The air in Hale’s office hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and unspoken accusations. The week, as predicted, felt like an eternity compressed into seven days. Dr. Elias Thorne sat across from Hale, his usual composed demeanor replaced by a nervous tremor in his hands. Sergeant Miller stood silently by the door, his expression grim. Isabelle Moreau, her face etched with a mixture of shock and betrayal, remained conspicuously absent.

Hale slammed a file onto the desk, the sound echoing the turmoil in his own mind. It contained the compiled evidence: Thorne’s access logs to restricted military databases, the corroborated timelines placing him near Blackwood on several occasions, and most damningly, the partially decrypted transcripts from the Oak Room, revealing coded references to "Project Nightingale" and Thorne's subtle manipulation of the data.

"Dr. Thorne” Hale began, his voice low and controlled, a stark contrast to the tempest raging inside him. "The evidence is overwhelming. You collaborated with Jasper Blackwood."

Thorne flinched, his gaze dropping to the worn mahogany of the desk. A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock on the wall, each second amplifying the weight of the unspoken confession.

Finally, Thorne spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "It’s… it's true. I provided him with information." Thorne's confession hung heavy in the air, a stark admission that shattered the carefully constructed image of the impartial expert. "Thorne's confession” Hale thought grimly, noting it down in his notepad.

Hale leaned forward, his eyes unwavering. "What information?"

Thorne hesitated, his eyes darting nervously. "Details about Cartwright's research… the formula's stability, potential applications. Small bits, I assure you. I… I believed my involvement could help mitigate the risk. I thought it was a way to ensure the technology wouldn't fall into the wrong hands." He wrung his hands, his voice cracking under the weight of his deceit.

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"You believed?" Hale’s voice dripped with sarcasm. "You believed that feeding information to a known criminal mastermind would somehow prevent misuse?"

"It wasn't like that” Thorne protested, his voice rising slightly. "Blackwood was… persuasive. He offered me access to resources, information that was crucial to my research. I was desperate."

Hale pressed on, "And what about Cartwright's murder? Did you know Blackwood intended to kill him?"

Thorne shook his head vehemently. "No! Absolutely not. I never… I never imagined he would go that far. I only provided him with information; I had no idea he would resort to murder."

This was the crux of it, the heart of the matter. A partial confession, a carefully constructed narrative to mitigate the severity of his actions. "Partial confession, doubts remain” Hale noted, a cold chill settling over him. The words were a testament to the lingering uncertainty, the nagging feeling that Thorne’s explanation, while partially true, only scratched the surface of a deeper, more sinister involvement.

The confession left Hale with more questions than answers. Had Thorne truly been unaware of Blackwood's murderous intentions? Or was this a carefully crafted lie, designed to protect himself from the full weight of the law? The doubt gnawed at him, a persistent ache that overshadowed the satisfaction of finally securing a confession. Thorne’s desperate plea for understanding sounded eerily similar to Blackwood's cold justifications.

Hale looked at Miller, a silent exchange passing between them. The sergeant's face betrayed his own uncertainty. The confession was a significant step, but it left a bitter taste of incompleteness, a sense that the full truth remained elusive, hidden behind a carefully constructed veil of half-truths and omissions. The serpent's tooth, it seemed, had struck deeper than anyone could have imagined, leaving its venom to fester within the very heart of the investigation.

The weight of the investigation, the betrayal, the uncertainty – it all crashed down on Hale. He had Thorne's confession, but it felt like a hollow victory, a fleeting moment of triumph in a war that was far from over. The fight continued, the shadows of Ashwood stretching long and menacing. One week remained. One week to uncover the remaining pieces of the puzzle, one week to determine the extent of Thorne’s involvement, and one week to confront the unsettling possibility that the truth was far more terrifying than he could have ever imagined. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a reminder of the time slipping away, the pressure mounting. The future felt uncertain, a bleak landscape shrouded in the insidious fog of doubt and suspicion.