"He's not going to stop," Leviathan continues. "The questioning was just the first move. He's building a case."
"Against Ripley?" Zenon asks.
"Against both of us. But she's the weak link, in his mind. Someone he can pressure, manipulate, turn against me." Levi's jaw tightens. "He's wrong about that. But he's going to keep trying."
"So what do we do?" Behemoth's voice is a low rumble.
"We get ahead of him." He pulls a folder from the stack, sliding it across the desk. "This is everything we've gathered on Cain's abuse. Incident reports from neighbors who called in noise complaints. A statement from a bartender who saw him drag Ripley out of a bar by her hair. Photos of injuries she sustained over the past three years."
I flinch at that last part.
I didn't know they'd been gathering photos. Didn't know anyone had documented the evidence I'd tried so hard to hide.
"We also have hospital records," He continues, and my head snaps up.
"What?"
He meets my eyes, his expression gentle despite the hardness in his voice. "You went to the ER twice. Once for a broken wrist, once for bruised ribs. Both times, you told them you fell."
I remember.
The broken wrist was eighteen months ago—Cain threw me into a doorframe because I forgot to pick up his dry cleaning.
The ribs were earlier, maybe two years back. I don't even remember what I did wrong that time.
"The records show the injuries were inconsistent with falls," Levi says. "The doctors noted it, even if they didn't push. It's documented evidence of abuse."
"How did you get those?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended. "They're supposed to be private."
"We have friends in useful places." Zenon's voice is matter-of-fact. "Friends who understand that sometimes rules need to bend for the right reasons."
I should be upset.
Should be angry that they accessed my medical records without permission.
But all I feel is a strange sense of relief.
The proof exists. The evidence of what Cain did to me isn't just my word against a dead man's memory.
It's real. It's documented. It can't be denied.
"If Varro tries to paint you as an accomplice," Levi says, "we paint you as a victim. The real story. Three years of abuse, culminating in an attack so severe you had to flee for your life."
"And then what?" Klutch asks. "We release this to the press? Make a public statement?"
"If we have to. But hopefully, it won't come to that." Levi's eyes are cold. Calculating. "Varro's smart. He knows that if this goes to trial, all of it comes out. His son's violent history. The abuse. The fact that Cain was stripped of his patch for assaulting his girlfriend. That's not a story he wants told."
"So we use it as leverage," Zenon says slowly. "Threaten to expose Cain if Varro doesn't back off."
"Exactly."
The room is quiet as everyone processes the plan. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it—the idea of my trauma being used as a weapon. It feels strange. Uncomfortable. But also, in a twisted way, empowering.
For three years, Cain's abuse was my secret shame. Something I hid, minimized, denied. Now it's becoming something else entirely.
Proof. Protection. Power.
"There's something else," I say. My voice is steadier now. "Something I haven't told you."
