Cillian stared at Syl for a long moment, trying to understand what he had just said.
Of everything he expected him to say, this wasn’t it. It was the least thing anyone expected him to say.
Then, quietly— he pushed his chair backward and stood, “Follow me.”
He turned and walked down the hallway, not checking to see if Syl followed. But of course he did.
The silence between them was no longer tense—it was suffocating.
The door clicked shut behind them with a quiet finality.
Cillian didn’t turn around right away. He stood with one hand still on the doorknob, his spine rigid. Then he let go, walked to the center of the room, and faced Sylvester head-on.
“Why, St. James,” he said, voice flat and cold. “Start talking.”
Sylvester stood by the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t loose his casual and indifferent look.
“I don’t follow.”
“You don’t follow?” Cillian gave a low laugh, stepping forward. “You’ve been visiting Ben in prison. You secured his warehouse under my name.”
“Is t
