Chapter 40. You Need Help from a Criminal?

S:

The hallway smells of sterilized lies.

Walls too white. Floors too clean. Every step I take echoes like a warning. Like this place was never meant for someone like me.

But they called me here anyway.

Desperation does that.

Two guards lead the way, stiff backs and twitchy eyes. One keeps glancing over his shoulder. The other grips his rifle too tightly, like he’s afraid I’ll snap his neck before we reach the door.

I almost want to.

The air shifts when we reach the end of the corridor. A single metal door. Heavy. Reinforced. No windows.

They open it for me like I’m royalty.

Or a threat.

I walk in.

Six men sit at a long table. Polished oak. Fresh coffee steaming in ceramic mugs. Not a stain in sight.

But the stench of anxiety?

Palpable.

They’re already seated. Probably planned it that way—make me feel like I’m the outsider. Like I’m the one who should prove something.

Wrong.

I stay standi