He spun the chair around and sat backward on it, forearms across the backrest.
“I hear you’re very sharp.”
Talia said nothing.
“Good student?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Franklin Ridge Academy.”
“Expensive school.”
“Scholarship.”
“Georgia Tech hoodie.”
“I want to go there.”
Crowe nodded.
“Engineering?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled.
“See? We’re just talking.”
Talia looked toward Rourke.
“Are you here to release me?”
Crowe’s smile remained.
“I’m here to understand the evening.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Rourke looked toward the clock.
Crowe noticed.
“Talia, nobody wants to keep a seventeen-year-old here all night.”
“Then don’t.”
His smile finally weakened.
Rourke opened the folder.
“There is a complication.”
“The learner’s permit.”
“Yes.”
“You can issue the citation.”
“We can.”
“And release me to my father.”
“When he arrives.”
“I still haven’t been allowed to call him.”
Crowe leaned forward slightly.
“We tried.”
“My phone was taken.”
Rourke’s jaw shifted.
Talia looked toward him.
“Without an evidence log.”
Crowe stopped smiling.
For the first time, he seemed less interested in charming her than studying her.
“Who taught you to talk like this?”
“My father taught me to read documents.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I’m answering.”
Crowe leaned back.
“Your father military?”
Talia looked toward him.
“Why?”
“Your posture.”
She said nothing.
Rourke reached into the folder and placed a county policy printout on the table.
“This provision allows continued juvenile custody when there is an unresolved serious traffic matter pending guardian pickup.”
Talia read the paragraph.
Then the referenced appendix.
Then the paragraph again.
“This doesn’t apply.”
Rourke’s face remained blank.
“Why not?”
“It says serious traffic offenses classified in Appendix B.”
She turned the page.
“The learner’s permit supervision violation is in Appendix C.”
Crowe stopped moving.
Talia slid the page back.
“The extension doesn’t apply to my citation.”
Nobody spoke.
Rourke took the paper.
Read it.
Checked the appendix.
Something in his shoulders dropped.
Crowe stood.
“Give us a second.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped beside Talia.
“You’re smart.”
She waited.
“But being smart and being right aren’t always enough inside systems you don’t control.”
Talia met his eyes.
“Then maybe the system should be worried about that.”
The smile disappeared completely.
Crowe left.
Rourke remained.
He stared at the paperwork.
Then at her.
“Seriously.”
His tone was different now.
“Where did you learn this?”
“The policy was posted on the wall.”
“You read all of it?”
“The relevant parts.”
Rourke almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because some situations became absurd enough that the body needed somewhere to put the pressure.
“Your father really teach you this?”
“He teaches me to read before I react.”
Rourke stood.
“I’m going to find your phone.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He reached the door.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
He looked back.
“I want the marks on my wrists photographed before they fade.”
Rourke stared at her.
Then nodded.
“That’s reasonable.”
It was the first time anyone had used that word all night.
Outside the holding room, Rourke walked directly to Kern.
“Where’s her phone?”
Kern pointed toward processing.
“Velez had it.”
“Logged?”
Kern hesitated.
Rourke closed his eyes briefly.
“Find it.”
Crowe appeared from the corridor.
“She’s not bluffing.”
“No.”
“Kid knows enough to be dangerous.”
Rourke looked at him.
“She knows enough to be seventeen and scared without acting stupid.”
Crowe folded his arms.
“You getting sentimental?”
“I’m getting accurate.”
That answer ended the exchange.
At 10:57, Rourke ran Elias Warren’s name through a deeper law-enforcement directory.
The result did not display a normal employer.
Instead, the terminal returned a restricted federal-access notice and a contact number routing to a Department of Defense duty desk.
Rourke stared at the screen.
He ran it again.
Same result.
Crowe walked behind him.
“What did you get?”
Rourke pointed.
Crowe’s face changed.
“That’s unusual.”
“Call?”
“No.”
Crowe answered too quickly.
Rourke looked at him.
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know what the notation means.”
“That’s usually why you call the number.”
Crowe stared at the screen.
For the first time all evening, he looked nervous.
Officer Kern appeared holding Talia’s phone inside the clear bag.
“Found it.”
“Property number?”
“None.”
Rourke looked toward him.
“Who touched it?”
“Velez.”
“Anybody else?”
Kern hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Rourke swore quietly.
“Give it to the girl.”
At 11:04, Talia received her phone.
Seventeen missed calls filled the screen.
Every one came from the same number.
She dialed immediately.
Her father answered before the first full ring.
“Talia.”
His voice was controlled.
She heard the effort required to keep it that way.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you injured?”
“Red marks on my wrists.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“Holding Room Three, Route 11 annex.”
A pause.
“Good.”
That word surprised her.
“You know where I am?”
“I’ve known for forty minutes.”
Her throat tightened.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”