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I bury myself in numbers.

"Elena."

I glance up from my laptop. Adrianos stands across the dining table in a fresh black shirt that hides the wound along his shoulder. Someone stitched the cut less than an hour ago while he answered phone calls as if a needle wasn't repeatedly piercing his skin.

"What?"

"You haven't eaten."

"Neither have you."

"I have."

I narrow my eyes. "When?"

His silence answers me.

"Exactly."

Something passes through his expression that might have become amusement on another morning. Today, neither of us quite gets there.

The man who held me while his hands shook has disappeared beneath the controlled exterior Adrianos wears for everyone else. But I know that man exists now. I felt his fear against my body. I heard him say he couldn't bury me. I watched him lose control because for several horrible minutes, he thought he might lose me.

And I told him I loved him.

There is no pretending that didn't happen. Strangely, neither of us seems interested in trying. Adrianos comes around the table and rests his hand against the back of my neck. His thumb moves once over my skin before he looks at the laptop.

"You should rest."

"I'll rest when the man who tried to abduct me no longer matters."

"He's dead."

"His phone isn't."

That gets his attention.

The attacker's phone sits inside a forensic evidence bag beside my computer. The device itself was almost useless. No contacts, messages, or photographs. No obvious connection to OB6. Whoever prepared him for the attack scrubbed anything that could identify the people behind him.

But people always leave something behind. Even when they're careful.

I turn the laptop toward Adrianos. "He accessed a secure financial portal six times during the last month."

"Which bank?"

"Not a bank. A private brokerage platform."

His gaze sharpens as he takes the chair beside mine.

"The account doesn't belong to him," I continue. "The authentication token belongs to a company registered in Cyprus. On paper, it's beautifully boring. Directors-for-hire, registered office, no meaningful employees. But the company received three payments from a structure connected to one of Karras's intermediary accounts."

"OB6?"

"Same architecture."

I bring up the portal records. "Our attacker accessed this platform forty-eight hours before coming here. Then he accessed it again yesterday afternoon."

"Payment?"