The safe flat smelled faintly of bergamot and gun oil, a confession booth for people who didn’t believe in absolution. Rain traced runnels on the windows. The city beyond them glittered—distant, unwilling to sleep.
Nora spread the grey case contents across the table and began extracting teeth from paper. “Give me an hour and a crime we can read aloud,” she said, already somewhere else in her head.
Emilia nodded. “Call if the river rises.”
Nora glanced up and saw something on Emilia’s face, or maybe in Rafael’s posture and softened. “I’ll be very loud,” she said, and retreated to the other room, door left ajar, headphones on.
Silence breathed.
Emilia stood a long moment without speaking, hands braced on the table, eyes on a ledger she wasn’t seeing. Rafael didn’t ask. He waited the way
