-Lucien-
The office was empty, but I couldn’t look away from the screens.
I replayed the protest video again and again, listening to every shout, studying every face magnified until it felt like they were right in front of me.
And then I froze. I leaned closer, eyes scanning, because it was the first time I’d noticed this—Jackson’s lip, split, visibly bleeding before he dodged the punch.
I paused, forcing myself to be certain.
He dodged the punch, yes—but the split was already there. It was there before he ran into the scene.
So he lied. I made a mental note.
Why?
I didn’t get a chance to dwell on it before he walked into my office, his presence filling the space.
“What are you doing? I’d assumed you’d be gone by now,” he said.
I wanted to bring up the video, to demand the tru
