Chapter 89 God, This Woman

• Dante’s POV
• The precinct smelled the same as ever; bleach, burnt coffee, and sweat. The walls hadn’t changed either. Off-white, lined with award plates and tired officers slumped behind their desks. Even the ceiling fan above me creaked in the exact same rhythm, like some damn ghost of the past trying to hum me a warning.
• I stepped inside slowly, my boots echoing against the scuffed tiles. The detective on the phone had given me no details. Just an address, a name, and a tone I didn’t like.