My stomach turns sour and climbs up my throat. It’s the first time since I was a kid that I have felt this kind of sickness—real,choking nausea just from the thought of what they could do to her. And seeing it with my own eyes is worse. I’ll never get the image out of my head: Lily’s big golden-brown doe eyes locking on me, wide and wet, her lip quivering, the way she looked at me like this was goodbye. That look cracked me wide open, broke my fucking heart, stripped me of every ounce of control I had. It made me mad. Deranged. It made me swing. It made me punch five cops and threaten three of their lives, promises I will keep, just because they made her lip quiver.
I’ll never forgive myself for letting her get arrested for me, because of me, but my good girl, my strong girl did it, without protest, she did it with complete loyalty.
By the time the van stops, I have built a wall inside myself. My expression is stone. If they want a fight, they won’t get one here.
The doors open. The night air is cold, sharp against my face as they pull me down from the step. I don’t resist. They lead me through a side entrance, away from the public. This is not their first time bringing someone like me in.
The fluorescent lights inside the station are harsh, bleaching out every shadow. Everything is too bright, too clean, and yet it smells like sweat and stale coffee.
They take my belongings first: watch, wallet, phone, and catalog them one by one. The officer doing it doesn’t look me in the eye. That suits me fine.
I sign where they tell me to sign. I stand where they tell me to stand. I let the camera flash blind me for a moment, then the world snaps back into place, sharper than before.
Through all of it, I keep my mouth shut.
When they try to steer me toward the interrogation room, I plant my feet. “I want my lawyer,” I say, and my voice does not rise, does not break.
Toscani appears again, looking mildly irritated, like I’ve just delayed his favorite part of the evening. “You can talk to us now, Mr. Petrov, or you can wait. It’s your choice.”
“My lawyer,” I repeat.
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he signals to one of the uniforms. “Put him in holding until his lawyer gets here.”
They lead me past the glass doors of the interrogation rooms, past the desks stacked with files, and into the narrow hallway lined with cells.
The metal door closes behind me with a heavy clang.
I sit on the bench, hands clasped in front of me. For the first time since they pulled me off the runway, I let my head fall forward, eyes closing against the weight pressing into my skull.
I don’t care what they do to me. I’ve survived worse. But Lily cannot be dragged down into this. Every minute she spends here because of me is a failure I will not forgive myself for.
The time drags, each second stretching so thin it feels like the walls themselves are pulling apart. The fluorescent lights above buzz like flies, white and pitiless, reflecting off the gray concrete until the whole room feels like a coffin.
I sit on the narrow bench, elbows braced on my knees, and let the clock in my head torment me. Every tick is a thought of her.
Could Lily be here, in one of those cold little rooms with a metal table and a camera in the corner? No. They’re smarter than that.They’d keep us separated, miles apart if they could, because even the smallest chance that I might get to her would ruin whatever games they’re trying to play.
Bastards.
I can see it though, too clearly—the way they’ll try to break her down, wearing her thin with questions, twisting her words. I know their tricks. I’ve used them.
But she’s strong. Stronger than anyone ever gives her credit for. She will dig in her heels and refuse them, no matter how long they circle her. That’s the problem. The more she resists, the more vicious they’ll become. And all I can do is sit here with these goddamned walls pressing in on me, imagining their voices needling into her perfect mind.
A muscle in my jaw locks so tight it feels like my teeth might crack. They think she’s just some fragile girl who wandered into this life. They have no idea what she’s made of.
I drag in a breath and force myself to think logically, to plan, but every path begins with her. I need to know where she is, what they’ve said to her, what she’s saying back.
The idea of calling is useless. I know better than to believe their promises. Even if they offer a phone, it will be hours before they let me touch it. By then the damage will already be done.
I lean back against the wall, shut my eyes, and picture the network outside these walls. Nik. Nadia. They’ll know. They’ll get to Gwen. She will have the doors to this place pried open soon enough.
But time—time is the weapon here. And they are using it against me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to shut out the image of Lily at a metal table, her wedding ring catching the light, her lips pressed into that stubborn line. She hates being cornered. She hates being made small. And I put her in this.
I drag a hand over my face. If they so much as scare her—if they make her cry—there will be nowhere on this earth those officers can hide from me.
Footsteps approach, slow and heavy. A key rattles in the door and I open my eyes.
