You pull out your phone, fingers clumsy. You open the shared location app. The little dot pulses. Warehouses. The industrial edge of the city.

Your stomach drops. You grab your keys from the bowl by the door. The fob feels cold.

Outside, your car sits under the streetlight—low, sleek, a deep metallic blue. It roars to life, the engine a loud, angry growl that shatters the suburban silence. You peel out, speeding through dark, empty streets, following the blinking dot on your screen.

You park a block away from an old, corrugated steel warehouse, killing the headlights. The engine ticks as it cools. The air smells like rain and rust.

Voices echo from inside the building. Muffled, arguing. Then— A sharp, cracking sound. A gunshot.

You freeze, one hand on your car door. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

Slowly, you get out. Your footsteps are too loud on the gravel. You move toward the sound, around the corner of the building, into the dim yellow light spilling from a half-open loading bay door.

And you see him. Your boyfriend. Silhouetted against the harsh interior light. A gun, held loosely in his right hand. A man in a suit, clutching his chest, crumpling to the concrete floor.