Zayn's POV
The air in my office grew thick with tension as Penelope stood before me, her slender frame trembling slightly despite the steel in her voice. Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting elongated shadows across the Persian rug that had cost more than most people made in a year. The scent of her anxiety - that distinctive blend of cookie and something uniquely Penelope - filled the space between us.
She didn't wait for my prompting. The words burst forth like water through a crumbling dam.
"The rogue currently rotting in the Bureau cell didn't kill Harper."
My fingers tightened imperceptibly around the glass, the ice cubes clinking softly as I schooled my features into careful neutrality. "That's quite the accusation," I murmured, swirling the amber liquid in slow circles. "What possible evidence could you have to support such a claim?"
