“Simon!” I flared the next second, my voice cutting through the air like a whip. “I had it under control!” The words exploded out of me, a raw burst of fury. My chest heaved, my whole body trembling as though my anger had taken physical form. “You had to go and ruin it!” The shout broke in my throat, crumbling into something weaker, a whimper disguised as rage. My hand fell, limp, as my voice did the same. Anger died in me as suddenly as it had come, leaving only hollowness in its wake. Around me, the air thickened with tension. Every officer, every guard, even Sandra, the usually unflappable detective, exchanged uneasy looks. The silence in the room was weighted, brittle, like one wrong sound could shatter it. “I’m sorry.” Simon’s voice came quiet, subdued. He sounded beaten down, his tone laced with remorse. But my heart was too battered to process apology, too raw to let it touch me. I didn’t respond. Instead, I stretched my hand out, slow and mechanical, palm open. He placed m
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