LAYLA'S POV
"No," I whispered, the word scraping against my throat. "No, Tye. That doesn't make sense."
I stared at the red letters on the screen, HELENA PORTER, but my mind refused to process it. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
It won't fit well!
"I don't want to believe it either, but the log doesn't lie, Layla," Tye said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "That's her biometric ID. She put her thumb on the scanner and authorised that package."
"But she was crying," I argued, pacing the small room. "She ripped her own clothes to bind his wounds. She sat by that door for five hours, holding a cup of water she was too terrified to drink. Tye, if she wanted him dead, why did she scream for the medic?"
Tye ran a hand over his face, looking conflicted. "Maybe she didn't know it was a bomb?"
