Luke’s POV
I knew Quentin’s rhythm too well.
The way he didn’t strike head-on but chipped, chipped, chipped until the whole thing collapsed. A predator didn’t charge. He circled. He waited. He bled you slow.
And now I could see it happening to her.
Thora was calling everyone she knew, pulling names from old notebooks, chasing scraps of support. I watched her hope shrink a little more each day. People who promised to stand tall suddenly couldn’t return a call. Doctors too busy. Neighbors too nervous. Friends remembering debts they didn’t want aired.
It was Quentin’s fingerprint, clean and perfect.
And it made my blood burn.
I sat in the back booth of a cheap bar near the docks, neon buzzing, grease in the air. Across from me, one of my contacts nursed a whiskey and a reluctance he tr
