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“No.”

Elena's chair scrapes softly against the floor.

“Adrianos.”

I look at her. She shakes her head once. Barely.

Karras sees the exchange.

“I can help you,” he says quickly. “There will be more instructions. New contacts.”

Elena looks at him. “When?”

“I don’t know.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know they’ll contact you?”

“Because they always do.”

That interests her. I can tell. She wants time to watch him, use him, and let the network reach back toward him.

In another situation, I might agree.

But I have spent the last hour watching Karras. His pauses. His answers. His fear. The limits of what he knows.

He is not important enough. That is why the network kept him alive this long. Old. Trusted. Greedy enough to obey. Cowardly enough not to ask.

He’s disposable, and worse, he can tip off whoever it is that contacts him that we are hot on their trail.

Elena still thinks uncertainty means opportunity, but I know uncertainty also means risk.

“Karras.”

He looks at me.

“Who killed my son?”

His face empties.

“I don’t know.”

“My parents.”

“I don’t know.”

“Kalliopi.”

Something changes. Not guilt, but ecognition.

Elena catches it immediately. “You knew her.”

Karras looks at her.

“Yes.”