“Good. At least you're honest about it.” I moved past him, grabbed a file from my desk. “But I'm doing it anyway. Because this archive contains sealed records from cases Harrow prosecuted. Cases where evidence mysteriously vanished. I need to see what he's hiding.”
“Then I'm coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Dom's voice went flat. “I am not letting you walk into hostile territory alone.”
“You'll compromise the operation. You don't blend. You're too recognisable as security.”
“Then make me blend. Give me a role. A cover identity.” His eyes held mine. “I'm not negotiating this, Cal. Either I come with you, or neither of us goes.”
I stared at him. The stubborn set of his jaw. The determination in his eyes. The particular way he stood that suggested he'd physically prevent me from leaving if necessary.
“Fine,” I said. “You can come. But you follow my lead. Do exactly what I tell you. And if I say run, you run without argument.”
“Agreed. On the condition that if I say you're compromised, we abort immediately.”
“Deal.” I moved to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew two court identification badges. Fakes, but good ones. Professional lamination, correct formatting, photographs that looked official. “Put this on. You're a barrister. Corporate law. Boring cases that require access to administrative records.”
Dom studied the badge, then me. “You just happen to have a fake ID ready?”
“I have fake IDs for various scenarios. Preparation isn't paranoia when people are actively trying to kill you.” I clipped my own badge to my jacket. “Change your clothes. You look like security, not legal. You need to look expensive and bored.”
“I don't have expensive clothes.”
“Bedroom closet. Left side. Grey suit. Should fit approximately.” I'd acquired it from a mark months ago, kept it because quality fabric was quality fabric. “Makes you look like you bill by the hour.”
He disappeared into the bedroom area—really just the mattress corner with a makeshift partition. I heard fabric rustling, the particular sounds of someone changing in a space that wasn't theirs.
When he emerged, the suit fit him the way expensive things fit men built like walls: strained across the shoulders, perfect everywhere else, transforming him from enforcer to professional.
The effect was devastating. Made him look like the kind of man who could ruin your life with paperwork instead of violence. Made my mouth go dry in ways I absolutely could not afford.
“This works?” he asked.
“Yes.” My voice came out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat, forced professionalism back into place. “Remember. You're bored. Tired. Dealing with mundane corporate filings that require access to sealed records. Let me do the talking unless directly addressed.”
“Understood.”
I grabbed my jacket, checked that my lockpicks were concealed properly, and headed for the door. Dom followedthree paces behind, already settling into the role of exhausted barrister who'd rather be anywhere else.
“One more thing,” I said as we reached the stairwell. “If this goes wrong, if we get caught—you don't know me. We've never met. You were following your own investigation and I'm just some bloke who happened to be breaking into the same archive.”
“Cal—”
“I'm serious. You have connections. A reputation. People who care what happens to you.” I held his gaze. “I don't. So if someone needs to take the fall, it's me. Not you.”
Dom's expression went hard. “That's not how this works.”
“That's exactly how this works. I don't lose partners twice.” I started down the stairs. “Now come on. We've got a courthouse to infiltrate before the morning shift change makes it impossible.”
Behind me, I heard Dom following. Could feel his presence like heat at my back. Could feel the particular weight of someone who'd decided to trust me despite knowing better.
It should have made me nervous. Should have made me want to push him away before he became another name on the whiteboard. Another person whose death I'd carry.
Instead, it made me feel something I hadn't felt since James died.
Like maybe I didn't have to do this alone anymore.
