Back in the upper districts, Sergeant Blake "Sarge" was having fun.

Dr. Moore had returned to his sleek corporate tower, but Sarge had no intention of waiting for a warrant.

He moved in the shadows, bypassing the biometric scanners with a hacked key fob that Cursor had prepared earlier. “The nerd’s good for something after all,” he muttered.

The office was locked tight, but locks had never stopped Sarge. With a practiced motion, he jammed a micro-charger into the access panel, shorting the system.

The door slid open with a hiss.

Sarge stepped inside.

Moore’s office was just as cold and precise as before. Nothing personal. No warmth. Just pristine, corporate sterility.

But Sarge wasn’t here to admire the decor.

He started searching.

Drawers. Empty.

Files. Sanitized.

Computer. Locked behind layers of security.

He pulled out a flash drive. “Let’s see what’s hiding under the hood.”

The moment he plugged it in, the screen flickered. A login prompt appeared.

PASSWORD REQUIRED.

Sarge frowned. “Alright, let’s try some dumb rich-guy guesses…”

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He typed:

MOORE123

SIMONMOORE

THERAPIST1

Access denied.

Then, something odd.

The screen glitched. The cursor blinked three times.

Then, words appeared—typed by an unseen hand.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Sarge’s stomach tightened.

For a long moment, he stood still, heart hammering.

Then — a sound behind him.

A shuffle. A sharp intake of breath.

Sarge spun just in time.

Dr. Moore had crept up behind him, swinging a blunt metal sculpture.

Sarge dodged, the object grazing his shoulder. “You sneaky…” He grabbed Moore’s wrist and slammed him into the desk. Papers and a datapad crashed to the floor.

Moore grunted, struggling, but Sarge was built like a tank. He twisted Moore’s arm behind his back and pressed him down hard.

“Nice try, Doc,” Sarge growled, his voice dripping with venom. “What the hell are you hiding?”

Moore thrashed. “You — have no right… ”

Sarge slammed him harder against the desk. “Oh, I’ve got every right. You set up a little back-alley deal tonight. Who was that guy?”

Moore gasped, wincing. “I — he’s a patient! That’s all!”

Sarge’s grip tightened. “Patient, huh? Then what the hell was in the package?”

Moore hesitated.

Sarge growled. “Talk.”

“I-It was drugs!” Moore finally choked out. “I’ve been selling under-the-table prescriptions. Nothing deadly! Just… experimental treatments.”

Sarge’s jaw clenched. “You’re dealing meds off the books?”

Moore nodded, his breath ragged. “Yes! Yes! I have connections. Some of my patients—they asked for it! I didn’t force anyone!”

Sarge narrowed his eyes. “And the guy in the coat? What’s his story?”

Moore swallowed hard. “He—he was one of them. A long-time patient. He’s troubled, but I swear—I didn’t make him do anything! If Eleanor Vance is murdered, then it must be him!”

Sarge’s fingers twitched.

“You’re just a supplier, huh? You hand over the poison and let someone else pull the trigger?”

Moore’s eyes darted around wildly, looking for an escape. “I—I never killed anyone. I just—gave them what they needed. I had no idea what he —”

CRACK.

Sarge’s fist smashed into Moore’s face.

The psychiatrist crumpled to the floor, blood running from his nose.

Sarge breathed heavily, then muttered under his breath. “By condoning, you are responsible for sustaining them.”

He pulled out a pair of cuffs and locked Moore’s wrists behind his back.

“You’re under arrest, Doc,” he growled. “For a lot of things.”

Moore groaned, his head lolling as Sarge hauled him to his feet.

Time to bring this bastard in.