Elias shifted in the chair, the coarse rope biting into his wrists. His fingers moved carefully, testing for slack.
Across from him, the man took another drag from his cigar—silent, watchful.
Waiting.
Elias exhaled, calm. "I've been sent by the Old Wolf," he said evenly. "Yet here I am—with a lump on my head."
The man's lips curled, amused. "You expect loyalty to ghosts?"
Elias smirked. "Didn't expect a blunt weapon to the skull either, but hey, new experiences."
The man tapped ash onto the cold concrete floor, eyes never leaving Elias. "Devlin Kade always had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong."
Elias gave the rope another subtle tug. Still tight—but not impossible.
The man leaned in, voice dropping low. Measured.
"Do you know who killed Victor Crane?"
Elias didn't answer right away. He let silence stretch—let it become a weapon.
He didn't have names. Just whispers. A body floating in the harbor. A bullet to the head. Crane had been scared.
And someone had made sure he stayed silent.
Elias met the man's stare. "No. But I intend to find out."
A pause.
Then a chuckle. Dry. Almost pitying.
"Wrong answer."
The man flicked his cigar into the ashtray and stood. His shadow loomed across the room.
Elias felt it—the rope gave. Just a little. Enough.
Two knocks on the steel door. It creaked open. Heavy footsteps.
Time's up.
The first goon stepped forward—reaching—
Elias moved.
The rope snapped free.
He drove his shoulder into the man's ribs, a sharp crack echoing. The second thug reached for him too slow—Elias twisted, grabbing the chair and swinging hard.
Wood shattered. The second man hit the ground.
No hesitation.
Elias bolted for the door.
Bang!
A shot rang out, splintering the air. The bullet missed his shoulder by inches.
Back in the room, the man with the cigar didn't move. Just stood there, calm. Gun in hand. Watching Elias vanish into the corridor.
He exhaled a ribbon of smoke.
Muttering to the dark.
"Run while you can, Voss. You're already too deep."