LIAM'S POV
The warehouse smelled of salt, rust, and decay. My footsteps echoed on the concrete like accusations. Dock 7. Our old spot. Where we’d smoked stolen cigarettes and dreamed about futures that didn’t involve destroying each other.
He was there, a silhouette against the grimy window overlooking the black water. Daniel turned, his face pale in the dim light from a single hanging bulb.
“You came alone?” His voice was tight.
“You said to.” I stopped, keeping a good ten feet between us. “Where’s the evidence?”
He rubbed his face, the picture of a man on the edge. “It’s not that simple, Liam. Clara has safeguards. Copies. If I just hand it over, she’ll release everything.”
“So why am I here, Daniel?” I kept my hands in my pockets, my finger hovering over the record button on my o
