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“Don’t.”

The word is quiet. A delicate warning on a razor sharp point.

Eli rests his forearms on the desk.

“You vanished. Completely. Disappeared without giving a shit.”

“I know. You told me to, remember?”

“Yes, because you were an unreliable liability, governed by your dick and not your brain. A message or two would have helped keep the conversation thread open, though.”

I look at the ceiling.

“Well. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Why? You couldn’t have cared less. Not before this morning.”

I sigh.

“I’m ready now, ok? I’m ready for it.”

Eli’s expression doesn’t change. Poker face at its finest.

I expected cynicism. Anger, perhaps. Instead, he watches me with the same concentration I used on Helena Mercer.

Waiting for the tell.

“Why should I believe you?” he asks.

“Because I’m wearing a suit that reeks of responsibility, not just showmanship.”

“Compelling.”

“I came before opening hours.”

“Excellent.”

“I’m sober.”

I get a tiny half smirk. A cold one.

“That’s how I know something is wrong with you.”

I almost smile, but my expression fails halfway.

Eli sees it. His eyes narrow.

“What the fuck happened, Jack?”

Silence.

“Jack?”

I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I hate the damn lurch in my guts.

“I see.” He leans back again. “In that case, who happened?”