"He knows where they'll be next week," I heard myself say. "Dimitri specifically. He's inspecting a shipment personally."
"Risky for someone at his level." Nathan set the finger back down, perfectly aligned with the others. "Must be a special cargo."
Carter made more noises. Nathan glanced at him with mild irritation, like he was interrupting our conversation.
"Do you need him alive for more questions?"
I shook my head slowly. "Got what I needed."
"Good. The smell gets worse the longer they linger." He loosened his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with the same methodical precision he used for everything. "Need help with disposal?"
The words hung in the air between us. Such a casual offer. Such an impossible moment. I'd been seen—truly seen—and instead of running, he was offering to help hide the body.
"You're not..." I gestured vaguely at the scene. "This doesn't bother you?"
"Should it?" He met my eyes directly. "A man who traffics children is slowly dying in a basement. The only thing bothering me is that you're doing it alone. Seems inefficient."
"I like working alone." But even as I said it, I was imagining what it would be like. Someone to help carry bodies. Someone to watch the stairs. Someone who understood that some patterns needed to be cut out of the world with sharp objects and careful planning.
"Do you, though?" Nathan moved closer, and I realized there was blood on my cheek. He reached out, thumb brushing the splatter away with surprising gentleness. "Or is that just what you tell yourself because you've never had another option?"
Carter's struggles were getting weaker. I should finish it, but I couldn't look away from Nathan's eyes. Green like forests where bodies could disappear forever.
"You knew what I was doing," I said. It wasn't a question.
"Suspected. The bruised knuckles, the chemical smell, the way certain problems in the neighborhood kept resolving themselves." His hand was still on my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Also, you hum when you're concentrating. Same song every time. I could hear it from upstairs last week."
"And you came back anyway."
"Every day at 3:17." His lips quirked in that almost-smile. "Though apparently I should vary my schedule. Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Yes, you did."
The smile became real. "Yes, I did."
Carter's breathing was getting labored. I should really finish this, but some new tension had entered the room. Nathan's hand slid down to my throat, finding the pulse that hammered there. His touch was clinical, counting beats like evidence.
"Your heart's racing," he observed.
"I'm working."
"No." His thumb pressed against my pulse point. "This is different. This is because I'm here. Because I'm seeing you."
The truth of it should have made me angry. Should have made me kill them both and run. Instead, I leaned into his touch like a cat seeking warmth.
"What are you?" I asked.
"Complicated." His other hand took the forceps from my unresisting fingers. "Like you. Now, should we finish your guest? He's being inconsiderate, dying so loudly."
I watched him walk to Carter with that same controlled grace he brought to everything. No hesitation, no moral wrestling. Just practical assessment of a problem that needed solving.
"Wait," I said. He paused, looking back. "I'm not done with his eyes."
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
"He sold twin girls last month. Six years old. To a buyer who specifically requested matching sets." I moved to stand beside him, looking down at Carter's terrified face. "I thought he should see what they saw. Experience that helplessness."
"Poetic." Nathan handed me back the forceps. "Show me."
