⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•
We followed him down the corridor, the house growing quieter and chillier as we went deeper. Logan's study was just what I'd expected: dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk that looked more like a throne, everything arranged with military-like precision.
We spread out and started searching the filing cabinets, desk drawers, shelves, even the locked boxes that Ethan somehow knew the combinations for. But the more we dug, the clearer it became: Logan had been thorough.
Important documents were missing entire sections, files suspiciously incomplete, anything that could have been incriminating had vanished ages ago. The room wasn't chaotic like it had been when Ethan describe it earlier; instead, it felt intentionally bare, stripped down, sanitized.
The absence of anything useful was louder than any smoking gun.
I straightened up from the last drawer I'd checked, frustration tightening in my throat.
