BLOOD'S POV
The room had no windows, the only light inside it came from a single bulb hanging low from the ceiling, its pale glow falling directly over the chair where I sat. Everything beyond that circle of light was swallowed completely by darkness... walls, corners, the two men standing on either side of me like shadows that had learned to breathe.
I sat still.
Back straight. One hand resting on the carved head of my walking stick, fingers tapping against it in a slow, continuous rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was the only outward sign of what simmered quietly beneath my expression as my patience began wearing thinner with every unanswered second. My face remained unreadable, cold and composed the way it had been for more years than most men in this business had been alive.
The phone screen glowed in the darkness as the man to my right held it forward on speaker.
The line rang out again into silence.
"He's not picking, boss."
