“Don’t lump us all together like we’re the same breed of fucked up.” His voice is low and flat. “You don’t know why I did what I did. You don’t know shit about me.”
I nod slowly.
“Alright,” I say.
He’s right. I can’t pin a single note to him and call him studied. But taking another person’s life, for whatever reason, requires some form of derangement. I believe that.
These two don’t have to. We don’t need to agree in order to cooperate.
“So, Nathaniel,” Cassian says. “You want us to trust you. But right now, all I’ve heard is theory. You say you’re a doctor.You say your mother was murdered. You say you know what happened to my eye.”
His jaw shifts a fraction.
“You haven’t shown us a damn thing.” He stares at me. “Show me something real.”
I reach into my coat and pull out my hospital ID. Laminated card, photo, name, the hospital’s crest. I hold it up between two fingers.
Cassian takes it. Turns it over. Runs his thumb across the surface.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” he says. “I’ve met people who carry fake badges.”
“You think I’m walking around with a counterfeit hospital ID,” I say. “At a grief counseling session. In a church.”
He stares at me.
“I’ve met worse maniacs.”
“So have I, for that matter,” Talon agrees quietly.
I look at Cassian. He hands the ID back, and I slide it into my pocket. My fingers brush the syringe on the way down. For a brief, clinical moment I consider showing it. Proof of a different kind. One that would leave no doubt.
But no. I should keep that card unplayed.
I exhale through my nose.
He wants something real. Something that can’t be laminated or forged or explained away in a hallway. And the only thing I have that fits that description is in my apartment. Equipment. Supplies. The kind of setup no grief-stricken civilian has any reason to own.
The risk is obvious. Two men I met fifteen minutes ago, both killers, walking into the space where I live. Where I keep everything.
But I’ve already stepped out from behind that wall. Already spoken. Every line I’ve crossed tonight has been a point of no return. And the strange part is that I don’t want to go back.
The thrill is still there. Running just beneath my skin.
“Come to my apartment,” I say. “I have equipment that will answer your questions better than any card.”
Cassian’s eyes narrow. “Your apartment.”
“Yes.”
“And you think that’s going to settle it.”
“Won’t it?” I ask. “Will you still have doubts?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works once. He looks at Talon, who shrugs with his whole body. A gesture that says don’t ask me, man.
Cassian looks back at me.
“No,” he says. “I won’t.”
