Have we met?

The young officer stopped in his steps, glancing around to ensure no one's ears were within reach.

He turned to face her, satisfied that no one was listening or had followed them.

Zara furrowed her brows as she looked down to see the man's hand gripping her wrist firmly.

The man quickly noticed Zara's discomfort and followed her gaze. Realizing his mistake, he promptly released her.

"I apologize," he said politely, pressing his lips into a thin line.

She cleared her throat and adjusted her mask.

"Why drag me outside? Do you know anything about the case?" she asked, arching her brow, changing the conversation.

"Who are you?" he asked in a low, serious tone.

Zara's heart skipped, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her.

Did he recognize her as Zane? she wondered, her heart thudding.

"There's no need for that. I asked if you know anything about the case," she replied coolly, stepping forward and fixing him with a piercing glare.

Even with her face half-covered, he couldn't shake the intimidating aura she gave off—a gaze that said, "Mess with me, and I'll bury you."

He swallowed hard and took a step back.

"Don't you think I should know who you are before I give out any exclusive information?" he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Zara rolled her eyes at his caution. This officer might be different from the corrupt types she'd encountered; he seemed trustworthy.

She removed her mask, revealing her full face. When his expression didn't change, she guessed he truly didn't recognize her.

Doesn't he know who Zane is? Or doesn't she resemble her? Or maybe he's like her—too busy to watch movies.

It felt safer to lie since she wasn't entirely sure if he recognized her or not.

"I'm Zane Sawyer. The Blackwoods once saved me from an ancient," she explained smoothly, trying to keep any hint of a lie from her tone.

"You don't know me?" she asked, letting her curiosity slip out.

"Should I?" he replied, raising a brow.

Zara exhaled, relieved. If he recognized her as a popular actress, it would have been a mess.

"So, why did you drag me out here?" she asked again.

"This is a highly confidential case, but since you said you're close to their family…" He motioned for her to come closer. Instinctively, she leaned in, their heads almost touching.

"It's not a suicide case—it's a murder," he murmured, his voice resolute. He glanced around once more, ensuring no one could overhear them.

Zara clenched her wounded hand, barely noticing the sting. The pain there was nothing compared to what she felt inside, learning that her parents hadn't taken their own lives but had been murdered. The officer's words echoed in her mind, harsh and cold.

But why? Why would anyone do this? Her parents were gentle people—they never quarreled, never got involved in trouble. And her innocent brother… she swallowed hard. He hadn't done a single thing to deserve such a fate.

The memories felt fresh again, the sting of not having seen their bodies, the hollow acceptance of the police's version of events.

They had told a blatant lie, concealed the truth, and closed the case without a single care for her loss.

Though she had suspected her father, mother, and brother had been killed and hadn't found their bodies, she had no choice but to believe it at the time.

Zara forced herself to speak, faking a smile as she released her clenched hand.

"What makes you so sure?" Her voice sounded colder than she intended, but she needed to keep control.

The officer pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped on it, and held the screen up to her.

"The alleged suicide note doesn't match the victim's handwriting." He swiped to another screen, showing another picture.

"And look here," he pointed at a statement in the report. "They reported a murder case that they might… or might not have witnessed."

Zara frowned, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by 'might have witnessed'?"

A chill crept over her. Her parents witnessing a murder? It didn't make sense.

She'd never heard them mention anything like that. Her eyes drifted to the officer's screen again. She couldn't deny it—the handwriting was unmistakably her father's and mother's.

The officer continued. "Mr. Blackwood initially stated the suspect used a dagger to kill the little girl, but Mrs. Blackwood claimed the suspect used a car, running over her to end her life. While Mr. Blackwood's words matched the crime scene… Mrs. Blackwood's account doesn't align. Her body was found intact, without signs of decay."

Zara shook her head, denial settling in. No… they would have told Grandma. They couldn't have known about a murder and stayed silent.

But asking Grandma was no longer an option. Zara's chest tightened, remembering the night her grandmother passed. It had been only two years since she'd moved in with Zara's parents, and losing them broke her heart.

She'd collapsed at the news, and Zara had received a rushed call from the hospital. She still remembered bolting from her classroom, barely taking a second to ask her teacher for permission.

She arrived too late.

Her grandmother was gone before Zara could say goodbye, leaving her alone in a world that suddenly felt too vast, too cruel. She had no one left—no aunts, no uncles, and no relatives from her mother's side.

She didn't know her relatives from her father's side either, so she was left alone to grow by herself.

Grandma hadn't deserved it. She didn't deserve to die grieving her daughter's death, never even knowing where his body lay.

Zara felt a pang of nostalgia, a memory of returning home from school, calling out her grandmother's name with excitement, watching her smile and reply with warmth.

"Good evening, my grandchild. Did you enjoy school today?"

Her grandmother would ask after her, genuinely concerned about her day, her friends, her teachers. Zara's lips tightened with regret.

She'd never thought to ask Grandma how she felt. She hadn't given her that comfort, and now… now it was too late.

The officer's voice brought her back to the present. "How did you know all this?" she asked, looking up at him with a sense of guarded curiosity.

He rubbed his temples, letting out a slight sigh. "What do you expect from an officer?" he said, attempting a smile, though it came off awkward and forced.

He rubbed his hands together, a gesture that suggested he was holding back something darker.

Zara narrowed her eyes, a sense of suspicion creeping in. "But why are you helping me? The others in there," she jerked her head toward the building, "those officers won't even tell me anything about the case."

The officer hesitated, his gaze momentarily distant, shadowed.

"I guess… I know how it feels when…" His voice trailed off, his face tightening as if trying to suppress a painful memory.

"When the truth is hidden," he finally said, his brown eyes glinting with a mix of warmth and sadness.

Zara nodded slowly, dropping her gaze to her feet, not noticing the way he looked at her—like he recognized something in her pain.

A strange look crossed his face, and after a moment, he asked, "Have we met before?"

His gaze met hers, catching her off guard as she looked up.

Zara rolled her eyes. Another guy pretending to know her, just to ask for her number, she thought with annoyance. She knew where this would end, so she simply replied, "No."

Before the officer could respond, a loud voice cut through the air.

"What are you doing here?" A man's voice, sharp and commanding, echoed down the corridor. The man's piercing gaze sent an involuntary chill down Zara's spine.