With a swift, practiced motion, Aries reached into Killian’s left interior pocket.

He pulled out the five-inch backup pistol.

“You always did prefer a double stitch,” Aries said, his voice flat.

He tossed the small weapon into the water after the first one.

Killian slumped against the metal wall, clutching his bleeding arm.

His breath came in ragged, white plumes in the cold air.

“You’re a dead man anyway, Thorne,” Killian spat.

“The poison is already in the system.”

Aries kept his weapon leveled at Killian’s chest.

His face was pale, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the distant harbor lights.

The rain dripped from the brim of his hat, running down his sharp jawline.

“Who paid you, Killian?” Aries asked.

The security chief laughed, a wet, choking sound.

“Ask the tailor,” Killian said, glaring at me with pure hatred.

“She’s the one who brought the book.”

My hands shook inside my wet pockets.

I clutched the heavy, leather-bound ledger pressed against my ribs.

The paper felt thick and damp through my clothes.

“Get him up,” Aries ordered.