n Laws

onous sound that vibrated in my teeth. Across the metal table, C

," she said to Detective Miller, her voice trem

urned his gaze to me. His expression was professionally blank. "Ms. Lawson, you we

r in the corner was typing, each keystroke a nail in my coffin. I focused ev

re you charge me, may I ask the 'victim'

d her face before she buried it under a fresh wave o

on of a common thief caught red-handed. It intrigued hi

r her. "Ms. Smith, you said it was a diamond ri

und the room. "It was... it was whi

platinum. PT950, to be exact. Not white gold." As a jewelry designer, the difference was as fu

g soft, almost conversational.

those technical terms!" Candace sna

. "Not round. And it's flanked by twelve pav

He picked up his pen and began to write in his notepad. The officer in the corner

Candace shrieked, jumping to her f

e final blow. My voice didn't rise, but the question landed like a bomb in the

sil

nd came out. She couldn't know. Damien had given it to her as a shiny bauble, a trop

as sharp as a scalpel, pinning C

r, precise, and devoid of emotion. Each one was a v

the room. "D for Damien. A for Addison. It wa

transforming from a simple burglary into a messy, public do

rd. He looked at me, his tone now respectful.

tered now. "I'm certain. Damien has a habit of hiding valuable things he doesn't want found easily

specific, too int

against the linoleum. He looked at h

of composure. She leaped up, her voice a hysterical scream

on was the most damn

victory, only the cold, hollowed-out landscape of my heart. For the

is voice cold iron. "If you obstruct this i

in her designer handbag, her hands shaking

her phone, her thumb sha

n, sav