The red “On Air” sign glared at Maya—a hot, watchful eye. Across the newsroom, TV screens lined the wall. On one, she spotted her father, stuck in that dark computer room. Some thug pressed a metal weapon to the back of his head.
“Ten seconds, Maya,” her uncle’s voice blared over the speakers. “Nine... eight...”
Her hand trembled on the desk. She glanced at the black book, then at Julian. Tell the truth, and they’d kill her father with poison gas. Lie, and the bad guys walked away clean. Julian would still be a criminal to the city.
“Seven... six...”
Julian leaned in, his voice barely a breath. “Maya, watch the screen. Look at your father’s hand.”
She squinted at the TV. Her father’s hands were up, but his right hovered near a red wire on the wall. He tapped his fingers—tap. Tap-tap.
