The crew erupted in argument, voices crashing over each other like waves.
“She’s lying—photos can be doctored—” (Jerry)
“She walked through the front door knowing we could gut her. That’s not a liar’s move.” (Vince)
“We don’t even know what side she’s on. What if she’s bait?” (Julian, shaky)
Through it all, Pat stood still, watching Capol.
Finally, he raised a hand, silencing them.
“Enough.”
The room quieted. Capol’s voice was steel.
“She stays. For now.”
Jerry’s face went red. “Cap—”
“Jerry,” Capol said, voice low but edged with steel. “Drop it.”
The words weren’t a command—they were a reminder, a line drawn between brothers-in-arms. Jerry’s jaw flexed, fury radiating off him, but after a long, tense beat he slammed his pistol down on the table and leaned back, seething.
It wa
