Brian’s POV
The police station wasn’t far from my apartment.
Ten minutes if you walked slow. Eight if you didn’t look back.
I walked.
Not because I wanted to savor it—but because it was the last time I’d move through this city without a record.
Without eyes on my back.
Without the weight of consequences finally pressing against my ribs.
I’d spent months justifying what I did. Telling myself it wasn’t real crime. That it didn’t matter. That it was the only way to survive in a world ruled by men like Walter Blackwood.
But all that time, I was just delaying the inevitable.
Kaia had forced my hand.
But it wasn’t fear that brought me here.
It was Isabelle.
The look in her eyes when I told her everything—steady, disappointed, but not cruel—made me realize something:
She’d spent her
