*Continuation of Chris' POV*
They told me to breathe, but the air in this safe house didn't seem to fill my lungs the way it used to. It felt filtered, measured, like the windows themselves were watching me back. I kept moving without thinking, pacing the little living room until my feet ached, then stopping to stare out at the porch as if the night would cough up a tail-light and deliver Audra back to me.
Anne was on the tablet, square after square of law enforcement faces filling the screen. The chief's jaw was tight, eyes tired; a couple of uniforms I recognised from the perimeter checks leaned forward with coffee cups, all of them polite and businesslike in a way that tried to keep a lie together.
They had maps, times and radio channels.
They had contingencies.
They had checklists.
They had my voice on the line as the centrepiece of their plan, and I felt like the most dangerous thing in the room and the most fragile.
