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“I know, I know!” Ken interrupted, following with a shaky sigh. “I just haven’t really been sleeping, and I’m just not in the right mind—”

“Then get out of that mindset,” Alex retorted.

Ken glared at him. “Just let me handle the other chair—”

“This isn’t about the chair.”

Ken froze, as if Alex’s sharp tongue pinned him in place.

“You’ve been like this since I asked you to cuff the prized pony.”

Ken winced.

Seeing his pathetic state made Alex laugh. “Haven’t you arrested people millions of times? So why you chickening out now?”

Ken’s gaze cut to the floor—not ashamed but closed off. Like a man with something he wasn’t ready to share. “Sorry.”

Alex rolled his eyes. The irony that a former cop would lower himself down to someone like himself was embarrassing. “Don’t apologize,” he said flatly. “Just look at me and talk.”

Ken finally looked at him. Behind the glasses, his eyes didn’t carry the cop stare that haunted Alex’s worst memories. They carried something older. Something wounded.

Alex knew that look. He’d worn it himself, still did on nights when the walls got too thin. Maybe the pig wasn’t so different after all. They’d both spent their lives in crossfires. The only difference was which side of the trigger they’d stood on.

“I don’t know what kinda history you got with her, but you need to fucking chill.” Alex crossed his arms and leaned against the workbench. “We’re just talking to her. We get answers, she goes. No biggie.”

Ken pointed at the rope in Alex’s free hand. “And whatever you plan to do with that—”

Alex held up the rope, letting it dangle. “Relax. It’s just so she doesn’t bolt.”

Ken snatched the rope from Alex’s grip, fast enough to leave him grasping air. He tucked the rope under his arm and crossed his arms, the borrowed suit jacket straining over his biceps.

Alex stared at his empty hand, then back at Ken. “Dude, how the hell—”

“No.” Ken’s voice was low but firm. He exhaled hard, eyes on the ground. “Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Alex glanced at the white chair between them. The image of Ken—beaten, bloodied, tied to that same chair—surfaced without permission. A laugh slipped out before he could stop it. So that’s what this was about.

“That’s your problem? Seriously?”

Ken didn’t look up. But he nodded.

“That’s it?” Alex shook his head. “She’s not a pig, man. She’s not you. She’s an asset—maybe the best lead we’ve got on Durden, Sunny, all of it. I’m not trying to break her. I just need her to talk.”

Ken curled his lip in disgust. “And you think tying her up is the best way?”

“Like I said dude, it was for precaution—”

“Then how would you like it if it was Yoona instead?” Ken snapped.

The name hit Alex like a fist to the sternum. Yoona. His whole body locked up. For a split second, he was back in the place where her name still meant something—meant everything. He killed that thought before it could breathe.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered. Heat flooded Alex’s chest. He watched Ken’s expression shift—that smug, satisfied tilt of someone who knew they’d landed a hit. It made Alex’s blood boil. “How the fuck do you know her?”

“She was my partner. She talked about you.” Ken held his gaze, shoulders easing from their tension. “And I talked to her about Lin and me.”

Alex’s mind blanked. Part of him wanted to grab Ken by the collar for even saying her name. But the other part—the part he hated—leaned in. “She told you about me?”

Ken furrowed his eyebrows. “I just said that.”