Chapter 59 The File

• The safehouse hums low — old pipes rattling in the walls like they know what Bishop’s digging for in the blue glow of his laptop.
• Decker’s pacing — boot heel tapping a dull, steady rhythm across the floorboards, the only sound besides the hiss of the coffee pot Knox hasn’t touched yet.
• Knox sits half-sunk in the corner armchair — elbows on his knees, fists braced together, jaw tight enough the muscle ticks under his cheek like a threat waiting for an excuse.