He watched the screen.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Then—voicemail.
His breath rushed out like it had been punched from his lungs.
Another call came through.
She was trying again.
His thumb twitched.
He should answer.
He should fix this.
But he didn't.
Instead, he turned off his phone.
Like a coward.
Like pretending she didn't exist would undo what he had done.
The FBI officewas quiet now. Most of the agents had cleared out, moving on to their next tasks.
But Jake sat in the interrogation room, in the same chair Hannah had sat in hours ago, his fingers tapping against the metal table.
Martinez walked in, flipping through a file. "You did your job, Cooper."
Jake let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Great job. She's sitting in a fucking cell right now."
Martinez barely looked up. "She'll be out in the morning. She's lucky."
Jake curled his hands into fists.
Lucky.
Hannah had been dragged from her home, thrown into a cage, humiliated in front of everyone she loved—and Martinez thought she was lucky.
"Still think she's innocent?" Martinez asked.
Jake didn't answer.
Martinez smirked. "Then she'll walk. No harm, no foul. It'll be fine."
Jake knew better.
Even if she walked free, she would never be the same.
He reached out, touching the cool metal of the interrogation table.
Tomorrow morning, Hannah would be released.
