He took a step toward the desk, his boots heavy on the floorboards.

“It might be in the safe downstairs.”

“The Biella shipment went through your personal port authority code,” Aries said.

He did not raise his voice.

He did not have to.

Killian stopped walking.

His eyes darted from Aries to me, then down to the desk where the ledger lay.

“We used that code to bypass the customs delay,” Killian said.

“You used it to clear a shipment of dye,” Aries said.

“The dye that killed this man.”

Killian’s expression did not change, but his posture went rigid.

His hand drifted toward his jacket, near his holster.

“Don’t,” Aries said.

It was a simple word, but it carried the weight of an execution order.

Killian let his hand drop to his side.

“You are making a mistake, Aries,” Killian said.

“Am I?” Aries asked.

He took a step forward, shielding me slightly with his shoulder.

The scent of rain and wet wool on Aries’s coat filled the small space.

“Who paid you?” Aries asked.

“No one paid me,” Killian said.