Lianas pov

The room was dimly lit, the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the occasional flick of Stanley’s pen against the worn notepad in front of him. I sat across from him at the table. The walls were lined with whiteboards, pins, and threads of different colors mapping out timelines and connections that would give any outsider a migraine. Yet, in this chaos, I felt a strange sense of control.

"We can't keep playing defense," I said, my voice low but firm. "We need ...