Justin's POV:
The air smelled of mold, piss, and chemical tang.
A single bulb burned overhead, swinging on a frayed wire. Shadows sprawled across oil-stained concrete.
They were waiting.
Three men in pale coats — not scientists, not quite soldiers. Somewhere between. Their eyes flat, dead. And behind them, half-lost in shadow: another figure. Taller. Older. The one holding the phone.
The one who spoke.
"You came," he rasped, voice dry as paper.
I kept my expression blank. "You have her?"
He smiled, thin and reptilian. "We do."
"Proof."
He raised a device — a tablet. Tapped the screen.
For a heartbeat, she was there.
June.
Bruised. Gagged. Eyes wild, but alive. Hands bound behind her back.
The clip ended as fast as it started.
Alive. For now.
I exhaled, the monster inside howling with relief and rage tangled so tightly it cut my ribs.
"What do you want?" My voice was low, even.
