*Chris' POV*
The clock on the wall clicked, slow and steady, the sound threading through the silence until it felt like a countdown I couldn't stop.
I'd already worn a path across the small living room, from the window to the kitchen doorway and back again. The air inside the safe house felt too still; every breath came with that heavy taste of waiting.
Anne sat at the table, hunched over her laptop, the map spread beneath it. One hand pressed the phone to her ear, her voice low and precise, repeating numbers and coordinates, the same information she'd given the last three times. The techs sat in front of another screen, wires and papers cluttering the counter, muttering updates that always started with "we're checking" and ended with "still nothing confirmed."
Every time someone said they were "working on it," my pulse jumped. I couldn't sit, couldn't stop moving.
The walls were too close.
The window too small.
