A late-night fire on Maple Street leaves one man dead and a quiet neighborhood shaken. By the time Detective Duke Mantz arrives, the flames are out, the scene is contained, and the case appears straightforward.

A single occupant.
A tragic accident.
Nothing to suggest anything more.

The reports fall into place quickly. Fire investigators find no sign of forced entry. The medical examiner confirms a cause of death consistent with the scene. Records tied to the address align without conflict. Everything points in the same direction, reinforcing a conclusion that should be simple.

But as the case moves forward, Mantz finds himself returning to the same details—not because they're wrong, but because they don't settle.

Phone activity doesn't form a pattern.
Financial records remain steady but strangely limited.
Follow-ups that should close the file leave it open instead.

Individually, each piece holds. Together, they resist conclusion.

What begins as a routine investigation shifts into something quieter and far less certain—an examination of structure, sequence, and the spaces in between. As Mantz works the case beyond the fire itself, the focus moves away from what happened on Maple Street and toward everything that surrounds it.

In Falcon Hollow, where familiarity often stands in for certainty, the line between assumption and fact begins to narrow. And as that line tightens, the case stops offering answers and starts asking something else entirely.

Not what happened.

But whether anything about it was ever as clear as it seemed.

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