BESS' POV
I close my notepad slowly and glance at Steve Howard. He's staring down at his clasped hands like they're the only thing holding him together.
"I'll take a look at everything," I tell him, voice steady. "But I'm going to need full transparency. Anything you're not telling me could hurt your case."
He nods. "You'll have everything. I swear."
I walk him out of the office and return to my desk. My mind is already spinning.
"Cynthia," I call, "can you pull a full file on Steve Howard? Employment history, known associates, real estate licenses, everything you can find."
She peers around my doorframe. "Already on it. Also... his car? I checked the mileage on the file they sent over from the police impound. It adds up, he did travel out of town. About a 240-mile round trip."
So that part checks out.
"But," she adds, stepping in and lowering her voice, "what if that's just a convenient cover-up? He used to work at Hill Group. For Darren Hill. Before he left to start his own agency."
I look up sharply. "He didn't mention that."
"Nope," Cynthia says. "And you know how this goes, motive is everything. Maybe leaving Hill Group wasn't exactly... friendly."
I lean back in my chair, the edges of the puzzle beginning to take shape.
Either Steve is the unluckiest man alive, framed by someone who looks exactly like him or he's hiding something.
But I've been doing this long enough to know when someone is lying.
And when someone is scared.
Steve Howard? He's terrified. Of what, I don't know yet.
But I'm going to find out.
I find Jude exactly where I expected, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, pretending to work.
He looks up as I step onto the terrace. "You look like someone just handed you a murder wrapped in a mystery."
I smirk. "Close. I've got a case."
"I'm flattered," he says, dropping his feet off the table. "But I don't do defense work unless it comes with a yacht."
"It's not for you. I just need your brain for a second."
Jude's been at Apex a little longer than me, with a reputation for flipping witness testimony like pancakes. He's also the closest thing I have to a friend in this place.
I sit opposite him, sliding my notepad across the table. "Steve Howard. Accused of killing Darren Hill, you remember, the Hill Group CEO?"
He whistles. "That's a headline. What's the catch?"
I tap the footage on my tablet screen. "He swears he was out of town when it happened. Left his kid with his sister, went off-grid. But the CCTV shows him leaving the scene."
"Looks like him?"
"Exactly like him."
Jude watches the clip, brow furrowing. "You think someone framed him?"
"I don't know what I think," I admit. "He didn't even mention he used to work at Hill Group. Cynthia found that out."
Jude raises an eyebrow. "That's... a pretty big omission."
"Unless it's not," I say. "Unless it's something deeper than motive. Something he doesn't even understand yet."
He leans back. "Bess, are you saying you believe him?"
"I'm saying... something about this case doesn't sit right."
Jude eyes me over his cup. "And when you get that feeling, it usually means you're about to blow something wide open."
I don't reply. Because that's what I'm afraid of, too.
****
I'm home before sunset, but the sky is already painted in orange and bruised pinks, the kind of twilight that feels like a warning.
I drop my bag, change into my comfort clothes, and curl up on the edge of the couch with my case notes, not because I need to, but because I can't afford not to.
It's always been like this for me.
When I was nine, I solved my first mystery. My little brother's bike went missing. Everyone thought it was stolen, even my dad. But I noticed the tire marks in the backyard didn't match the ones at the front gate. The trail curved around the back fence and into the woods.
We found the bike a mile away, hidden under a tarp behind Mr. Calloway's shed. Turned out, his grandson borrowed it without asking.
That feeling, that click when a truth lines up just right. I've been chasing it ever since.
Dad used to call me "Detective Bee." Said I'd either become a lawyer or run the FBI. He was a lawyer too, sharp as they came, but he never pushed me into it. He just lit the path.
Even now, even though he's gone, I can still hear his voice in my head when I walk into a courtroom. calm. Clear. Always two steps ahead.
Mum texts me every morning. Never too many words, always just enough. Have a great day, my shining star. She never liked the long hours, but she always respected the dream.
I'm 24 now. Youngest lawyer at Apex. I've won cases people twice my age wouldn't touch but I still call my mum when I lose a motion. I still keep Dad's worn copy of Criminal Law and Ethics in my desk drawer, even if I know it by heart.
And right now, this Steve Howard case? It feels like the beginning of something bigger. Not just legal-big.
World-shifting big.
The case files sit spread across my coffee table like puzzle pieces I haven't quite figured out how to connect. Steve Howard. Darren Hill. A town 120 miles away. A CCTV clip that defies logic.
And a gut feeling that won't shut up.
I glance at the clock 9:43 p.m. Mum's probably still up. I tap her name.
She picks up after one ring.
"Hi, sweetheart."
Her voice is the verbal equivalent of warm tea and a soft blanket.
"Hey, Mum. Just wanted to hear a familiar voice."
"You sound tired. Long day?"
"Long case," I say. "Strange one."
I pause, then decide to say it out loud.
"I have a client who says he was out of town when a murder happened. But there's footage, actual CCTV footage, showing him at the crime scene."
Mum's quiet on the other end.
"Could it be old footage?" she asks gently.
"No. The timestamp matches. And… it looks exactly like him. Not just a resemblance, him. His build, his gait, everything."
Another pause.
"Well," she says, "science says everyone has at least seven people in the world who look like them. Maybe this is one of those rare moments when the world shrinks enough for two to collide."
I let out a dry laugh. "Or maybe I'm losing it."
"You've always seen the things others missed, Bess. It's your gift. Don't start doubting that now."
I close my eyes. Her words land soft, but they linger.
"Thanks, Mum. I needed that."
After we hang up, I sit there a moment longer, staring at the notes, the timeline, the phone logs, Steve's mileage, his employment history.
I flip back to a detail Cynthia flagged: Steve left Hill Group two years ago. No red flags. No legal trouble. Just a clean exit.
Too clean?
I pull the CCTV stills back up and zoom in on the man walking out of that hotel. There's something odd in his posture, something… almost off.
Not quite Steve.
Not quite human, either.
*****
THE AMARON WORLD
Elaris, the world of the AMARONS, is a place shrouded in timeless beauty that lies beyond the Goldilocks world and the ordinary hum of subways and streetlights.
The air is throbbing with vitality here. The pulse of live magic, not just the gentle murmur of the wind. Gold flakes shine in rivers. Trees slant toward the stars. Crystal-eyed beasts wander freely on floating islands bound by moonlight chains.
Additionally, strength is ingrained in the AMARONS, the offspring of this world, from birth. From the minute they pronounce their first word, it hums beneath their fingertips, laced into their bones like melody.
Two unshakable laws govern their lives:
1. "Never Reveal."
No AMARON may expose the existence of their world to the GOLDILOCKS — the powerless humans of the parallel realm. Exposure risks collapse of balance, of secrecy, of centuries of carefully spun illusion.
2. "No Crossing Without Cause."
Travel between realms is forbidden except under dire circumstances, and only with permission from a Seer or one of the ruling Triads. Even then, the magic required to pass through the veil exacts a heavy toll.
But not all follow the laws.
Some AMARONS grow curious. Others, restless. A few, like Xaren are willing to risk everything for a mission they believe in.
In Elaris, Xaren moves like a shadow. He's not among the elite, nor tied to any royal bloodline. Bound by prophecy.
His mission is not sanctioned.
His crossing was not permitted.
He stands now at the edge of a mirror-lake, speaking to the Seer who opened the veil for him. Her voice is like wind chimes and thunder all at once.
"You know what you've done, Xaren. If they find out—"
"I had no choice," he says. "It wasn't just about the target. It was about the imbalance."
"And now the ripple begins."
Xaren stares into the water, where his reflection flickers, and in its place, he sees Steve Howard. The man who shares his face.
The man who might be the key to restoring balance… or destroying everything.
****
XAREN'S POV
I wasn't just sent.
I was born for this.
That's what my father believed.
Before he fell in the Border Wars, he told the Seers, "My son will be the echo, not a reflection, but a rhythm from the other world. His soul will stretch across both realms, and in the breaking, he will bind them."
I never understood what that meant. Not until I first saw Steve Howard.
Same face. Same blood pulse. Same laugh.
But only one of us was born with fire in our veins.
The prophecy said I was his echo, not the other way around. That he came first, and I was shaped from the gap he left behind. That our lives were tethered like twin stars, destined to spin toward some great collision.
So when I saw what Darren Hill was building, who he was connected to, what he might do to breach the wall between worlds, it all snapped into place.
Steve unknowingly opened a door.
I was born to close it.