Part 2 :
“Derrick,” the man said, “step away from her.”
Sarah heard the sentence through the broken bathroom doorway, but it did not sound like a request. It sounded like a line being drawn on concrete. Derrick did not shout back. He did not laugh. He did not slam the door. He stood there so still that Sarah could hear the tiny plastic rattle of her phone in his fist.
“Open it,” the man said.
Derrick whispered, “You shouldn’t have this number.”
That was when the hallway outside Unit 15 changed. Another set of footsteps stopped behind the stranger. A woman’s voice said, very clearly, “Body camera is recording.” Not loud. Not theatrical. Just official enough to make Derrick’s breathing turn shallow.
Then Sarah saw the new thing.
Through the gap past Derrick’s shoulder, the man lifted an old phone in a cracked black case. On its screen was a saved contact photo of Derrick from years earlier, younger but unmistakable. Beneath it was one name Sarah did not know: Lena Carter.
Derrick’s face drained all over again.
“No,” he said. “No, she gave you that phone?”
The man did not answer him. He looked past Derrick, toward the bathroom floor, toward Sarah’s twisted arm and blood on the towel and the broken strip of doorframe that had been waiting two months to become evidence.
“Sarah,” he said, softer now, “my name is Gabriel Carter.”
Derrick made a sound like he had been hit.
Gabriel reached into his jacket and unfolded a paper Sarah could not read from the floor, but she saw the heading stamped across the top and watched Derrick’s knees loosen when he recognized it.
Then Gabriel looked at Derrick and said, “The last woman who texted me from this number said almost the exact same thing before she disappeared, and tonight you’re going to tell us where—”

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