“I told you,” she says quietly, “if you crossed me, this is what would happen.”
I don’t move. Any reaction would be read as weakness or guilt, and neither will help me now.
The flip phone rings.
Saint doesn’t break eye contact as she answers and switches it to speaker. “You find it, Grim?”
“Yup,” Grim replies. “Ready when you are.”
I knew this was going badly. I hadn’t realized how thoroughly I’d lost control of it.
“See?” Saint says, conversational now, almost gentle. “Grim was looking out for me. Didn’t trust you, Alejandro.”She steps closer, the gun never wavering. “Kid’s got good instincts.”
She’s taking her time. Letting the truth settle in layers.
I notice, distantly, that there’s no suppressor on her weapon. In a locker room. In a building crawling with high-ranking officials.
The odds she fires here are low.
Which means I might still have a chance.
“Grim hacked your phone while we were at his house,” Saint says.
My mind flashes back to that moment. Eight seconds. That’s all he needed at the keyboard. Eight fucking seconds.
It almost makes me angry.
Almost.
If I weren’t already thinking about my sister. About my family. About how exposed they are if this goes the wrong way.
“Play it, Grim,” Saint says.
The recording starts, and I close my eyes before the first line finishes.
A woman’s voice, calm and curious. “You deleted them?”
My voice answers, steady and unmistakable. “Yes.”
Then the line that ends any remaining pretense.
“They’re the only photographs that exist of the Guildmaster.”
Saint tilts her head, studying me like a puzzle she’s already solved.
“You’re the only visible man in those photos,” she says. “Aren’t you, Alejandro?”
Isay nothing.
“You deleted the evidence,” she continues. “You controlled the narrative.”
She isn’t accusing me. She’s stating fact.
Time compresses, options narrowing until there are only two left.
If I stay, she will shoot me.
If I run, I confirm everything she already believes.
