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Quillan continues, oblivious to whatever silent war is happening between his brother and me. “That’s shitty. Wrong place, wrong time.” He shrugs, though his mouth has flattened into a hard line. “Not the kid’s fault Wade was an idiot.”

No. It wasn’t.

“He didn’t suffer, did he?” Quillan asks. There is no mockery in the question now. If anything, he sounds genuinely uncomfortable.

“He’s taken care of.”

Quillan nods. “Good. That’s… good.”

Mathias does not nod or speak. He simply watches me, his gaze as still and deep as a winter lake.

And suddenly I know.

Not suspect.

Know.

The realization comes quietly, without any dramatic change in his expression, because Mathias Greco has never needed theatrics to be threatening.

He knows Kamden is alive.

Maybe he knew the moment I first told him the witness had been handled over the phone.

Maybe he looked into John Blake after noticing my reaction to the photograph.

Maybe he followed something I missed, a trail even I couldn’t fully erase.

Maybe he has no proof whatsoever, but just knows me well enough to know I’ve been lying through my teeth.

Doesn’t matter—he knows.

The question is why he hasn’t said anything.

I wait for it—for the demand, for the quiet reminder that I lied directly to him, for him to tell me that the boy is a liability and that my judgment is compromised beyond repair.

Instead, Mathias turns his attention back to his brother. “Quillan.”

“What?”

“Finish with Paulie. We’re leaving.”

Quillan brightens like a kid handed a new toy; Paulie does not.

I watch Mathias another second, my pulse loud in my ears. He looks back at me—calm and knowing—then his gaze flicks toward the door.

Dismissal or permission—I’m not sure which.

“Send me what you need when you know,” he says.

“For Paulie?”

Mathias pauses just long enough for the question to become something else entirely. “Yes. For Paulie.”

I nod sharply, then leave.

The heavy warehouse door groans shut behind me, cutting off Quillan’s eager voice and Paulie’s pathetic pleading until both are swallowed by concrete and distance.

Outside, the afternoon air feels colder than it should, biting through my jacket. I take out my phone before I’ve even reached the car, thumb smudging the screen as I pull up the camera feed.