Callum leans forward enough to look over Finley’s shoulder.
“A paw print?”
I ignore him.
Finley holds the page out.
Simple.
Small.
Clean enough to mean nothing to anyone who doesn’t know.
Callum squints. “Where’s that?”
“Whitstable.”
There is a beat.
A quiet one.
The sort that says both men have immediately understood this is not just geography.
Finley glances up at me.
“Inside forearm?”
“Yeah.”
He gestures at the chair.
I sit and rollup my sleeve.
Finley starts cleaning the inside of my arm with alcohol, cold and sharp.
Callum says nothing for a few seconds.
Which is somehow worse than talking.
Then, “The paw print.”
I keep my eyes on the opposite wall.
“What about it?”
He nods towards the sketch.
“That for the hamster or the bloke?”
Finley snorts.
Straight in.
I drag out a breath. “Heath.”
Neither of them says anything.
I can feel the disbelief in stereo.
