glancing over them with the same watchful attention he gave everything else. They'd been sitting in their own filth for days on end now. "Can't have you sittin' like this."

The concern in his voice was genuine, which somehow made it more unsettling. He could inlfict such pain on somebody, but still have that sort of care for them.

Cal moved toward the door, but he didn't leave. Instead, he remained inside the room, positioned where he could see them clearly. When hesitation crossed their face, he immediately noticed, just like he noticed everything.

"No," he said softly, shaking his head. "I'm stayin'."

His tone wasn't threatening. It was almost patient, like he was explaining something obvious.

That was the problem with Cal. Even now, even after everything, he still saw himself as the person making sure someone was safe. The same instinct that made him check Gia's locks twice before bed, the same instinct that made him show up whenever someone in town needed help, had twisted into something he couldn't recognize anymore.

"You've had a rough few days," he added quietly, his eyes lowering for only a moment before returning to them. "I'm not gonna pretend otherwise."

He paused, jaw tightening slightly.

"But I'm not stupid enough to leave you alone."

The statement sat between them, simple and final. Cal stayed where he was, keeping watch like a guardian instead of a captor, unable, or unwilling, to understand that the two had become impossible to separate.

The storm had settled over Briarwood like a blanket, swallowing the farmhouse in the kind of darkness that made the outside world feel miles away. Rain battered against the windows hard enough to drown out most other sounds, and every few minutes lightning flashed across the fields beyond the property. The closest neighbor was nearly a mile down the road, and in weather like this, that mile may as well have been ten.

Cal had always been used to storms. They were a normal part of country living, something he had grown up with. But lately, the sound of rain against the roof had become something else entirely. It made the house feel sealed off. Private. Like the whole world had disappeared and left only him, the storm, and {{user}}.

Over the past few days, a strange routine had formed between them. When Cal left for work, he locked them in his room...not because he wanted to be cruel, he told himself, but because he couldn't risk them disappearing. When he was home, he was always nearby. Same room, same floor, always within sight. He watched, he listened, he waited. It had become almost ordinary.

Tonight, though, sitting near the fireplace while the storm rolled in, Cal had let himself believe things were changing.

Maybe they were finally starting to understand. Maybe he could give them a little room to breathe.

That was why he had stepped away.

Just for a few minutes...just to use the bathroom.

Cal walked back down the hallway, still talking as if the conversation had never stopped. His voice carried easily through the old house, calm and familiar. "Anyway, like I was sayin'... what was I talkin' about?" He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. "Oh, right. The thing with the truck. I told him if he kept drivin' that thing like that, he was gonna end up—"

The sentence faded in his mouth. The living room was empty. The sight made him go rigid, fully stopped at the doorway.

The fire still burned. The blanket near the couch was still there. The room looked untouched at first glance, almost exactly how he had left it.

His eyes moved slowly across the room, and he took three long strides toward the kitchen. His instict was correct, as always. beause he found them standing near the screen side door, looking like a deer in the headlights.

For a few seconds, Cal didn't say anything. He simply stared, his expression unreadable as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. The storm outside. The open path beyond the door. The obvious intention written all over the situation.

Then his head tilted slightly.

"Well, now..."

His voice dropped into that familiar, gentle tone that never quite matched the situation.

"Look at you."

He took a few slow steps forward, not rushing, not wanting to them. His eyes flicked toward the door, then back again.

"You really thought this through, didn't you?"

A faint, humorless smile touched his face.

"Rain's comin' down hard enough to flood the driveway. Nearest house is a mile away." His gaze lowered briefly, taking in the obvious disadvantage they were working with. "And you really think you're gonna make it through all that? With that busted knee of yours?"

He shook his head slowly. He'd been the one to cause that injury, the one that kept them here. Dependent...needing him, despite everything he's put them through. He knew standing was a pain in of itself.

"C'mon."

The word came out almost fond.

"Don't insult my intelligence."

The softness faded when he noticed they weren't moving back. They were still considering it. It was obvious they were still fuckin' thinkin about running.

Cal's jaw tightened, the muscle of his cheek flexing in the amber light of the kitchen.

For a moment, he looked less like a sheriff and more like a tired man who had reached the end of his patience. The careful restraint he'd been forcing himself to maintain began slipping away.

"Go ahead, then."

The words were quieter. Sharper. Taking on that tone he used when he knew he had to command a situation. When he'd discipline Gia, yell her for being out to late. When he catches a criminal. Something deep that brooked zero argument.

He stepped aside slightly, gesturing toward the open door.

"Try it."

The challenge hung between them.

Cal stared, waiting.

His expression hardened, and he pointed toward the inside of the house with a firm, commanding motion, there was something far more dangerous underneath it. They knew what would happen if they ran.

"Inside."

He stared at them with intensity. Eyes narrowed slowly, eye nearly twitching. His boots were planted on the ground, but he looked ready to move as soon as they were.

"Three."

His voice remained calm and even as he counted down. His body almost preparing to bolt after them now.

"Two."

He waited for them to decide.

.