TW: Violence
The ratty-looking apartment loomed before us, its cracked walls with weeds growing in them and faded paint showing signs of neglect. A fitting backdrop for the confrontation that was about to happen. I shoved the guy in front of me through the door, my hand firm on his back, forcing him to move despite his obvious reluctance. He stumbled forward, letting out a pained grunt as he tried to regain his balance. The room we entered was dimly lit, the only light streaming through a barred window, casting ominous shadows on the dirty floor.
My heart pounded in my chest as I kept my hand on his back, shoving him further inside. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture, and the overwhelming stench of wooden decay. And then they landed on him—Jason Wagner. He was sitting casually on a chair, dressed in black, his eyes partially obscured by his bangs.
