The police car smelled of stale coffee and old vinyl. The cage between the seats was a geometry of shadows, cutting the world into squares. I watched my neighborhood pass by—the familiar turn to my street, the oak tree whose roots cracked the sidewalk—but we didn't turn. We drove past. I was already on the other side.
Even though everything was so crazy right now, I knew what to do. Just say everything.
The resolve was a cold, clear stone in my chest. It didn't feel like courage. It felt like exhaustion. The energy required to hold the lies, the half-truths, the edited memories, had finally run out. There was nothing left but the hollowed-out space where the truth had been festering.
Charles's assault. Lucian. Everything demonic.
I would tell them.
Perhaps there was no new life because the past kept coming back. But my present—what I would do today in that room—would define my every tomorrow. Even handcuffed, trapped like a criminal, I could choose this one thing.
