Lisa's POV
I grabbed my phone from the side pocket of my bag.
First step: evidence.
I made my way back to the hallway. The door I’d broken out from still hung slightly crooked on its hinges, the dented knob dangling like a loose tooth. I snapped pictures of the door first, the scratches from the rod, the linen-wrapped metal I’d left by the wall. Then as I videod, for live footage if you will, I spotted something.
Right at the seam of the door, glittering faintly in the corridor light, one of Selena’s earrings. That little obsidian teardrop thing she wore like it was her trademark. The clasp was broken.
I didn’t speak in the video. I didn’t need to.
Once that was done, I beelined to the control room, heels echoing against the sleek tile.
The guards stiffened a little when I knocked,
