Val’s P.O.V

The silence in Brielle’s apartment was profound, a stark contrast to the roaring panic of the garage and the tense revelations in the car. It was the clean, quiet hum of central air, the soft glow of recessed lighting, and the expansive, minimalist calm of a space that cost more than my entire high school education. We sat just there in her living room, a trio of ruffled, bag-laden refugees in a palace of serene order.

The adrenaline was still buzzing in my veins, but the ...