When officers followed those tire marks, they weren’t just tracing rubber on ice—they were tracing a decision, a betrayal, a theft carried out under the illusion of invisibility. Ben’s face fell the moment they mentioned his driveway; the investigation was effectively over. No shouting, no dramatic confession, just the quiet collapse of a lie against the simplest evidence. In a world obsessed with complicated truths, it was the blankness of snow, and the single scar across it, that finally made everything clear.
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