The room stank of fear now.
Not the loud kind.
The quiet kind. The kind that slithered under the skin.
Javier Mendoza's shock slowly melted into a crooked grin. His scarred lips curled, showing teeth stained by years of cheap cigars and spilled blood.
He leaned forward on his seat, elbows on knees, eyes glittering with something dark.
"So Timothy trained his grandson. Interesting. This makes me think he may really be alive."
Miles's smirk was thin and cold.
He understood something important in that instant.
They did not know.
They had no idea about Timothy Sterling's disappearance.
They were guessing in the dark.
Miles's voice dropped, calm and cutting.
"Tell me, Mendoza, why does the great El Puño Cartel leave its little cave and crawl all the way to Star Harbor? Does the cartel want to commit suicide?"
Santiago spit on the floor beside him, snarling.
Javier exhaled smoke and leaned back again.
