COLT
I’ve got nothing.
Fuck.
Three weeks of tearing through leads, clawing at dead ends, and all I’ve got to show for it is blood on my knuckles and a pit in my stomach. No Amanda. Just f*****g ghosts.
I step into the dim room, my vision narrowing on the two figures near the back wall. Blaze and Luther. At first, it looks like they’re squaring off, Blaze’s hands braced against Luther’s chest, his head down like he’s trying to keep it together. But then I see it—the way Luther’s hand lingers on Blaze’s arm, the way Blaze’s shoulders tremble like he’s barely holding it in.
My body freezes. Just for a second.
The f**k is this?
They both jerk when they notice me, like I’ve just stepped into some scene I’m not supposed to see. Blaze stumbles back, wiping at his face so fast it’s almost l
