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Like that mattered more.
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” I say, quieter now.
“I get to decide what risks I take.”
His jaw tightens.
“You’re not a risk.”
That—
That lands harder than it should.
“You don’t get to say that either.”
“I just did.”
Silence stretches between us.
Heavy.
Different.
And then—
I see it.
The man.
The one Jase shot.
Something about him—
Wrong.
Familiar.
I move past Jase, crouching beside the body.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“Answers.”
I roll the man slightly—
And there it is.
A mark.
Small.
Barely visible.
Behind his ear.
