I was still thinking about it.


    Not the warehouse, not the scent of damp wood and corroded iron, not even the way the man had last looked at me—too sharp, too sudden. It was the damn delayed reaction. That half-second gap where I hadn’t existed for him.


    The feeling hadn’t faded. Not actually. It was worse than before.


    The front of the warehouse was business as usual—rows of neatly stacked crates, all very respectable business. But deeper in, things were too… intentional. Crates arranged just right, blocking clean sight and stacked just high enough to slow movement. Enough to be caught while running away.


    The message was clear.


    A bottleneck. A warning. A trap.


    Gideon made a quiet sound. “Interesting layout choice.”


    “Right?” I muttered. “Really puts me at ease.”


    The deeper we walked, the stranger the feeling got. The weight. The silence here wasn’t empty. I, or we, were being watched.


    I could almost feel them. I could... feel them.


    Not just the obvious ones—Curtis’s men, stationed in plain view, leaning against the walls, flanking the table. No, there were more. Further back. Watching from the periphery. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there.


    Paranoia. Right?


    Doesn''t matter right now. I could see—six, maybe more. Definitely more.


    Gideon didn’t react, but he''s the smartest man I know.


    Then there was Curtis himself.


    He lounged back in his chair like a man who owned the air around him, one arm slung over the backrest, the other rolling a cigar between his fingers. The ember glowed against the sharp edges of his face—high cheekbones, a strong jaw softened only by the lazy curve of his mouth. His dark hair was slicked back, neat but not too neat, the kind of man who cared about his appearance but knew better than to look like he tried. His coat was expensive but worn at the cuffs, like everything in his life had once been better, richer, before time and power had made it something else.


    A man built on debts and deals. The kind who never raised his voice because he never had to.


    And despite expecting us, despite setting all this up—


    He still hesitated when he saw me.


    His smirk didn’t slip, but his fingers twitched against the cigar. That flicker of hesitation. That beat too long before recognition.


    Again.


    The heavy feeling in my body shifted to a rock-solid realization.


    I wasn’t just seeing the room differently.


    The room was seeing me differently.


    Curtis recovered quickly, exhaling smoke as he leaned back in his chair, studying me now like he was trying to place something just slightly off. Then he smirked.


    "Well, well. What''s this? Inspector Gideon visiting my modest abode. You finally come to claim that favour you have on me?"


    Gideon, ever the patient one, tilted his head to the side. "Looking for Martin Pike."


    Holloway blew a slow trickle of smoke, half-closed eyes squinting. "Pike, Pike…" Taking his time, as if pulling the name from somewhere deep. "Oh, yeah. The dockworker." He spun the cigar in his fingers. "Kind of a letdown, that one. Not the smartest bulb on the string, but I''ll give him points for optimism."


    Gideon didn''t stir. "He''s missing."


    "That so?" Holloway held up his hands. "Haven''t seen him."


    Gideon held his ground. "You did business with him, though."


    Holloway chuckled deep in his throat. "Oh, you know how it is, Inspector. Money comes and goes fast in my line of business. Comes quick, goes just as quickly. Some pay, some don''t." He ashed his cigar, his tone easy, almost affable. "That''s the risk, isn''t it?"


    I tilted my head a little. "Sounds tiring."


    His gaze cut across to me again, hard now, as if I''d disturbed something just out of kilter.


    I grinned. "Lot of risk, lot of reward. But you''ve got to make a good living, yeah?"


    Holloway sneered. "I get by."


    "See, I don''t," I shrugged. "My work doesn''t pay much. It just… pays. And for some reason, my money keeps vanishing in all the wrong places. Figured I''d ask—are you hiring?"


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A pause. Then one of the men in the back snorted.


    Holloway gave a low laugh, his head shaking. "You''re not exactly suited for this job, no offence."


    I shrugged back. "I dunno. I''ve already got the whole unnerving presence thing covered."


    That drew a few more laughs from the men surrounding us. The room eased, just slightly. Not a lot, but enough. Enough that Holloway leaned back, his eyes on me with something that wasn''t quite suspicion, but wasn''t ease either.


    Then Gideon spoke again.


    "He took money from you, right?" His voice was casual.


    Holloway nodded, puffing on his cigar slowly. "That he did. Like almost every man in these docks."


    "But..." Gideon went on. "He paid it back, no?"


    I blinked.


    Really?


    Holloway grinned at my reaction. "What? You thought I''d had him fixed up for a few bucks?" He blew a stream of cigar smoke into the air. "Get real, Inspector. You kill some guy you''re owed by, and before you know it, all the other guys you''re owed by start thinking they can''t pay their debts no more either." He shook his head. "Bad business."


    Someone worse.