Chapter 3: The Man With the Mic

Kai Tanaka wakes up tasting salt.

Not the clean kind you put on food. This is old salt. Sea salt. The kind that dries on your lips and sticks there, stubborn as a bad memory.

He sits up in bed and the room tilts slightly. His muscles ache like he took hits. His shoulders feel bruised. His hands are still raw, knuckles cracked from scrubbing.

He flexes his fingers once. Twice.

The skin pulls. Stings.

His apartment is quiet in that too-clean way. No music. No TV. No life. Just the hum of the heater and the far-off hiss of rain on the window.

Seattle rain again. Soft and steady. Like the city never fully exhales.

His phone is on the nightstand. Face down.

Kai stares at it for a beat.

He does not want to touch it. That’s the truth. Touching it means pulling the world back onto his chest. Touching it means headlines, comments, questions, accusations. Touching it means someone else telling his story like they were there in the water with him.

He picks it up anyway.

There are twelve missed calls.

Station. Unknown numbers. One from Captain Ellis.

And a flood of notifications from a podcast app he has never used before last night.

Kai opens the station message first.

Report to station at 0800. Internal Affairs present.

His jaw tightens.

Then a second text lands.

Do not speak to media. Do not leave your residence without notifying chain.

His throat goes dry.

Like he needed that reminder.

He sits on the edge of the bed and drags a hand down his face. His palm comes away warm. He can feel how tired he is in his bones, in the tiny trembling behind his eyes.

He stands and walks to the bathroom.

The mirror shows him the way mirrors always do, no mercy. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair flattened on one side. A faint red line across his cheek where his mask strap must have dug in at the station. He looks like a man who has been carrying something heavy and pretending it is nothing.

He runs cold water over his hands.

It helps. A little.

He brushes his teeth. The mint burns his mouth and he welcomes it, because at least it’s a sharp clean pain, not the dull kind that sits in the chest.

When he pulls on a sweatshirt, the fabric drags across his shoulders, rough against sore skin. He moves slower than he wants to. He hates that too.

He leaves the apartment with his hood up.

The hallway smells like wet carpet and somebody’s curry from last night. He pauses at the stairwell door and listens, because he has learned to listen lately. The city has a way of letting you know when it is watching.

Silence.

He takes the stairs anyway. Third floor. Second. First.

As he pushes the lobby door open, cold air hits him. Damp. Metallic. The scent of rain and pavement.

Then he sees them.

Two men standing across the street, phones out. Not commuters. Not neighbors. Their attention is aimed like a weapon.

One of them notices Kai and his eyes brighten, hungry.

Kai’s stomach drops.

He does not run. Running turns you into prey.

He keeps walking, steady, head down, and steps into the driver’s seat of his car. The leather is cold under him. He grips the steering wheel until his hands stop shaking.

His phone buzzes again.

Unknown number.

Kai does not answer.

A second buzz. A message.

MURDERER.

Kai exhales slowly through his nose.

He turns the key. The engine starts. He pulls out into the wet street, tires hissing on asphalt.

At the first red light, his eyes flick to his phone again. Against his better judgment, he opens the podcast app notification.

The episode title stares back.

THE SEA TOOK HIM, BUT SOMEONE HELPED.

Kai’s name is threaded through the description like a hook.

He closes it and drops the phone into the cup holder like it burns.

Someone behind him honks. He realizes the light changed.

He drives.

The station sits near the water, gray concrete and steel. Familiar. Usually it feels like order. Today it feels like a courtroom.

Inside, everything is too bright.

Fluorescent lights. White walls. White tile. The smell of disinfectant and old coffee. He hates that it reminds him of hospitals. He hates that the smell of “clean” now makes his stomach turn.

He walks past the front desk and sees the glances.

Not everyone looks at him. Most do, though. Quick and guilty. Like they don’t know what to do with a man who is suddenly a problem.

Captain Ellis is waiting near the briefing room. His uniform is crisp. His face is calm.

Too calm.

“Tanaka,” Ellis says.

“Sir,” Kai replies.

Ellis gestures. “In here.”

The room has three chairs and a table. Two strangers sit on the far side. Internal Affairs. One woman, one man. Both with that polished neutral posture that says they already decided something before they walked in.

Kai sits. The chair is hard. The air is colder than it should be.

The woman slides a folder across the table.

“Petty Officer Tanaka,” she says. “We are reviewing the incident on the charter vessel last night.”

Kai keeps his hands flat on the table. He does not curl them into fists. He does not give his body away.

“Yes,” he says.

The man flips open the folder. “You recovered two individuals.”

“Yes.”

“One was deceased upon recovery,” the man says.

Kai’s throat tightens. “Yes.”

The woman leans forward slightly. “The helicopter footage from the primary deck camera is missing.”

Kai breathes in. Slow. Controlled.

“I know,” he says.

“Explain that,” she says.

Kai’s mouth goes dry.

“I can’t,” he replies. “I didn’t touch the system. I did not access the upload process. That is handled by crew.”

Ellis watches him like he’s weighing his words.

The man asks, “Did you observe anything unusual in the helicopter after the recovery?”

Kai’s mind flashes to the dead boy’s face. Pale. Open mouth. Hoodie heavy with water. The way the blanket looked ridiculous against death.

He swallows.

“No,” he says. “Nothing unusual.”

The woman’s gaze is sharp. “You’re sure.”

Kai holds her eyes. “Yes.”

The man scribbles a note.

The woman says, “We will also be reviewing your communications.”

Kai’s chest tightens. Communications. Calls. Texts. Who he spoke to. Who he didn’t.

He keeps his face blank anyway.

The meeting drags.

Questions. Answers. The same circle, over and over. As if repetition can conjure a confession.

By the time they dismiss him, Kai’s shoulders feel like stone. He stands, nods, and walks out without slamming the door, because he refuses to give them that story.

In the hallway, Ellis catches up to him.

“Tanaka,” Ellis says, voice low.

Kai stops.

Ellis doesn’t look at him like an enemy. He looks at him like a man who has survived long enough to know institutions bite.

“You need to keep your head down,” Ellis says.

Kai’s jaw clenches. “I am.”

Ellis’s eyes narrow slightly. “No. I mean really. Don’t talk. Don’t argue. Don’t try to play hero. Let it run its course.”

Kai’s mouth tastes like metal.

“And what about that podcast,” Kai asks. “What about my address getting posted online.”

Ellis’s gaze flickers. “It did?”

Kai stares. “You didn’t know.”

Ellis exhales. “No. I didn’t.”

Kai lets out a short laugh that is not humor. “Of course.”

Ellis steps closer. “Listen. If your location is out, go stay somewhere else tonight. I can authorize a station safe unit. Temporary.”

Kai should accept. He knows that.

Still, something in his chest twists.

He hates hiding. He hates that this is his life now, ducking because strangers got entertained by a story.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out.

Nina Park. A number he recognizes from the tip outreach. Luca’s producer, maybe. Or his associate.

Kai answers without thinking. “Tanaka.”

A pause. Then a woman’s voice, quick and tense. “Kai. This is Nina. I’m with Luca Reyes. Someone just posted your address and it’s getting shared. I reported it, but it’s spreading.”

Ellis’s eyes sharpen at the name.

Kai’s throat goes tight. “Why are you calling me.”

“Because Luca didn’t want you hurt,” Nina says. “He didn’t expect people to do that.”

Kai’s grip tightens. His fingers hurt. He welcomes it.

“Tell him to delete it,” Kai says.

“He can’t,” Nina replies. “It’s already everywhere. And there’s something else.”

Kai’s pulse spikes. “What.”

Nina lowers her voice. “Luca received footage. The missing footage. From last night.”

Kai’s stomach drops.

“What.”

“It’s real,” Nina says. “And Luca saw something in it. Something tied to his brother.”

Ellis’s gaze stays on Kai, reading the shape of the conversation even without hearing the words.

Kai’s chest tightens. Missing footage exists. Somebody has it. Somebody sent it to Luca.

That is not coincidence.

“Where is he,” Kai asks.

Nina hesitates. “At his place. Ballard.”

Kai’s jaw clenches. Ballard. Not far.

He should tell Ellis. He should stay inside the chain. He should do everything right.

But the chain is already choking him.

“Text me the address,” Kai says.

“Are you going there,” Nina asks.

Kai’s voice comes out flat. “Yes.”

“Be careful,” Nina says. “Please.”

Kai ends the call.

Ellis speaks immediately. “What was that.”

Kai looks at him. His face feels too tight. Like the skin doesn’t fit anymore.

“That podcaster,” Kai says. “He has footage from last night.”

Ellis goes still. “He has what.”

Kai nods once. “The missing footage.”

Ellis’s eyes harden. “You don’t go near him.”

Kai stares. “Sir.”

Ellis steps closer. His voice is low, urgent. “Tanaka, listen to me. This is bigger than you think. If that footage is out, we have protocols. We have legal. We have chain of custody.”

“Chain of custody,” Kai repeats, and something bitter rises in his throat. “The footage was already stolen. The chain is broken.”

Ellis’s jaw clenches. “You are not trained for media contact. You do not understand how quickly they twist things.”

Kai’s eyes narrow. “And you do.”

Ellis flinches, just slightly. Not guilt. Something like frustration.

Kai breathes out. Slow. He keeps his voice steady.

“I’m not going to fight him,” Kai says. “I’m going to find out who has my station footage and why it’s in a podcaster’s inbox.”

Ellis holds his gaze. For a second, Kai thinks Ellis might order him to stand down. Might threaten him. Might play hard.

Instead, Ellis exhales.

“Fine,” Ellis says, clipped. “Go. But you do not go alone.”

Kai stares. “Sir, I…”

“I’m not going,” Ellis says. “But I am assigning someone. One of ours. Off the books, unofficial. You step wrong, you pull us all into it.”

Kai swallows.

“Who,” he asks.

Ellis glances down the hall. “Sanchez.”

Kai’s stomach tightens again. Sanchez is solid. Quiet. The kind of guy who doesn’t gossip and doesn’t blink when things get ugly.

Ellis looks back. “And Tanaka.”

Kai waits.

Ellis’s voice drops. “Watch your back. This is not about one dead kid anymore.”

Kai leaves the station with Sanchez ten minutes later. They drive in silence, rain tapping the windshield like impatient fingers.

Ballard looks normal. Coffee shops. Wet sidewalks. People walking dogs like the world isn’t dangerous.

Kai hates how easy it is for life to keep going.

They park two houses down from the townhouse Nina texted. The street smells like rain-soaked cedar and exhaust. A porch light glows weakly.

Sanchez speaks first, low. “What’s the plan.”

Kai stares at the building. “Talk. Get the footage. Leave.”

Sanchez nods. “You think he’ll give it.”

Kai’s jaw tightens. “I don’t know.”

They walk up the steps.

Before Kai can knock, the door opens.

Luca Reyes stands there in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair messy, eyes sharp like he hasn’t slept. The room behind him is lit with a harsh desk lamp. Kai can smell coffee from the doorway.

Luca’s gaze locks on Kai’s face. He does not look surprised. Like he expected this.

“Tanaka,” Luca says.

Kai’s throat tightens at how calmly Luca says his name. Like he owns it. Like he can shape it.

“You have footage,” Kai says.

Luca’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”

“Where did you get it,” Kai asks.

Luca’s eyes flick to Sanchez, then back. “Anonymous email.”

Kai steps closer, stopping at the threshold. He does not enter. He will not be trapped inside a stranger’s home.

“Show me,” Kai says.

Luca studies him for a beat, then turns and walks back inside.

“Come in,” Luca says, voice tight. “Or stand out there and pretend you’re not scared of a microphone.”

Kai’s jaw clenches.

He steps in.

The room smells like warm electronics and coffee that’s been reheated too many times. It smells like a man trying to outrun grief with work.

Foam panels on the wall. A mic on a desk. A waveform on a laptop screen.

Luca points at the screen. “That’s your storm.”

Kai looks.

His stomach drops.

Helicopter light. Black water. The recovery. The dead boy in the hoodie.

Kai’s mouth goes dry.

He watches the clip once. Twice.

The footage cuts right after a figure appears on the boat deck. Not Coast Guard. Not crew. Someone holding up a phone, recording.

Kai’s skin prickles.

Luca freezes the frame and zooms in.

“A bracelet,” Luca says, voice rough. “That bracelet is my brother’s. Mateo.”

Kai’s throat tightens.

Sanchez shifts behind Kai, tension in his posture.

Kai’s gaze stays on the frame.

If Luca is right, then Mateo was there. Close enough to record. Close enough to be taken.

Kai’s jaw clenches until it aches.

“Why are you showing me this,” Kai asks.

Luca’s eyes flash. “Because you’re in the middle of it, whether you like it or not. Because the Coast Guard is lying. Because your footage was ‘missing,’ and somehow it ends up in my inbox. Do you think I believe in coincidences right now.”

Kai’s hands curl at his sides.

“No,” Kai says. “I don’t.”

Luca’s voice drops. “Then help me.”

Kai stares at him.

Help him.

It hits Kai in a strange place. Not sympathy. Not yet. Something more stubborn.

Recognition.

A man who refuses to let someone vanish.

Kai inhales slowly. The air tastes like coffee and rain and something sharp.

“You posted my name,” Kai says.

Luca’s jaw tightens. “I did.”

“And my address is out,” Kai adds.

Luca’s eyes flicker. “I didn’t post that. I didn’t want that.”

Kai watches him for a beat. Luca looks angry, yes. Obsessed, yes. But not gleeful. Not smug.

Not proud.

Kai exhales.

“Someone wants you loud,” Kai says, thinking out loud now. “And they want me blamed.”

Luca’s eyes narrow. “You think they’re using me.”

Kai nods once. “I think you’re useful to them.”

Luca swallows hard. His throat works like he’s fighting back something messy.

“Then what,” Luca asks, quieter. “What do we do.”

Kai’s phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

A message pops up.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.

Kai’s stomach drops.

Sanchez leans closer. “What.”

Kai turns his screen slightly so Sanchez can see.

Sanchez’s expression hardens. “They have your number.”

Kai’s pulse climbs. He looks at Luca.

Luca’s phone buzzes at the same time.

He checks it, and his face drains of color.

He turns the screen toward Kai.

A photo.

Luca’s front door, taken from across the street. Timestamped. Ten seconds ago.

Kai’s chest tightens.

“They’re watching,” Luca whispers.

Kai’s body goes cold. Calm drops into place like a mask he’s worn too many times.

“Get your keys,” Kai says.

Luca blinks. “What.”

“Now,” Kai repeats. “We’re leaving.”

Luca hesitates, eyes flicking to his desk, to his laptop, to the mic, to the evidence that is his whole life right now.

Kai’s voice sharpens. “Now, Luca.”

Luca moves.

Sanchez is already at the window, peering through the blinds.

“Car across the street,” Sanchez says. “Engine running. Two inside.”

Kai’s jaw clenches. “Back door.”

Luca grabs his jacket with shaking hands. He looks at Kai, breath shallow.

“You’re taking me where,” Luca asks.

Kai stares at him, rain in his blood, salt in his mouth, truth tightening around his ribs.

“Somewhere off-grid,” Kai says. “Somewhere they can’t find you in ten seconds.”

Luca’s eyes widen. “You don’t even know me.”

Kai’s gaze locks on his.

“I know what hunted looks like,” Kai says. “Move.”

They slip out the back.

The air outside is cold and wet and smells like pine and exhaust. Luca’s breath comes fast. Kai keeps one hand on Luca’s shoulder for half a second, steering him, grounding him.

A touch. Quick. Necessary.

Luca flinches like he hasn’t been touched safely in a while.

Kai opens the gate and pushes him through.

Then headlights flare at the front street, sweeping sideways, searching.

Sanchez curses under his breath.

Kai doesn’t.

Kai just moves.

Because the sea taught him something early.

If you wait to feel ready, you drown.