Emily's hands were still shaking as she gripped the photograph, Croft's words echoing in her mind like accusations she couldn't escape. The interrogation room walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with the weight of all the lies and manipulation.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except stare at the image of Alexander and her father, locked in what looked like a violent argument the night before everything fell apart.
He knew. He knew all along.
Something snapped inside her. Emily shot to her feet, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. She didn't wait for Croft's permission, didn't care about protocol or consequences. She stormed out of the interrogation room, the photograph clutched in her white-knuckled grip.
"Miss Chen, wait—" Croft called after her, but she was already moving through the corridors of the Interpol facility, following the path they'd brought her in on.
