The aroma of coffee didn't quite drown out the heavy weight of the words spoken at the table. Shadows stretched long behind them, like foreign figures eavesdropping in silence.
They had set up a full-on brainstorming session, tossing ideas back and forth, yet every thought collapsed into a dead end. William could feel the pounding in his temples rising, and the entire mess could be described with one word: trap. Cain was a domino piece—knock him down, and the whole chain would topple, dragging them along whether they liked it or not. Protecting him, in truth, meant protecting themselves.
"Maybe I should just lay low for a while," Cain drawled lazily, taking a cautious sip of black coffee, as if for a second he actually meant it. "Let the cops chase their tails 'til they die of boredom. No new cases, no evidence. No mistakes, no conviction."
Leticia slammed the copper pot down on the stove, nearly spilling what coffee was left inside, and gave a dry, brittle laugh.
