Lucas’s POV
“It wasn’t me,” she whispered again, voice cracking like thin ice. “It was… it was that woman.”
The words hit the quiet room like a gunshot. My heart slammed against my ribs, adrenaline spiking so hard my hands tingled. I stared at her—Maria Jackson—curled on the edge of that worn couch, looking small and terrified, like she was waiting for the floor to open and swallow her.
“What woman?” I asked, voice low, sharp. “Who are you talking about?”
She didn’t look up. Her hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white, fingers twisting together so hard I thought she might break them. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the old wall clock ticking like a countdown.
John shifted beside me, his presence steady but alert. I could feel him watching her every move, read
