The safe house smells like someone else's life. Old coffee. Dust. That particular staleness of a place nobody actually lives in.Victoria's already there when we arrive, hunched over a laptop at the kitchen table. Three monitors. Too many cables. The blue light makes her look sick.She glances up. Sees my face."Your father," she says. Not a question.I don't answer. There's nothing to say about a man who died handcuffed to a table because he finally told the truth.Damien checks the windows. Twice. Then the back door. Then the windows again. His hand keeps drifting toward his hip where his gun sits. He hasn't stopped moving since we left the burning police station."Sit," Victoria says. "Please."The couch is brown. Seventies, maybe. The cushions sag in the wrong places. I sit anyway because my legs hurt and I can't remember the last time I ate or slept or did anything normal people do to stay functional.Damien stays by the window.Victoria turns one of her monitors toward me. "Dr.
최신 업데이트 : 2026-01-10
