Hades stared at the photographs spread across his desk.
Four of them. Four pieces of evidence. Four knives twisting into his chest.
The first: Ken, stepping into Alex Vancourt's car. The lighting was dim—evening, maybe. Ken looked tired, his shoulders hunched, his hair disheveled. The building behind him was unmistakably Alex's penthouse.
Alex, leaning over a bed. On the bed was Ken. Alex's face was partially visible, his expression... hungry. His hand rested heavily on Ken's shoulder, pushing him down gently onto the pillows.
No. Hades's grip tightened on the photograph. No, no, no.
The third: Alex, carrying Ken in his arms. The shot was taken from behind Alex, so his face wasn't visible, but the angle clearly showed Ken's limp body, his head lolling against Alex's chest. They were walking toward a bedroom.
What am I seeing?
Hades couldn't finish the thought.
