Norma dragged in a breath. Slow. Heavy. The kind of breath that said this one's gonna hurt coming out.
She leaned forward, elbows pressing into the back of the chair, red nails clicking once against the wood. "I wasn't gonna bring this up." Her eyes flicked to each of them, steady and sharp. "But after puttin' the pieces together—sugar, I realized somethin'."
Her gaze darkened. "I know Graves."
Claire stiffened. "You what?"
Maggie blinked, mouth parting. "Like... know-know?"
Norma's grin was slow, feral. "Oh yeah. We've danced before." She sat back, rolling her neck like the memory tasted half whiskey, half gunpowder. "Few years back, I was on a job down in Miami. Real slick piece of work. Target was a slimy arms dealer—should've been an easy pull. But guess who crawled outta the shad
