Justin's POV
The glass slipped from my hand, shattering against the polished tiles. The sharp crack echoed through the vast emptiness of the mansion, fragments scattering across the floor like pieces of my already fractured soul. I didn't even flinch. My pulse thundered in my veins, my lungs locked, and for the first time in days, hope surged through me like wildfire.
"Send it to me," I rasped, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles whitened. My voice was nothing more than a broken whisper, but it carried the desperation of a man clinging to his last lifeline. "Send me the address."
"Check your inbox in some minutes," the private investigator said. His voice was calm, too calm, in stark contrast to the storm ripping through me.
"Do it now!" I snapped, pacing like a caged animal.
Click. The line went dead.
I stood frozen, breathing hard, every nerve straining toward the silence. Then my phone buzzed. A notification. The address.
51 Willow Creek Road, Edgewood.
