My throat turns dry. I shake my head. "No."
Her face falls. "Please reconsider."
Demi's face crumples for a split second, then she forces it straight. "Hang in there. Love you!" She leans in to hug me.
I murmur in her ear, "Help Red. Please."
"Time to go," the officer says again with more force.
Demi releases me and nods. "I got you."
My eyes well up again. "Thanks."
Aunt Kora touches my shoulder, brief and grounding. "I'll do everything I can to get you out soon."
"Thanks."
The officer gestures. "Let's go."
My stomach drops as the door closes behind me, the sound sealing me away from the only two people in this building who have my back.
The hallway is colder than before. The guard's hand lands between my shoulder blades again, guiding me with practiced pressure.
We pass the booking area. I turn my head, searching for a glimpse of Red, for the shape of him, for any sign this is real and not a nightmare stitched together from fluorescent lights and fear.
He's nowhere.
"Keep moving," the guard orders, and another door buzzes, opening into the holding corridor.
I step into the cell, and the smeared-eyeliner woman sits in the corner like she never moved, her gaze snapping to me with hungry curiosity. "Well? You get rescued?"
I don't answer. I sit on the metal bench again, hands clasped tight, and stare at the scratches on the wall, wondering where Red is and how we're getting out of this mess.
CHAPTER TWO
Dr. Red Mercer
Fluorescent lights flicker, their buzz crawling under my skin and washing the room in hard white. I continue to pace, four steps to the bars, three back to the bench, then I turn and repeat.
Concrete dust coats the air, sharp and dry, scratching the back of my throat every time I breathe deep. My wrists still burn where steel bit into them earlier, a heat that pulses when my hands clench without permission.
It's all tolerable. What isn't, is Blue.
Her face keeps cutting in, bright and furious under the sunlight, her mouth forming words I couldn't hear over the sirens. A cop's hand dug into her arm, too firm, too close, and the flash in her eyes, full of confusion and sorrow, haunts me.
I grip the bars and lean forward, staring down the empty corridor. Somewhere, a door slams hard enough to echo. Somewhere else, a man laughs, raw and broken, then coughs until it sounds painful. The sounds layer over each other, a soundtrack that never ends.
She doesn't belong in places like this.
Bright rooms suit Blue, rooms where smiles cut and promises carry weight. She belongs among people who understand power without having to raise their voices. The thought that she might still be running on adrenaline, still demanding answers from men with badges and tempers, makes my jaw lock tight.
I force myself to slow my breathing. Panic won't open any doors, yet rationale isn't working. My heart races faster.
Attorneys line up in my head like ghosts, all names with billboards and clean shoes, men who sell reassurance in thirty-second spots. Yet my gut says none of them would last long once certain phones started ringing. None of them would know how to contain a situation like this.
Jesus. How did I get myself into this?
Guilt and shame fill me. Then the sound of Blue moaning while clutching my body takes over. I squeeze the bars tighter until my knuckles want to crack.
