“It’s a miserable place,” he said, running a finger along the edge of the dusty table. “You deserve better than a shack that smells of rotting kelp.”

“I like the quiet,” I said.

“Quiet is for dead men,” Arthur said. “You aren’t dead. Not yet, anyway.”

He unbuttoned his coat, letting it hang open.

I saw the tailored cut of his suit underneath, still immaculate despite the storm.

He didn’t look like a man who had just driven across the state through a gale.

He looked like he was about to preside over a board meeting in his penthouse office.

“Gregory told me you went south,” he said.

“Gregory always was terrible at reading maps,” I said.

Arthur let out a short, dry laugh.

It was a sound devoid of any real humor.

“Gregory is an idiot,” Arthur said, his tone flat. “I knew that. But I didn’t realize how much of an idiot until I had to rely on him for three weeks.”

He took a step closer to the window, watching the rain strike the glass.