Jordan’s POV
The warehouse looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
The metal siding was rusted, the windows cracked, and the air smelled like damp steel and motor oil. My car headlights barely cut through the fog as I parked outside. For a moment, I thought about turning around, just driving home, and pretending I never got those damn texts.
But something in me said stay.
If this “Truth Brother” really had something to tell me about Victoria, I needed to hear it. No matter how bad it was.
I got out of the car, pulled my jacket tighter, and walked toward the building. Every footstep echoed. Somewhere inside, a light flickered.
“Jordan King,” a voice called from the shadows. “You showed up. I wasn’t sure you would.”
A man stepped into view. Tall, broad shoulders, maybe late forti
