Marlowe
Neither of us said the word out loud for the rest of that morning, though I could feel it sitting between us the same way it had since he'd confirmed the ambush was coordinated — *betrayal.* A word too large to hand over carelessly, too dangerous to speak before either of us had anything solid enough to attach it to.
"I want to look at the records," I said finally. "The actual club files from that night. Not rumors. Not the version everybody's told me my whole life. The real reports."
"Those files are old. Might not even still exist."
"You said it yourself — the ambush was too coordinated to be luck. If there's any record of how Blackfang knew that route, it's worth finding, even if it takes weeks."
King studied me a long moment, something reluctant in his expression that had
