The police station smells like cold coffee and disinfectant.
Marcus sits beside me in the hallway, leaning back in the stiff metal chair like he owns the building. Which, knowing Marcus, might not be far from the truth.
“Well,” he mutters, glancing toward the closed interrogation room door, “this is definitely not how I expected tonight to end.”
I stare at the floor tiles. Inside that room—Victor Salazar is being questioned. Adrian stands near the glass observation window, his arms folded across his chest, watching everything.
The fluorescent lights above us hum softly. My pulse hasn’t slowed since we left the pier.
Marcus notices my silence. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a fair answer.”
I glance toward the glass. Victor sits on the other side of the table, looking exhausted
