“Cal.”
“Dom.” He mimicked my tone perfectly, unhurried and deliberate. “I got what we needed. That's what counts.”
“How. Did. You. Get. It.”
The silence stretched out between us. Cal's jaw worked like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say, and then something in his expression shifted and went hard.
“I fucked him,” he said flatly. “Went to his house. Let him do whatever he wanted. Got what I needed while he was distracted.”
The words landed like fists. Something built behind my sternum, narrowing my vision at the edges.
“You did what?”
“You heard me. I'm not repeating it.” Cal's gaze stayed level despite the tension vibrating through his shoulders. “It worked. We have the files. It's done.”
I set the glass down carefully, controlled, because the alternative was throwing it across the room. “You let Harrow touch you.”
“I let him do more than that.” Cal leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. “And before you start with the moral speech, it was necessary. Harrow's paranoid. His security is airtight. The only way to get close enough was to be someone he wanted, someone he thought he owned.”
“There had to be other ways.”
“There weren't.” His voice hardened. “I tried everything else. Surveillance, hacking, sources. All of it failed because Harrow has money and power and thirty years of experience not getting caught. The only thing he's vulnerable to is his own appetites. So I used them.”
My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the table. “You put yourself in danger.”
“I put myself in a situation I controlled. Had exits, had contingencies.” Cal's eyes flashed. “Don't confuse calculated risk with stupidity. I knew what I was doing.”
“You let a predator tie you up.”
“I let a target think he had power while I took what I needed.” He leaned forward. “Those aren't the same thing. But apparently you're too rigid to see the difference.”
I stared at him. At the bruise on his jaw that suddenly made a sickening kind of sense. At the defensive marks on his knuckles from fighting his way out afterward. At the tension in his shoulders that spoke of things he was pretending hadn't touched him.
“You're not a tool,” I said.
“Everything's a tool if you're willing to use it.” He held my gaze, steady and unapologetic. “My face, my skills, my body. All of it. I don't get the luxury of limits when I'm trying to catch someone who's been untouchable for decades.”
“There are always limits.”
Cal laughed, short and humourless. “Are there? Where were the limits when your sister died and the case got closed inside a week? When witnesses forgot what they saw? When evidence disappeared?” His voice went colder. “You want limits? Fine. But they only work when everyone follows them. Harrow doesn't. So neither do I.”
“That's not?—”
“That's exactly how it is. You're just too idealistic to admit it.” His laptop beeped again and he glanced at the screen, expression shifting. “File seven's done. Calendar appointments.”
“I don't care about his bloody calendar.”
“You should. According to this, Harrow's got a private meeting at the British Museum in forty minutes. A donor event,closed. Just him and whatever parasites he's courting.” Cal started packing up his laptop. “Which means we can observe him. Maybe get close enough for more intel.”
“We're not done talking.”
“Yeah, we are. Nothing left to say.” He stood and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. “You don't like my methods. I don't care. We both want Harrow destroyed. So either come with me and help, or stay here being judgmental. Your call.”
He turned to leave. I grabbed his arm and stopped him.
Cal's eyes dropped to where my hand circled his bicep, then lifted to my face. “Let go.”
“Not until you listen.”
