The smell of Tristan’s expensive cologne still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of lighter fluid.

Arthur closed his lighter with a sharp, heavy click.

He turned to face me.

His eyes swept over my face, then lingered on my reddened wrist.

“Are you damaged?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said.

My voice shook slightly, and I hated myself for the weakness.

“He was going to send those screenshots to your security team,” I said.

“He is a desperate man,” Arthur said. “Desperate men make noisy threats.”

“The codes he wanted,” I said. “He knows I have access to the main terminal.”

Arthur walked over to a small mahogany table and picked up a glass of amber liquid.

“I know what he knows,” Arthur said.

“Then why did you let him leave?” I asked.

“Because a dog is more useful when it thinks it has escaped the yard,” Arthur said.

He took a slow, deliberate sip.

“You will come to my office tomorrow morning,” he said.

“I have my own work to do,” I said.

Arthur looked at me over the rim of his glass.