Richard’s POV
The prison guard gave me a silent nod, sliding the iron door open with a groan that echoed like death itself. The stench hit me instantly—damp concrete, rusted metal, and the faintest trace of bleach failing to mask the rot. It was poetic, in a grotesque kind of way. Fitting for the woman inside.
Elane. The snake.
She sat hunched on the metal bench, her greasy hair clinging to her face, eyes sunken with sleepless nights. But she wasn’t alone.
A figure stood before her—tall, poised, dangerous.
It took me a second to recognize her from the faded photographs Laura once kept in a hidden drawer, the ones she thought I’d never seen.
Mrs Jones.
Retired FBI. Laura’s mother.
The woman who vanished. The woman Elane tried to erase.
Her eyes snapped to mine with lethal precision
