“Can I see your cameras?” Matt asked. The manager hesitated, then led him to a back office that smelled like paper and fried food. Square screens flickered: rain, pumps, a moth the size of regret.
They scrubbed the timeline. There was Sarah—blue hoodie, messy bun—stepping through the sliding doors, pausing, glancing left with that half-annoyed, half-amused look she gave him when he tried to be clever.
She bought water, paid cash, and… walked out of frame toward the side lot nobody uses—not even the cameras.
