The rain had stopped by the time Lena made it back to the county jail, but the air still hung heavy, thick with the smell of wet asphalt and exhaust. It was late afternoon now, the sky a bruised purple, and her bones ached from the hours spent waiting—first in the car after Darius’s half-spilled confession, then in the jail lobby again, clutching a crumpled visitor form like a lifeline. He’d told her enough to make her head spin: Kev had been desperate, strung out, begging Marcus for a lift to “handle something.” Darius swore he didn’t know what, but the way his eyes slid away when he said it told her he was still holding cards close. She’d left him in the parking lot with a warning: “Fix this, or I will.”

Inside, the waiting room was a purgatory of chipped paint and buzzing lights. Lena sat on a bench, Marcus’s jacket folded in her lap, her fingers tracing the worn seams. The clerk had finally called her name after three hours, handing her a pass and a curt “Fifteen minutes, no contact.” She’d nodded, too drained to argue, and followed a guard through a maze of steel doors, each one clanging shut behind her like a judgment.

The visitation room was a narrow box, split by a Plexiglas wall smudged with fingerprints. She took a seat on the metal stool, the cold biting through her jeans, and waited. Her reflection stared back from the glass—hollow eyes, braids fraying, a woman she barely recognized. She straightened up, smoothing her hoodie, wanting to look strong for him. He’d need that. She needed it too.

The door on the other side buzzed, and there he was—Marcus, shuffling in with his hands cuffed in front, an orange jumpsuit hanging loose on his frame. His cap was gone, his curls flattened, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. He looked smaller somehow, diminished, but when his eyes found hers, they lit up with that same fire she’d fallen for. He dropped into the chair opposite her, pressing a palm to the glass like he could push through it.

“Lena,” he said, voice muffled through the speaker between them. “You okay?”

She laughed, sharp and brittle. “Am I okay? Marcus, they dragged you out of our house. Are you okay?”

He shrugged, a ghost of his old grin flickering. “Been better. Food’s trash, though. Tell me you brought ribs.”

She wanted to smile, to play along, but the weight of the day crushed it down. “I talked to Darius,” she said instead, leaning closer. “He said Kev was at the shop Monday. Said you gave him a ride.”

Marcus’s face tightened, his hand dropping from the glass. “Yeah. I did.”

Her breath caught. “To rob a gas station?”

“No!” He slapped the table, the sound echoing in the small space. “Hell no, Lena. He said he needed to pick up some cash—family stuff, he swore. I dropped him off at a corner on Fulton, that’s it. I didn’t know—he didn’t tell me—”

“You didn’t ask?” Her voice rose, trembling. “Marcus, you promised me that life was done. No more favors, no more Kev—”

“I know,” he cut in, low and fierce. “I know, baby. I messed up. He was shaking, talking about his kid being sick, and I—I couldn’t just leave him there. But I didn’t do this. You gotta believe me.”

She wanted to. God, she did. His eyes were wide, pleading, the same ones that had promised her a porch swing last night. But the doubt from this morning lingered, sharp as a blade. “They’ve got evidence,” she said, quieter now. “That’s what the cops said. What if Kev set you up?”

He leaned back, rubbing his face with cuffed hands. “Then I’m screwed. But Darius—he saw it go down. He can tell ‘em I didn’t go near that station.”

“He’s dodging,” she said, frustration spilling out. “Half-answers, excuses. I told him to come here, but I don’t know if he will.”

Marcus nodded, slow, like he wasn’t surprised. “He’s scared. Always has been. But he’ll come through. He owes me that.”

The guard tapped the wall—five minutes left. Lena’s chest tightened. “What do I do, Marcus? Tell me what to do.”

“Find Kev,” he said, leaning in again, voice urgent. “He’s the key. And stick with Darius—he knows more than he’s letting on. I’m gonna fight this, Lena. I swear.”

She pressed her hand to the glass, lining it up with his. “I’m with you,” she whispered. “No matter what.”

The guard called time, and Marcus stood, reluctance in every line of him. “Love you,” he mouthed as they led him out, the door slamming shut.

Lena stayed there, hand still on the glass, until the cold seeped into her bones. She’d fight—for him, for them. But as she walked back into the gray dusk, Darius’s evasions and Kev’s ghost loomed larger than ever, and she wondered how many promises she could keep before they broke her.