“PLAY IT one more time.”
The words came out rougher than Jeremiah intended.
The laptop sat on a scarred metal workbench between them, its screen casting a cold blue glow across the dim garage. Oil stains darkened the concrete floor. A single heater hummed in the corner, fighting the winter air that crept in through the cracked door.
Mason did not look up. His fingers moved fast across the keyboard.
“You have watched it eight times,” Mason said. “If it was going to magically change, it would have by now.”
“Play it,” Jeremiah repeated.
Mason sighed and hit the space bar.
The video flickered to life again.
Grainy footage. Nighttime. A man built like Jeremiah standing over another body. A gunshot echoed. The figure turned just enough for the camera to catch his profile.
The lie stared
