60. Loosing Control

Marcus’s Point of View

The fluorescent lights of the county jail buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the concrete walls, the air thick with the stench of sweat and despair.

I leaned against the cold metal bench, my wrists raw from the cuffs they’d just removed, my jaw tight as the guard handed me my belongings—a wallet, a phone, the star pendant I’d taken from Ella, its chain glinting like a cruel reminder of her.

Freedom tasted bitter, not like victory but like a leash loosened just enough to choke me later. My father, Joshua Carter, had paid the bail—big surprise, his money always cleaned up my messes—but I knew the cost would come with his sanctimonious bullshit. Ella was alive, they’d told me, the bullet I’d fired in that cabin hadn’t killed her.

Part of me exhaled, a twisted relief that she was still out there, her face haunting me, her defiance burning in my mind. But another part—a darker, uglier part—wished she’d died, wished the shot had ended it, freed me from the d