Marlowe
Dorian's mouth opened, closed, opened again, and I watched him fight visibly with whatever words he'd apparently kept locked away for over a decade, his whole body trembling with the effort of finally trying to release them.
"I asked him not to go," he said finally, voice barely audible. "The night before Ridge Pass. I knew — not everything, not the specific route, not the ambush itself. But I'd heard things. Whispers about Blackfang activity, about a debt of my own that had made certain people considerably too interested in club business they had no reason to know about. I had a bad feeling, Marlowe. A real one. And instead of telling Silas plainly what I actually suspected, I just — asked him not to go. Vaguely. Like a superstition instead of an actual warning."
I felt my whol
