Oh God he had been innocent. He had been good and true and broken and she had killed him.

She stared at his face, white like snow and cold as ice and couldn't stop hearing his voice and seeing his expression, tortured as he held a gun to his temple.

He hadn't been a killer. A lost soul, but not a killer.

She was.

"You did what you had to do." She heard a voice echo through the autopsy lab. She didn't have to turn around to know who stood there.

"I know," she replied, because, deep down, she did.