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“Assistant for what?”

I ignore the question, and keep walking. As I move deeper into the bowels of the warehouse, my breath fogs the air. Every step feels heavier, and Nico’s presence doesn’t help.

I don’t need an audience for what I’m about to do.

“Luther?” He tugs on my arm.

I snatch it away and close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

When I open them again, I push back my shoulders and nod. Resolve hardens deep in my gut like cooling lava. What I’m about to do is abhorrent, yes, but necessary.

It’s necessary.

For Mack and for everyone else, it’s necessary.

As we round a corner, I spot what I’ve been looking for; a curtain of clear plastic sheeting, shielding something from view.

“Luther…” Nico steps in front of me. His muscles are convulsing beneath his skin. He looks as if he’s trying hard to hold back a shift, and I wonder what it is about this place that’s making him need it so badly.

“Annalise found someone who knows where the scepter is. She wants me to…” I pause, searching for a word that isn’t torture, “extract the information from him.”

Nico frowns. His jaw tenses. He sighs a little, but then nods at me. Clearly, he knows what it means when Annalise asks for something. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“I need you to stay quiet, and catch him if he tries to run. That’s it.” I start walking. With my back to him, I add, “And I need you to stop me if I go too far.”

“How do I know what too far looks like?”

“It looks like me losing my shit and killing the guy instead of getting the intel we need.” My features darken. I can feel it, and I see the fear congeal in Nico’s eyes.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll stop you. You have my word.”

“You also need to stop me if I pussy out and try to end this whole thing,” I whisper. “I don’t know what this will do to me, but⁠—”

Nico ducks to meet my gaze. I’m surprised when looking into his strange, hellish eyes makes me feel better instead of worse. “I’ve got you,” he says. “I know how this goes.”

“I’m sure you do,” I reply darkly. Because fuck knows what the Bureau have had him doing for them all these months.

Turning away, facing the curtain, I brace myself. Then I stride forward.

* * *

When I push through the clear plastic screen, its edges stick to my skin. The sheeting separates behind me with a soft rustle then settles.

In the center of the room, illuminated by a too-bright lamp, sits an old man. He looks frail; skinny arms, skinny legs. Gray hair. Unkempt beard.

He’s been bound to a chair that seems too large for him, and he’s wearing a blindfold, dirty dark sweat pants, and a loose white shirt. A strange combination of clothes. But who am I to judge? Mack is the fashionable one in the group. My main criteria for picking clothes is whether they accentuate my shoulders and come in black.

I walk over to the lamp and turn it off.

The man on the chair turns his head toward the sound. His jaw twitches, and he looks like he’s about to smile. If he’s relieved to have company, he’s soon going to change his mind about that.

Moving closer, I pull up a stool and sit opposite him, our knees almost touching. Then I flick a flame into my palm and nod for Nico to take off the man’s blindfold.

At first, he stares only at the flame. He blinks hard, then squints, then his eyes focus on me.

“My name’s Luther.”

“Am I supposed to introduce myself?” he rasps.