Page 86 of The Final Cut

His voice is too light.

“Don’t,” I tell him. “Don’t act like it’s fine if you’re trying to make me feel better. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for me.”

His throat moves. For a second, I’m sure he’ll joke anyway.

“This is not your fault,” he says quietly.

Nash crouches beside Deacon. Ever shines the phone light along the wall. The burn pattern is worst near the rear door, then up and across like someone wanted smoke to travel more than flame. Like the fire was meant to mark, frighten, ruin, and stop just short of destroying.

A lesson. That’s what she wanted. My stomach twists.

“She could’ve burned it down,” I say.

Deacon looks back at me. “Definitely.”

“Why didn’t she?”

Nash rises slowly. Water drips from his cuff onto the floor. “She wants us angry.”

“Good news for her,” Shiloh says. “I am.”

Nash’s gaze cuts to him. “She also wants us reckless.”

Shiloh smiles then, a terrible smile. “I contain multitudes.”

Ever turns his tablet around. “Camera feeds cut twelve minutes before the alarm triggered. Exterior camera looped. Interior system disabled from inside the network.”

The hallway feels colder.

I look at him. “From inside?”

“Someone had credentials.”

“Staff?”

“Or someone using staff credentials.”

Sonny mutters from behind me, “I’m going to start making name tags that just say Probably a Murderer.”

Nash looks at Ever. “Can you trace?”

“Already started.”

Deacon’s gaze stays on the floor, following the burned trail. “This wasn’t rushed.”

“No,” Ever says. “They knew the alarm schedule, sprinkler zones, camera layout, and the least populated time window.”

“They knew exactly how to hurt it without losing the building,” Nash says.

His voice is so controlled it raises the hair along my arms.

I look past him, toward the office door at the far end of the hall. Nash’s office. The place where so much of this started for me. Where I demanded an assassin and got a map of my own past instead.

The door is smoke-stained but intact.

I hate how relieved I am that the structure is okay.

Noir shouldn’t matter this much. It’s a bar. A building. Wood, glass, velvet, liquor, locks. It’s also the first place in New Orleans that felt safe enough to tell the truth. The first place where I saw Nash’s control, Shiloh’s charm, Ever’s stillness, Deacon’s shadow.