Chapter 57 A Week Of Hell

• Roman
• I’ve stared at these damned walls for seven days, every second ticking away like a hammer against my skull. Seven days since she was taken, and the room still smells like her—like wildflowers and morning dew. It’s a scent that once gave me peace, but now it’s a cruel mockery, a bitter reminder of what I’ve lost, what I’ve failed to protect.
• My hands clench into fists, and I hear the crackling of paper under my grip. I’ve lost count of how many reports I’ve crumpled or shredded in my frustration.