"Alive?" Bitter laughter again. "You call this living?"
"Better than giving up."
"Who says I've given up?" His stance shifted, a glimmer of his old defiance sparking within him.
"Prove it. Help me solve Mark's murder."
"Help? At what cost, Agent Thomas?" His words were shards of glass, sharp and scattered.
"Justice has no price tag."
"Justice," he mused, the word foreign on his lips. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"
"Call it what you want," I said, holding his gaze. "But if you know something?—"
"Knowing isn't enough." His shoulders slumped just for a moment, revealing the burden he carried. "It never was."
"Doesn't mean you shouldn't speak out."
"Speak out?" He snorted. "To who? The same people who didn't listen before?"
"Things have changed, Marcus. I'm listening."
"Are you?" Suspicion laced his question. "Or are you just waiting to slap cuffs on me again?"
"Only if you're guilty."
"Guilty…." He trailed off, lost in memories only he could see. "Was guilty before I even spoke a word. Remember?"
"The past doesn't have to be prologue, Marcus. We can write a new chapter here."
"New chapter, huh?" He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw a flicker of hope in the ruin. "Maybe…."
"Start talking."
"Talking leads to trouble."
"Silence breeds it."
He weighed my words, the internal battle playing across his face. Finally, with a deep breath that seemed to dredge up the very depths of his soul, he took a step forward.
"Fine. But if I talk, you've got to promise?—"
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll keep an open mind."
"Always do."
"Alright," he said, nodding slowly, a decision made.
"Let's start from the beginning," I said.
"The night Isla was—This guy who is here at the resort now, I’ve seen him around, was…."
A crackle of leaves underfoot cut through the humid air, slicing our exchange in two. We both froze, instincts flaring like a match struck in darkness. I scanned the thick foliage, my trained eyes searching for the source of the intrusion.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
