Then thumbed the remote.
Another jerk, this time, I caught the clack of his teeth and the choke as he inhaled his own spit. The harsh cough he released shook him.
I leaned in. “That was the lowest setting.”
The man’s dark eyes widened and the red decorating them seemed to worsen.
“Shall I ask you again?” Yes, this was a test.
This time, his stare broke first.
“Ignacio,” he spat out, like the word burned his tongue.
“Good,” I said softly. “See? Progress.”
Bones hummed in approval behind me, low and predatory. Alphabet didn’t even look up from whatever data he was alreadypulling on his tablet—because we all knew the name was just the warm-up.
“Now,” I continued, “who paid you to take Grace?”
Ignacio’s nostrils flared. He tried for bravado again, but even that came out frayed at the edges. “Nobody paid me.”
I raised a brow. “Ignacio. We both know lying on the baseline question is just bad strategy.”
His jaw clenched. Silence.
I sighed like I was disappointed in a particularly dense student. “You don’t want to waste my time. Or hers.” I tilted my head toward Grace.
If earlier she’d looked fragile, she didn’t now. She’d gone still—cold still. A kind of focused quiet that made Ignacio swallow hard.
“Ask him again,” she said.
I did. “Who paid you to take her?”
He worked his throat, but the only answer he managed was a glare—shaky, but aimed right at me, probably because he didn’t dare look at Grace.
Right idea.
Wrong move.
I clicked the remote again. Medium setting.
The collar’s response proved inconsistent—as Alphabet indicated—but that was half the point. The jolt hit Ignacio like a glitching live wire. His shoulders seized so hard the chair legs scraped. A strangled sound forced its way out of him, half grunt, half plea he tried to swallow.
Bones said, “Medium must’ve rolled high.”
“Oops,” Alphabet said blandly, not sounding apologetic at all.
Ignacio gasped like he was trying to remember how lungs worked. Sweat already slicked his hairline. His breathing stayed shallow, the way a man breathed when he wasn’t sure his own body wouldn’t betray him again.
“Who paid you?” I repeated.
“I told you—” His voice cracked. “No one paid me.”
“Specifically?” I asked, rolling the remote between my fingers.
His gaze flicked to Grace again. Her trembling had stopped—not from fear, but from something colder, steadier. Resolve.
“I acted on my own,” Ignacio snarled, desperation layering the defiance. “Wasn’t hired by anyone, you hear me? Nobody put a gun to my head. Nobody promised me cash. I did it because I damn well wanted to. I’m the one with the power.”
