Page 12

I fast-forward.

Two of our staff step out half an hour later to smoke. They talk, laugh, one tosses his cigarette butt into a puddle, they go back inside.

No Lana.

Further on, a drunk staggers into the alley from the street end, uses the wall to steady himself while he pisses behind the dumpster, then shuffles back out. He never goes near the door.

Rio’s fingers drum on the butt of his gun.

I rewind to the time Morales claims Lana ran.

We watch, every second drags.

“Nothing,” Rio exhales hard. “She lied through her teeth.”

“Yes,” I say.

“That’s it.” He turns from the screens. “She dies now.”

He heads for the door with purpose. A decision in every line of his body. His cell vibrates again, buzzing against his leg. He doesn’t slow down.

“Rio.” I keep my voice low but it cuts through. “Stop.”

“I’m going back down there,” he says without turning. “I’m putting a bullet through her throat. She doesn’t get to stand here breathing after this.”

“Wait,” I say as I see the monitor flicker. “Rio. Come here.”

He huffs out another curse but turns, muscles tense, patience gone. “Brox, I swear–”

“Here she is.”

Rio crosses the room in three strides.

On the screen, the alley door slams open.

Lana bursts through it, stumbling once before catching herself. She’s wearing jeans, and a jacket. She looks small in that alley, head down, shoulders hunched, as if she expects someone to drag her back inside.

She presses her palm on the wall to steady herself, then she pushes off and runs.

She never looks back, so it’s difficult to see her face.

Her feet splash through a shallow puddle, droplets flying around her ankles. She flies past the dumpsters, past the security light. The camera catches her profile for a blink, but her face is blurred.

Then she hits the corner and disappears.

I stare at the screen.

Rio steps closer, his palms braced on the edge of the console below it. His head dips low. I see his shoulders fall.

“She knows there is no escape.” I’m confused. “She knows the eyes we have on the streets. Lana isn’t stupid. So why do all this?”

“She had every reason to,” Rio mutters. His fingers dig into the console. “Morales drugged her. She woke up in that lab, restrained, with a needle in her arm.” His mouth twists. “After Alessio, after what we let happen. Of course she ran.”

His words land solid. Logical. They slot together in a neat internal sequence: trauma, fear, flight. It tracks.

But it still doesn’t sit right in my bones. I can’t say for certain that the woman on the screen is Lana.

I watch the screen again as Lana bursts through the door. Freeze-frame. Her hand on the metal bar. Her head turned slightly toward the interior, as though someone shouted behind her. Her expression…