They didn’t go anywhere near the gas station.
The car turned onto a side street lined with old brick buildings.
Mike parked.
He got out.
Opened the passenger door.
Vivian stepped into view.
They walked toward a building just at the edge of the frame.
I paused the video.
The sign showed a silhouetted figure — feminine, arched, arms raised.
Vivian went inside alone.
Mike waited.
Twenty minutes.
Then thirty.
I sat frozen at the table.
Nothing in the footage looked illegal.
But nothing about it felt right.
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