Damien's pov
I leaned back in my car seat, staring out at the dark, quiet parking lot. The detective's office was just ahead, its small, unremarkable sign barely visible under the dim streetlight. I checked my watch. It was past nine, but I didn't care. If he was asleep, I'd wake him up.
This had gone on long enough.
Stepping out of the car, I adjusted my jacket and headed for the door. The cold night air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind was too busy running through every suspicious thing Cassandra had done.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and the smell of stale coffee hit me immediately. The detective, an older man with a weathered face and tired eyes, looked up from his cluttered desk. He didn't look surprised to see me.
"Mr. Steele," he greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I wasn't expecting you this late."
"I need answers," I said bluntly, closing the door behind me. "And I need them now."
