I look at him, surprised despite myself.
He shrugs. “You seem like the paranoid type, too.”
I power on the phone and find a single video file. It’s timestamped and continuous. The footage shows Talon pacing, Cassian sitting with arms crossed, Talon complaining about hunger, Cassian telling him not to break anything, Talon breaking the lock anyway, Cassian sighing, a sigh so deep and weary it’s almost theatrical, except I suspect it’s entirely sincere, and then both of them leaving. They return fifteen minutes later with takeout. Talon tries to nose through my cabinets, but Cassian stops him.
I fast-forward through the entire thing.
Not once do either of them touch the bedroom, the closet, or my murder evidence.
I set the phone down on the table.
Talon grins, radiant with the self-satisfaction of a man who has just proven, via shaky cell phone footage, that he is not a thief, only a vandal.
“See? One hundred percent honesty. Well... ninety-eight percent. I ate three of your spring rolls on the way up.”
Cassian adds, “He ate five.”
Talon gasps. “Oh, come on. Be on my side. We know each other longer.”
Something twitches at the corner of my mouth. I kill it before it even becomes anything identifiable.
How absurd. I shouldn’t smile in this situation.
Why would I even want to?
I pull out the empty chair at the table, settle myself down, and fold my hands in front of me.
“Very well,” I say quietly. “There are at least a dozen ways you could have created this video while it still not being a viable proof of reality, but I’m going to take yet another risk and indulge.”
Talon beams and shoves a container toward me. “Knew you’d come around, Doc.”
I fold open my chopsticks and the wood splits unevenly.
“I went to the hospital,” I say.
Cassian looks up instantly. Talon leans forward.
“I spoke to a colleague who once worked at Westbridge Private Clinic,” I continue. “She left abruptly several years ago. At the time, she cited personal reasons. Today, she... elaborated.”
Cassian narrows his mismatched eyes. “What kind of elaboration?”
“The kind that makes a person question whether the clinic has any legitimate operations at all.”
I pause.
“There were inconsistencies. Gaps in documentation.”
Talon frowns. “So, what? Your doctor buddies are cooking meth in the back or something?”
“No,” I say calmly. “I suppose it’s worse than that.”
Worse. The word sounds too mild.
Cassian’s gaze sharpens.
“How much worse?”
“I suspect they are killing people.”
