Luke:
The interrogation room smells like sweat that’s dried to metal. Four walls, no windows, only the hum of a fluorescent bulb that flickers like it’s in pain. They keep it cold on purpose—enough to bite through the thin cotton of my shirt and gnaw at the bones beneath.
I’ve been here before, on the other side of the table. Different chair. Different heartbeat.
But never like this.
The scene won’t stop replaying. It burns behind my eyes every time I blink.
“Listen to me,” I said, voice low, urgent. “Another unit is two minutes out. You have to go. Now.”
She blinked. “Go?”
“Yes. Ride. Get clear before anyone else sees you.”
“And you?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You’ll lose everything.”
“Either way, I already have, Alex.”
Her face—wide-eyed, scared—still cuts through the dark like a fl
