Nolan doesn’t leave when Damian tells him to kill it.
He stands on the other side of the desk, arms folded, tablet still in his hand, watching the way Damian’s fingers drum once against the glass, then go utterly still.
“Adrian’s already leaning on the site’s editor,” Nolan says. “He owes us three favors and a kidney.”
“Cash out all three,” Damian says. “He can keep the kidney.”
Nolan’s mouth twitches.
“And their freelancer?” he asks. “This doesn’t look like their usual in‑house trash. Angle’s too smart, timing too precise.”
Damian taps the edge of the tablet, bringing the thumbnail back up.
The blurred silhouette of Ava’s body exiting his building feels like a gun barrel pressed against his ribs.
“Freelancer first,” he says. “If they’ve sold to anyone else, we need to know who and
