Dominic’s POV
Snow falls in thin, slow flakes over Zurich’s industrial quarter a quiet that feels unnatural, like the city’s holding its breath. Inside the warehouse, it’s colder. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones until you stop noticing.
Julian Hart is tied to a chair in front of me. His head hangs forward, breath fogging in uneven bursts. The suit he’s wearing isn’t the sharp, tailored armor he used to hide behind in court; it’s wrinkled, stained, wrong for him now.
His hair sticks to his forehead, sweat cutting through grime. I told myself I’d never cross this line again. But some truths don’t come free.
“Dominic,” he rasps. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I tried the other way.” My voice sounds foreign in my own ears, low, flat, almost calm. “You lied to me for fourteen
