Lucia stood in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, her hands gripping the edges of the paper so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
The room was stifling, the air thick with tension as Tynan adjusted the camera one last time, ensuring that every angle, every detail, was perfect.
He stepped back, surveying the setup with a critical eye, his lips curling into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"Remember, Lucia," he said, his voice cold and authoritative, "this is your moment to make things right. Or at least, make them seem right. No one watching this should have any reason to doubt what you're saying. You're a lawyer—you know how to present yourself. Do it convincingly if you don't want to be stuck in that basement again."
Volkan, who had been leaning against the wall with an air of detached amusement, pushed off from his position and approached her, his footsteps echoing ominously in the small space.
