Focused.
His chest tightened, breath locking for half a second before he forced it steady.
His pulse kicked once, hard, then settled into something slower, controlled.
“Sir?” Rook swallowed as those cold, dark eyes settled on him. He never wanted to be the one they fixed on for long. “You needed something?”
“Yes.” The man’s tone stayed even. “It seems Sage doesn’t take me seriously.”
Fuck. Poor Sage, he thought.
His boss took a breath.
The quiet stretched, the sound of the fan suddenly louder in the space.
It filled the silence, thin and grating.
“Let’s make it hurt this time.”
Rook’s jaw locked so tight it ached.
The tension climbed up the back of his neck, settling there with nowhere else to go.
It stayed there, coiled, refusing to ease.
Last time had hurt.
The man standing in front of him had killed his best friend. Adrian hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it—and he was still dead.
The memory flashed fast and sharp, gone before it could fully land.
“Who?” Rook forced the word out, steady enough, even as he shoved his damp hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Ashley.”
Rook went still.
The name hit hard, a sharp drop in his chest that knocked the air thin.
For a second, the room seemed to tilt, the sound of the fan dragging with it.
“She’s expendable.”
For a second, it showed—shock, disbelief, something he couldn’t bury fast enough.
Ashley?
The boss’s own sister?
Half or not, that didn’t matter.
Blood was blood.
And he was being told to spill it as if it was nothing.
No.
That wasn’t happening.
