Breathe in. Breathe out.

Angie knew what Viv was doing, and she had to warn Williams. He was getting too involved, too blinded by the alluring glow Viv — that damn, charming woman — cast around her. He needed to understand she wasn’t perfect. He needed to know she wasn’t who he thought she was.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Angie measured her steps, her nose wrinkling instinctively as the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air. The garage grew darker with every passing second. The oppressive silence unsettled her—part of her was relieved she heard nothing, but another part knew it could only mean one thing: Viv already knew she was here.

The thought made her blood run cold. Viv’s cleverness was terrifying, but Angie reminded herself why she was doing this—for Williams.

Thud!

She froze.

3… 2… 1…

Turning sharply, she spotted scattered boxes in the corner. It was probably just rats in this damned garage, but the image of Viv’s potential crimes loomed over her, making her skin crawl. The smell of blood was so vivid now that Angie could taste it—coppery and bitter, clinging to her tongue and throat. Her stomach churned as she fought the urge to vomit. Whether it was the stench or sheer terror, she couldn’t stay here much longer.

Each step forward felt like a mistake. She reminded herself: evidence and warn him. Evidence and warn. That’s it.

The space cleared, and harsh yellow light flooded the room, illuminating what lay ahead. Angie’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene. A table stood in the center, its loose straps dangling like silent witnesses. Tools lay scattered around it, stained with reddish-brown smears. Bags and instruments hinted at horrors she couldn’t fathom. Her mind reeled, filling in the blanks with grotesque imaginings.

She doubled over and vomited.

Her body shook as she clung to the wall for support, bile rising every time her eyes strayed back to the table. Nausea clawed at her, but she couldn’t look away.

Then, a voice broke through the suffocating silence.

It was soothing, calm—a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Angie.”

Her head snapped up. Williams stood there, perfectly still, his figure silhouetted in the yellow glow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes pierced through her.

Angie gasped for air, her voice raw and trembling as she managed to croak, “She’s not who she says she is.”

“I know,” Williams replied, his tone steady, almost chilling.

His unyielding gaze sent a shiver down her spine.