I was still thinking about it.

Not the warehouse, not the scent of damp wood and corroded iron, not even the way the man had last looked at me—too sharp, too sudden. It was the damn delayed reaction. That half-second gap where I hadn’t existed for him.

The feeling hadn’t faded. Not actually. It was worse than before.

The front of the warehouse was business as usual—rows of neatly stacked crates, all very respectable business. But deeper in, things were too… intentional. Crates arranged just right, blocking clean sight and stacked just high enough to slow movement. Enough to be caught while running away.

The message was clear.

A bottleneck. A warning. A trap.

Gideon made a quiet sound. “Interesting layout choice.”

“Right?” I muttered. “Really puts me at ease.”

The deeper we walked, the stranger the feeling got. The weight. The silence here wasn’t empty. I, or we, were being watched.

I could almost feel them. I could... feel them.

Not just the obvious ones—Curtis’s men, stationed in plain view, leaning against the walls, flanking the table. No, there were more. Further back. Watching from the periphery. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there.

Paranoia. Right?

Doesn't matter right now. I could see—six, maybe more. Definitely more.

Gideon didn’t react, but he's the smartest man I know.

Then there was Curtis himself.

He lounged back in his chair like a man who owned the air around him, one arm slung over the backrest, the other rolling a cigar between his fingers. The ember glowed against the sharp edges of his face—high cheekbones, a strong jaw softened only by the lazy curve of his mouth. His dark hair was slicked back, neat but not too neat, the kind of man who cared about his appearance but knew better than to look like he tried. His coat was expensive but worn at the cuffs, like everything in his life had once been better, richer, before time and power had made it something else.

A man built on debts and deals. The kind who never raised his voice because he never had to.

And despite expecting us, despite setting all this up—

He still hesitated when he saw me.

His smirk didn’t slip, but his fingers twitched against the cigar. That flicker of hesitation. That beat too long before recognition.

Again.

The heavy feeling in my body shifted to a rock-solid realization.

I wasn’t just seeing the room differently.

The room was seeing me differently.

Curtis recovered quickly, exhaling smoke as he leaned back in his chair, studying me now like he was trying to place something just slightly off. Then he smirked.

"Well, well. What's this? Inspector Gideon visiting my modest abode. You finally come to claim that favour you have on me?"

Gideon, ever the patient one, tilted his head to the side. "Looking for Martin Pike."

Holloway blew a slow trickle of smoke, half-closed eyes squinting. "Pike, Pike…" Taking his time, as if pulling the name from somewhere deep. "Oh, yeah. The dockworker." He spun the cigar in his fingers. "Kind of a letdown, that one. Not the smartest bulb on the string, but I'll give him points for optimism."

Gideon didn't stir. "He's missing."

"That so?" Holloway held up his hands. "Haven't seen him."

Gideon held his ground. "You did business with him, though."

Holloway chuckled deep in his throat. "Oh, you know how it is, Inspector. Money comes and goes fast in my line of business. Comes quick, goes just as quickly. Some pay, some don't." He ashed his cigar, his tone easy, almost affable. "That's the risk, isn't it?"

I tilted my head a little. "Sounds tiring."

His gaze cut across to me again, hard now, as if I'd disturbed something just out of kilter.

I grinned. "Lot of risk, lot of reward. But you've got to make a good living, yeah?"

Holloway sneered. "I get by."

"See, I don't," I shrugged. "My work doesn't pay much. It just… pays. And for some reason, my money keeps vanishing in all the wrong places. Figured I'd ask—are you hiring?"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A pause. Then one of the men in the back snorted.

Holloway gave a low laugh, his head shaking. "You're not exactly suited for this job, no offence."

I shrugged back. "I dunno. I've already got the whole unnerving presence thing covered."

That drew a few more laughs from the men surrounding us. The room eased, just slightly. Not a lot, but enough. Enough that Holloway leaned back, his eyes on me with something that wasn't quite suspicion, but wasn't ease either.

Then Gideon spoke again.

"He took money from you, right?" His voice was casual.

Holloway nodded, puffing on his cigar slowly. "That he did. Like almost every man in these docks."

"But..." Gideon went on. "He paid it back, no?"

I blinked.

Really?

Holloway grinned at my reaction. "What? You thought I'd had him fixed up for a few bucks?" He blew a stream of cigar smoke into the air. "Get real, Inspector. You kill some guy you're owed by, and before you know it, all the other guys you're owed by start thinking they can't pay their debts no more either." He shook his head. "Bad business."

Gideon, as inscrutable as ever, stared at him for a second. "So if Pike was transparent, what was he doing with the money?"

Holloway blew out smoke, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. He was taking too long. Then—

"He purchased something."

A flicker of something crawled up my spine.

Gideon didn't move. "What?"

Holloway smiled, but the kind of smile that had barbs on it. "Not my business. I only know he took my money, bought something, and made a fast profit. A very fast profit."

I narrowed my eyes. "A little too quick?"

Holloway rolled the cigar around his fingers. "Oh, absolutely."

Gideon's voice was expressionless. "Who'd he sell to?"

Holloway laughed. "Inspector, if I'm walking around giving out lists of clients, what kind of businessman would I be?"

Gideon didn't push. He just allowed the silence to build.

Holloway snarled. "I'll say this, however—whatever he purchased, somebody didn't want him to sell."

The atmosphere altered.

Not a lot. Only a fraction.

But it was enough to tell me that we had crossed out of Holloway's domain and into another.

Someone worse.

~

By the time we left, the warehouse door creaking closed behind us, I could still feel the effect of Holloway's words settling into my backbone.

Gideon never said a word. Just walked on, unconcerned, like none of it had rattled him.

And perhaps it hadn't.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, shoving my hands into my coat pockets. My mind still felt wound tight, like a coil that hadn’t fully unwound.

"You’re quiet," Gideon remarked.

I glanced at him. "So are you."

He hummed. "Thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Why Pike took the money," he said simply. "And why someone cared enough to make him disappear."

"Yeah," I muttered. "That’s what I’d like to know too."

Gideon gave a small nod, then continued walking, the conversation seemingly done on his end.

As usual.

I sighed. "I’ll meet you at your office for lunch."

"Bringing food?"

I snorted. "No. I’ll steal yours."

His lips quirked slightly. "Figured."

And with that, we parted ways.

I turned a corner—and stopped.

There, propped against the wall of the warehouse, was Benedict.

Again.

Coincidence my ass.

I stopped dead.

He glanced up, met my eyes, and breathed a slow sigh, shaking his head. "Finally."

I scowled. "You again?"

Benedict gave a small nod. "Yeah."

I watched him. Large as ever, taciturn as ever. Not the sort of man who sought out trouble unless trouble came first.

"You looking for me?" I inquired.

A hesitation. Then, "Someone is."

That cold weight in my belly stirred. "Who?"

Benedict did not answer right away. He held eye contact, weighing his words.

"Sir Vaelthorne wishes to have a word with you."

I swallowed.

That name.

It sounded unnatural in my mouth, too old, too weighted. The sort of name that ought to have been lost to the ages. It sounded like it would be on a banner over a decaying manor, not on the lips of a man like Benedict.

I breathed out. "And he sent you?"

Benedict shifted, his broad shoulders moving in increments. "Told you you'd know why."

I let that settle.

"And if I don't?"

Benedict's eyes met mine. "Then you refuse."

I observed him. He wasn't pressuring me, wasn't being threatening. Just waiting.

That was worse.

I exhaled, tilting my head toward a side alley. "Okay. Let's talk."

Benedict inclined his head, moving into step beside me.

Whatever this was, it wasn't done. Not by a long shot.