The room was cold, metallic, and fluorescent-lit, the kind of place designed to make you feel small.

Carolina sat alone at the bolted-down table, her wrists free now but still bearing faint red lines from the tight handcuffs. Her hair was disheveled from the scuffle, and one side of her cheek still stung faintly from Beth’s slap, now visible as a faint pink welt.

The door clicked, and she looked up quickly, eyes wary, breath held.

A man in a dark suit stepped inside, briefcase in one hand, ...