Bruised knuckles.
A file full of quiet giraffes?—
Thiswas the answer.
“It was always her.”
Not an accident. Not a casualty. Not a name on the wrong list. Camille was the reason the silence cracked.
The girl who laughed too loud in rooms built for obedience. Who saw things we buried beneath gold. Who wrote secrets in children’s code when she knew the walls were wired.
She was the beginning. The first threat. The first sacrifice. The first truth we pretended didn’t bleed. We thought we were protecting her. Turns out, we were making her a target.
And me? I didn’t see it. Didn’t want to. I loved her like legacy. Not like blood.
But she was always the center. Not me. Not Selene. Not this fucking empire. Her. And now she’s dead. Because the rest of us let her carry the weight of our sins.
We thought she’d bend. She didn’t. She broke. Quietly. Exactly the way they wanted.
I didn’t nod. Didn’t rage. Didn’t slam fists on the desk.
I just exhaled. Long and quiet. Tasted like ghosts. Tasted like the last time Camille smiled without fear. Wolfe’s gaze dropped. The papers weren’t just financials and briefings.
Buried beneath an old file folder?—
The corner of a page.
Typed header.
Three bold letters:
FBI.
Wolfe frowned. Reached out. Moved the folder aside with two fingers. More words. Black ink. Formal phrasing. Request for access. Sealed subpoenas. My blood froze. I hadn’t told them. Hadn’t toldanyone. I was already at war. And losing.
Wolfe’s voice went razor-sharp.
“Barron.”
A pause.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
I didn’t flinch.
Didn’t snatch the paper back.
Just lifted my gaze?—
Slow. Steady.
Old in a way he’d never seen me before.
“I’m handling it,” I said.
But he heard it. The strain. That fucking strain. I didn’t sound like a man handling anything. I sounded like a man preparing to die standing up.
His chest locked. I saw it.
