“I—I’m looking at it,” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing. She stared at the screen, a cursor blinking in the empty field like a heartbeat.
“The credentials, ma’am,” Miller pressed, his voice losing its professional veneer and sharpening into a jagged, impatient blade. “Every second you waste is a second closer to a marked car pulling up to your driveway. Do you hear that?” He paused for the words to sink in.
Evelyn let out a sharp cry, “Oh, please! Not the police! My neighbors… they’ll see! They’ll think I’ve done something terrible!” She slumped back in her chair, the phone slipping slightly from her grip before she hastily recovered it. “I’m typing it in. My fingers are just… I’m so nervous. I’m making mistakes.”