Rowan shut the monitor off and stepped back. "This is enough for now. We'll pull the rest tomorrow. I've got the team running traces on her access codes. If she manipulated logs in a way that intersects with our warrant targets, she's going to have a much bigger problem."
Ethan nodded. "I assumed as much."
They left the security room and locked it behind them. The cool night air greeted them in a quiet hush, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel under their boots. The marshals were stationed strategically along the pathways, scanning the layout with disciplined efficiency.
Rowan turned to him. "Go get some sleep. I'll handle the rest tonight."
"Sleep isn't the priority right now," Ethan said.
"It's your daughter," Rowan countered. "Your clarity is part of protecting her."
Ethan didn't respond, but Rowan wasn't wrong. He walked toward the apartment with steady steps. His daughter needed him clear-headed. She needed him steady. She needed him whole.
When he reached the door, he paused, listening. The gentle sound of her breathing filtered through the thin walls. The world felt still, poised, like the moment before a storm breaks.
He slipped back inside. The lights were dim. The air held the warmth from earlier. He removed his jacket and draped it over the chair, then checked his bag: logbook, braid, notes—all protected. He moved to the window, drawing the curtain slightly aside. The walkway was empty. The lawns were silver under the moonlight. Everything looked peaceful, and for the first time in days, he felt like the scales were shifting. Vivian believed herself untouchable, but evidence didn't bow to authority.
He turned back toward the living room and knelt beside the couch. His daughter stirred, eyes barely open. "You're back," she whispered.
"I'm here," he said softly.
"Did something happen?"
"Yes," he answered truthfully. "Something good."
She closed her eyes again, reassured. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and rose, moving quietly to the table. He opened his notebook to a clean page, writing one sentence across the top: Tomorrow begins.