Brian’s POV

The police station wasn’t far from my apartment.

Ten minutes if you walked slow. Eight if you didn’t look back.

I walked.

Not because I wanted to savor it—but because it was the last time I’d move through this city without a record.

Without eyes on my back.

Without the weight of consequences finally pressing against my ribs.

I’d spent months justifying what I did. Telling myself it wasn’t real crime. That it didn’t matter. That it was the only way to survive ...