“You shouldn’t have opened it,” Sarah whispered from the shadows of the kitchenette. She didn't look at him. She was busy cleaning a shallow graze on her shoulder with a bottle of cheap gin.
“Give me one reason,” Miller growled, his voice thick with a betrayal that hurt worse than any bullet. [S7E3] Salt in the Wound
The door kicked open, and Miller stepped in, looking ten years older than the last time they’d met. He didn't lead with a warrant. He led with his weapon leveled at Elias’s chest. “You shouldn’t have opened it,” Sarah whispered from
“He’s not here to arrest me,” Elias said, realization dawning like a cold sweat. “He’s here to make sure I don't talk. They told him I killed the Mayor's daughter, didn't they?” “Give me one reason,” Miller growled, his voice
The neon sign outside the motel flickered, casting a rhythmic, sickly blue light over Detective Elias Thorne’s hands. They were shaking. Not from the cold—it was a humid July night in Louisiana—but from the weight of the folder sitting on the grease-stained table.