“He realized something,” Vin says evenly. “That this wasn’t a temporary hold. That whatever he touched was bigger than he thought. Panic does stupid things to people.”
Wells clears his throat. “The timing?—”
Vin cuts him a look. Controlled. Not defensive.
“What matters,” Vin says, “is the exposure ended.”
I study his face. The story is tight. Too tight. But not impossible. Tripp had been circling danger without understanding it. When the door closed, he panicked.
Fear makes people reckless.
“Next time,” I say finally, “you don’t take unilateral action.”
Vin inclines his head. “Understood.”
“I told you I wanted answers.”
“And I got you certainty,” Vin replies.
That’s the problem.
I stand. “If you ever decide someone’s fate without looping me in again, we’ll have a different conversation.”
Vin nods once. “It won’t happen twice.”
I push to my feet.
“The Duvalls may be finished, but their fallout isn’t. Wells, I want eyes on anyone trying to step into their lanes. Vin, lean on our people. I want this city back to order. I’m over this bullshit.”
Both nod.
Outside, the night air is sharp against my lungs. I pull my phone from my pocket and call Wells before I can second-guess it.
He answers on the second ring.
“Something on your mind?” he asks.
“You hesitated back there,” I say. “Why?”
There’s a pause.
“The bunker surveillance went offline for about twenty minutes the night Tripp died.”
“And?”
“It came back with Tripp already slumped in the chair.”
I grimace. “Equipment failure?”
“I checked. It wasn’t a glitch. Someone manually disabled it.”
“Someone like…?”
Wells exhales.
“One of the Duvalls’ tech guys. The same one we flagged last month. He had access to that system through an old backdoor. We missed it.”
That settles heavy in my chest.
