Troy's POV
Milo’s eyes flicked nervously, first to my face, then to the hammer in my hand, its cold metal catching the fluorescent light, and finally to Ambrose, who stood like a statue in the corner, awaiting my orders. The underground cell was silent except for Milo’s ragged breathing. The air was suddenly heavy with damp concrete and fear. My patience hung by a thread, easily worn out by dead ends and lies, and this cleaner's life was hanging in his own hands.
“I don’t know who,” he stammered, his voice trembling as my brow furrowed, signaling I wasn’t buying it. He rushed on, desperate. “I swear. I got instructions over the phone, but the voice was distorted. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman!”
My grip tightened on the hammer, the weight grounding me as rage built within m
