AZAZEL STILL LURKS.

Chapter: 12.

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Logan sat waiting in the dark room, his fingers drumming along the tabletop in a repetitive beat as his eyes darted around the bare walls. His body was rigid with tension, and his breath came out harshly as he tried to control it. He looked like an animal trapped in some kind of cage, waiting for a predator to come and feed on him. The air was thick with the scent of bleach and sweat, which only added to Logan's already foul mood. The small space felt claustrophobic. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, threatening to break through his ribs and burst from his mouth. Sweat dripped down his temple, pooling on the wooden table beneath his fingers and staining the wood grain. It was cold in the room, almost frigid, but Logan didn't mind so much.

He was in a state of shock. He couldn't believe that he was a suspect in the death of his co-officer, Steven Martins. As a detective, he had seen his fair share of crime scenes, but this was different. It was personal.

He had