Devon Aldridge stepped out of the FHCN's holding room, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a loud clang that echoed like a final nail in someone else's coffin. The hallway stretched out in front of him, buzzing fluorescent lights that flickered like they were whispering secrets he wasn't meant to hear.
He paused, rolling his shoulders to shake off the interrogation's tension, breathing in the chilly, recycled air. His eyes scanned the empty corridor, calm as ever, his mind already spinning ahead, plotting his next move. His steps were slow, deliberate, like a man who'd just flipped the script on his accusers and walked away without a scratch.
But he didn't get far barely ten feet before two men appeared at the end of the hall, moving toward him with purpose, like wolves catching the scent of prey.
