Page 100 of Only Be Mine

The hallway was colder than the lobby.

Not just the temperature, but the tone. The air felt stripped of softness, like warmth wasn’t allowed past that first door. The overhead lights were brighter, harsher. The floors gleamed in a way that made every footstep sound loud and exposed.

The detective walked a half-step ahead of me. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t slow down for my panic either. Like he’d walked this path with a hundred strangers and learned not to match their pace.

I forced myself to keep moving.

Questions. You can handle questions.

We passed a room with chain-link walls, some kind of holding area, and my skin crawled. Another door, another code pad. A security camera watching us like we were already suspects.

The detective stopped in front of a stainless-steel door with a small square window.

Something inside me recoiled, sharp and instinctive, like an animal sensing danger.

My brain recognized it before my body did.

Every show. Every movie. Every nightmare.

My knees buckled.

“No,” I whispered, and the word didn’t sound like it came from me. It sounded like it came from something deep and childlike and terrified.

The detective turned slightly. “Ms. Larkin…”

“I thought…” My voice broke. I swallowed hard. “You said… you said you needed to talk to me.”

His expression shifted. Not with sympathy or kindness. Just something practiced.

“We do,” he said, carefully. “But first we need you to confirm an identity.”

Confirm an identity.

My stomach lurched so violently I barely had time to bend before everything came up. I hit the floor on my knees and retched, emptying the last of dinner and alcohol into nothing but air and panic until my body convulsed with the effort.

The world narrowed to the sound of it - wet, humiliating, unstoppable.

The detective was gone for a moment and back again with a trash can, placing it in front of me like this was routine, like grief always did this.

I clutched the rim and kept going until my throat burned and my eyes streamed and the bile left me shaking.

When I finally lifted my head, the floor was swimming.

The detective offered me water and I waved it away.

My hands were trembling so badly I had to press them against my thighs to make them stop.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“You can,” he said softly. “You’re stronger than you feel right now.”

I almost laughed. I almost screamed.

He didn’t know me. Didn’t know the kind of strength it took to keep breathing for ten years with no answers. He didn’t know the kind of weakness it took to show up tonight in the first place.

“I need you to do this,” he added.

I forced myself to stand.