Leah Ashbrook sat in the interrogation room like she was waiting for a delayed flight, not facing a kidnapping investigation.
Her robe had been swapped for a simple holding jumper. Her hair was pulled back neatly. Her hands were folded on the table, fingers relaxed, posture upright. Even under harsh fluorescent lights, even with the weight of suspicion pressing down, she carried herself like a woman who expected the world to bend.
Chief Claude watched her from the other side of the table without blinking.
He wasn’t impressed by posture.
He wasn’t moved by tears.
And Leah, to her credit, didn’t waste time pretending to cry tonight.
Ryan sat outside the interrogation area, pacing the corridor like his bones didn’t fit inside his skin. Tevin leaned against the wall with his arms folded,
