I don’t move right away.
My body knows better than my mind does. Every instinct screams that this is a trigger, not a target. That stepping closer is exactly what he wants. That this is bait layered over something worse. Still, my feet carry me forward, slow and controlled, gun lowered but ready, eyes locked on the mannequin standing beneath the spotlight like a sacrificial offering I was meant to find.
The light hums faintly above it.
Too clean. Too focused. Nothing else in this place works properly, but this does.
The dress hangs wrong on it.
That’s the first thing I notice. Not the color. Not the cut. The way the fabric pulls unnaturally across the torso, stretched too tight as if someone forced it into place without caring about damage. The waist is twisted slightly, off-center, l
