The police station was too bright.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, washing everything in a cold, flat white that made the late hour feel even later. The chairs were hard plastic. The air smelled like stale coffee and floor cleaner. Rina sat near the front desk while a medic wrapped her arm in a compression bandage — sprained, not broken, but the bruise was already darkening from her wrist to her elbow.
"She'll need to keep it elevated for a few days," the medic said.
Rina nodded without really hearing. Her eyes were on the other side of the room.
Tess sat beside her, the broken camcorder cradled in her lap. The screen was shattered, a spiderweb of cracks spreading from one corner, but when she pressed the power button, the display flickered. Still alive. Still holding everything. She hadn't put it down since the club.
