LOGAN
The moment my phone buzzed, I already knew who it was.
I barely spared Isabella a glance as I stepped away, striding down the hall with effortless familiarity.
My feet moved across the cold marble, the distant sound of my own measured footsteps filling the empty space.
The grand chandelier above cast fractured shadows on the floor, each reflection shifting as I passed.
Pushing open a door to one of the private sitting rooms, I shut it behind me with a soft click and exhaled.
A single press of my thumb, and the call connected.
“Mr. Black,” Detective Reynolds greeted, his voice low and professional, but with just a hint of hesitance.
I smirked. He knows why I’m calling.
“Tell me you have good news,” I said, lowering myself onto the leather armchair. The cool material pressed a
