Dominic’s POV
The warehouse sits on the edge of the harbor, an empty skeleton of rust and silence. Salt hangs in the air, heavy enough to taste. I picked the place deliberately, neutral ground, no cameras, no distractions.
The kind of place men like Stanley think they can control. The wire itches under my collar. A small mic, thin as thread, pressed flat against my chest.
The agents made me repeat the phrase twice before I left their car: “Don’t provoke him. Keep him talking.” Easy advice from people who never watched their life burn.
I check my watch. Ten minutes until he arrives. Ten minutes until I walk into the fire one last time.
There’s a strange calm in the waiting. After years of hunting answers, after exhuming Elia’s fake grave, after the trials and betrayals this feels fin
