"I was looking for the archive key," Damian said, and heard, even as the words left his mouth, exactly how thin they sounded. "Your drawer was open. I didn't mean to go through it."
"Didn't you." Aldo's voice had lost every trace of the warmth Damian had known his whole life, replaced by something flat and assessing, a man recalculating in real time how much damage had already been done. His eyes moved to the phone still in Damian's hand, and something in his expression hardened further. "How much of that call did you hear?"
There was no version of this conversation where lying convincingly was still an option — not with the phone sitting there between them as evidence neither of them could unspeak. Damian understood, in the half-second it took him to decide how to answer, that his next
