“I don’t know anything about that,” he says.
I step closer, closing the space between us until the tension becomes unavoidable.
“That’s not true,” I say quietly.
“I’m telling you?—”
“No,” I interrupt, my voice lowering further. “You’re trying not to get involved.”
“That’s because I’m not involved,” he snaps.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
“You work routes tied to his sector,” I say. “You move things that don’t get logged properly, and you expect me to believe you weren’t anywhere near this?”
His breathing shifts, subtle but noticeable.
“I don’t ask questions,” he says.
“That’s the problem,” I reply. “You should have.”
“I like being alive,” he shoots back.
“Yeah,” I say. “So did he.”
The words settle heavily between us, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Paarson looks away briefly, his face twisting into something that looks a lot like fear.
“You don’t understand what you’re stepping into,” he says.
“Then explain it,” I reply.
He shakes his head immediately.
“No,” he says. “I’m not getting pulled into this.”
“You’re already in it,” I say. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when people start dying,” I counter.
The silence that follows stretches longer this time, pressing in from all sides.
“You want to walk away from this?” I ask, my voice quieter now, more deliberate. “Then give me something real.”
Paarson exhales sharply, dragging a hand across his face before dropping it again.
“Tury messed with the wrong routes,” he says finally.
I don’t interrupt him.
I don’t need to.
“Keep going,” I say.
“He started tracking shipments,” Paarson continues, his voice lower now. “Not just noticing gaps—mapping them. Cross-referencing timing, movement, transfer points.”
“That’s what got him flagged,” I say.
