The gray sedan felt like a coffin as we crossed the Manhattan Bridge. Below us, the East River was a black ribbon reflecting the jagged, neon-lit silhouette of a city that had tried to swallow me whole. My eyes were fixed on the screen of my phone, replaying the image Chloe had sent. Julian-bruised, bloodied, but still holding that defiant, aristocratic tilt to his chin, was tied to a rusted chair in a room I recognized instantly.The scent of salt and damp rot seemed to seep through the car windows as we entered Brooklyn. I knew that room. It was the basement of the old Sugar Refinery by the docks, a place where Chloe and I used to hide when we were teenagers, drinking stolen beer and dreaming of a life that didn’t involve counting pennies for a subway fare."She’s smart," I whispered, my voice sounding hollow. "She chose a place that’s a blind spot for the city’s surveillance. No cameras, no high-speed fiber optics. Just concrete and shadow.""She’s desperate," Marcus corrected,
最終更新日 : 2026-02-24 続きを読む