Womack's eyes are wild.
Terrified.
Sweat beading on his forehead, soaking through his cheap button-down shirt.
"Please—I have money—I can pay?—"
"We don't want your money," Runes says coldly. "We want answers."
"Anything. I'll tell you anything. Whatever you want to know."
"Who do you work for?"
Womack hesitates.
Just for a second.
But I catch it.
The flicker of calculation behind the fear.
He's thinking.
Deciding what lie to tell.
Weighing his options.
"No one," he says finally. "I run this operation. It's mine. All of it."
"Bullshit," Tor spits.
"It's true! I swear to God?—"
Fenrir presses his boot into Womack's chest, grinding down. "A little birdie told us this is just one stop on a bigger pipeline. That there's someone above you. Someone pulling strings."
"There's no one.I'mthe boss. I'm the one who built this. You got me—you got the whole operation."
He's lying.
I can feel it in my bones.
But I can also see the fear in his eyes—not just fear of us.
Fear of something else.
Someone else.
Someone he's more afraid of than four armed men standing over him.
Someone whose wrath is worse than death.
"He's lying," I say.
"I'm not! I swear on my mother's grave—this is it. This is everything. Kill me and it's over. The whole thing dies with me."
Fenrir looks at Runes.
Something passes between them.
