"So you mean," Patrick groaned as he shifted slightly in his hospital bed, the thin mattress crinkling beneath him, "they are still after my life?"
"What have you exactly done to make them send people to kill you off," Silas questioned as the elevator came to a smooth stop on the lobby level. Beside him, Salvar pulled his mask up over his face, adjusted the brim of his cap low over his eyes, and slid his sunglasses into place. He looked like a disaster dressed in streetwear, but at least he was an unrecognizable disaster.
Patrick gave no answer to the question Silas had asked. The silence on the other end of the line was heavy and strange, the kind of silence that had texture to it, that settled into the gaps between words and made itself comfortable. Then he spoke, his voice quieter than Silas had ever heard it, stripped of its usual theatrical energy. "It's a complicated matter that can't be said over the phone. I swear to explain everything to you if I remain alive."
If.
