The office was quiet. Jack leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The afternoon light poured in from the tall windows, painting a muted glow over the polished desk, but it felt dim in his head like someone had drawn the blinds over his mind and left him to sit in the half-light.
Cain's voice lingered in his ears. Not just the words, but the way he'd said them—calm, deliberate, almost casual, but with that thread of implication that Jack knew better than to ignore. Cain never said anything without a purpose.
The meeting had ended hours ago, but it still clung to him like a damp coat he couldn't shrug off.
"You trust too easily."
Jack's jaw flexed. It wasn't that he hadn't heard that before—he had, in some form or another, from different mouths over the years. But coming from Cain, it carried more weight. Cain had a way of looking at people as if he could see the ending before it even began.
And then there was the other part.
