Page 129 of Deacon

“Enough to matter. Not enough to look like war.”

That made it worse. A small group meant purpose.

Ink finally lifted his attention from his notes. “Who or what were they goin’ to?”

Ghost shook his head once. “That’s what I’m still workin’ on.”

Priest looked toward Ink. “Anything new outta Jackknife?”

“Still nothing current.” Ink’s mouth tightened. “He gave up another old route this morning and a property DMH stopped using months ago. Ghost checked both. They’re real, same as everything else he’s handed us.”

Ghost nodded. “Hasn’t lied yet.”

“No. He just keeps knowing exactly where to stop.” Ink tapped his pen once against the page. “Every answer gives us something we can verify without giving us a damn thing Joker can’t afford to lose.”

Rook leaned forward slightly. “Maybe we stop making this comfortable for him.”

Graves looked toward Ink. “Kid scared yet?”

“Yeah.” Ink’s expression stayed tight. “Just not scared enough to forget whatever Joker drilled into his head before he sent him here.”

Priest let that sit for a beat. “Then push harder. Scare him. See what falls out when he stops thinking about every answer before he gives it.”

Ink nodded. “Been wanting to.”

Something in the way he said it caught my attention. Ink still hadn’t figured out why Joker had chosen that particular prospect to send into our hands, and every careful answer seemed to bother him more instead of less.

Priest’s jaw tightened. “Keep workin’.”

Ghost nodded once.

The same ugly possibilities moved around the table. Joker and Sadie were still missing. Dead Man’s Hand had crossed into territory they shouldn’t have been crossing. Hollow Crown had either allowed it, missed something they had no business missing, or had a reason to look the other way.

Priest looked around the table. “We don’t assume nothin’ yet. But if Joker’s got friends, shelter, or business up in those hills, I want to know before it turns our problem bigger than it already is.”

Rook gave him a hard look. “It’s already too big,” he said.

“Yeah,” Priest said. His gaze moved back toward Ghost. “That’s why I want ahead of it.”

Church broke soon after, leaving us with more questions than we had walked in with.

Last Rites was past its afternoon rush when Ink and I walked in. Needles buzzed beneath low music, and disinfectant cut through the smell of ink and skin.

Ink pushed through the door first. Rory was behind the counter with a piercing tray spread in front of her, dressed in black with silver catching along her fingers and ears. She looked up once, checked the clock, and found a reason to be annoyed. “You’re late,” she said.

Ink followed her glance. “By three minutes.”

Rory went back to the tray. “That’s late.”

I snorted, which earned me her attention. She looked me over with the same suspicion she gave questionable jewelry. “You look too cheerful. It’s suspicious.”

“Maybe I like my job.”

“That’s worse.”

From the nearest bay, Ronan glanced up from a sketch and gave me a small nod before returning to work. Vise came out of the break room with a bottle of water, took in me and Ink, then looked toward the bay by the front windows.

Garrett Talon had already made himself comfortable there. Broad-shouldered and dark-haired, he leaned against the partition with a stencil book open in one hand. He looked settled, but his eyes were still cataloguing the shop. When he spotted us, an easy smile spread across his face. “There they are,” he said. “Was startin’ to think the legends were fake.”