ALPHA JEFFREY I wasn’t used to feeling unsettled by the past. The past, in my line of work and in my life, was a map—neatly folded, labeled, and tucked into the pocket of my coat. You consulted it when you needed to, never let it decide the next step. But that morning, over strong coffee and the damp chill of dawn, Isaiah made me open that pocket and spill what I had been carrying.Isaiah and I have been brothers in everything but blood. We grew up on the same broken block, scraped the same knees, learned the same rules: be useful, be quiet, and never let a weakness show. He’d been my right hand through business deals and street fights, a man whose jokes could make a grizzly grin. But today, he sat across from me with a face that read alarmed more than amused.“You look like you’ve been wrestling with a ghost,” he said, leaning back in my study chair, fingers threaded behind his head like a king. His boots thudded against the floor, solid and steady.“I wish it was only a ghost,” I s
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