The morning air was crisp when Ronnie stood outside the precinct, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she waited. She wore dark jeans, boots, and a soft light gray sweater— comfortable, professional, but casual enough to avoid alarming the patients at the asylum.
Mark sat in his car across the street, watching her with an unreadable expression.
He wanted to be the one going with her.
But orders were orders.
At least for now.
Across the parking lot, Commissioner Landon exited the building, dressed sharply in a black tailored coat and dark slacks. He carried himself with a natural authority that seemed to ripple out into the space around him.
He spotted Ronnie immediately and gave her a brief nod.
“You ready, Dr. Summers?” Landon asked, his deep London accent coating the words.
