I AM YOURS TO PLAY
The air smelled of sweat and stale coffee, and the silence was heavy, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the low hum of voices across from me.
Supervisory Special Agent Reynolds sat flanked by two directors from FBI Headquarters, their suits crisp, their faces carved from stone. Director Hargrove, a wiry man with a hawkish nose, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with contempt. Director Patel, broader, with a shaved head that gleamed under the light, tapped a pen against a stack of files. Reynolds looked tired, his jaw tight, his gaze flickering between me and the table like he didn’t know where to land.
Bab Populer