Cassian had already decided how Larsen Roche was going to die. Club Vane would be the place. He just needed Nico to sign off on that.
The pub Nico had chosen sat a few streets away from the docks, low-ceilinged and dim, the kind of place that smelled like old wood and expensive liquor. Cassian arrived first, took a booth in the back, and ordered a drink he barely touched. When Nico finally walked in, Cassian knew immediately something was wrong.
Nico usually filled a room without trying. Tonight, he moved like he was carrying weight he hadn't learned how to set down, a frown etched in his face. He slid into the booth across from Cassian and signaled for whiskey.
"You look like shit," Cassian said mildly.
Nico huffed a humorless laugh. "Nice to see you too."
They drank in silence for a moment. Cassian watched him over the rim of his glass, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if he were biting down on words.
