I followed.
Dustin followed me.
His friends stayed where they were.
Inside the cramped office, Ray sat behind a desk and woke the computer.
A stack of membership forms sat beside an old coffee mug. A framed photograph showed Ray standing beside a teenage boy in wrestling headgear.
His son, probably.
There were medals on the wall, but they were dusty.
Real achievements usually did not need constant polishing.
Ray opened the security program.
“What day?” he asked.
I thought about Marcy’s visit.
“Two nights ago.”
Dustin leaned against the doorframe.
“This is a waste of time.”
Nobody answered.
Ray scrolled through footage.
People entered and left.
Men carried duffel bags.
A woman cleaned the front desk.
At 8:47 p.m., Marcy appeared.
My heart tightened.
She looked normal.
Jeans.
Blue sweater.
Her hair pulled back.
She walked through the gym toward the office corridor.
Three minutes later, Dustin followed.
