"For now." He picks up his coffee, takes a long sip. "But there might be another way. The Bonaccorso’s have been investigating Kreiss too. Aurelio mentioned it when I warned him off."
"The guy you threatened yesterday?"
"I didn't threaten him. I advised him."
"With threats."
"With information." He sets down the cup. "But he said something interesting. He implied that Kreiss is running his own game. Skimming. Building something that doesn't belong to the people who think they own him."
"So he’s is betraying The Silent."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's positioning himself for a power play. Either way, he's vulnerable. And vulnerable men make mistakes."
I process this. The pieces are starting to fit together, forming a picture I don't like but can't look away from. Kreiss at the center, money flowing through his hands. Andros and those children. Westpoint burning. My memories, locked away for three years, slowly breaking free.
"If he is skimming," I say, "he'd need somewhere safe to keep his own records. Separate from the Custodian stuff. Somewhere even his clients don't know about."
"You're thinking like a criminal."
"I'm thinking like a journalist who's covered enough criminals to know how they operate." I lean against the counter, arms crossed. "Men like him don't trust anyone. They keep leverage. Insurance. Documentation that proves other people are dirty, so no one can turn on them without going down too."
"A dead man's switch."
"Exactly. If we can find that, we find everything."
Jagger is quiet for a long moment. I watch him think, watch the flicker behind his eyes. He's not used to this. Not used to working with someone instead of just using them. The adjustment is visible in the way he holds himself, the small tensions and releases as he fights old instincts.
I've been watching him for days now, learning his patterns. The way he drinks coffee in four precise sips, sets the mug down, picks it up exactly four minutes later. The way his left eye twitches when he's frustrated with a dead end. The way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, like he wants to fucking devour me.
I'm learning other things too. The scar on his right shoulder blade, visible when he changes shirts. The calluses on his fingers from years of handling weapons. The way his breathing changes when I touch him, going shallow and fast before he forces it back under control.
He's beautiful, in a sharp and dangerous way. The kind of beautiful that makes you want to cut yourself on it just to prove you can bleed.
"We'd need someone on the inside," he says finally. "Someone who could access Kreiss's private files without triggering his security."
"Do you know anyone like that?"
"No." He pauses. "But Aurelio might."
"The guy you just told to back off."
"The guy who wants him dead for his own reasons." Jagger's eyes meet mine. "Enemies of enemies, Jonah. It's how the game is played."
"So we reach out to the Bonaccorso’s."
"Yes, but first, we need more information. More leverage of our own." He picks up the tablet again, swiping through files. "If I can find proof that Kreiss is betraying the Custodians, I can use that. Either to turn him, or to burn him."
"And if you can't?"
"Then we find another way." He looks at me, and there's something in his expression I'm learning to recognize. Not affection, exactly. Something rawer. More complicated. "I didn't bring you here to watch you die, Jonah. I don’t exactly know why I brought you, but it wasn’t to seal your fate.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest. I don't know how to respond. Just nod, and reach for my coffee, and try not to think about how much I want to believe him. “Yeah… either way I think bringing me here sealed my fate. Whether it’s death or something else.”
He grimaces before turning and heading upstairs.
We spend the rest of the morning in his office, side by side, chasing ghosts through paper trails. He's methodical, precise, every search term calculated for maximum efficiency. I'm messier, following instincts and hunches, circling back to things that don't quite fit.
It's strange, working with him. In my old life, I remember that I did this alone. Late nights in my apartment, surrounded by takeout containers and cold coffee, building cases against people who wanted me dead. I never had a partner. Never trusted anyone enough to share what I found.
