I pull into the location Mr. Cyrus sent me on WhatsApp. My eyes flick from one corner to the next, and a cold dread seeps into my veins. This place—it's worse than I imagined. No wonder downtown has a reputation for being the seediest part of the city.
Abandoned buildings tower over me, half-finished, half-falling apart. Graffiti scrawls across walls like desperate warnings. Broken windows leer like hollow eyes. There are empty condom wrappers, used syringes littering the ground. Grass pokes through broken asphalt like nature's last attempt to reclaim the decay.
I grip the steering wheel tightly, staring at the desolate scene, every alarm in my body ringing loud, warning me not to get down the truck and go back.
What the hell am I doing here?
