THIRD PERSON POV
Ace sat in the cold interrogation room, wrists cuffed to the metal table. Water dripped from his hair, tracing down his jawline. Across from him, a detective flipped through photos, grainy shots of the van, the warehouse, Sharon's ID photo.
"You want to tell us how that van ended up parked right outside your apartment, Mr. Langley?"
Ace didn't move. His stare fixed on the table, on nothing. Every sound felt distant; the hum of the air conditioner, the tick of the clock.
"I said," the detective leaned forward, "how does your vehicle tie to the missing girl?"
Ace finally looked up, his voice low, cold.
"Find her first. Then we'll talk."
The detective slammed a palm on the desk, frustrated, but before he could speak again, the station door opened, an officer whispered something to him. His eyes darted toward Ace with unease. Whoever this man was, he wasn't just a suspect anymore.
