The silence that followed the recording didn't feel empty.
It pressed in on them, thick and suffocating, as if the walls themselves were listening, holding onto every word that had just been spoken and refusing to let it go.
Ithilien didn't move.
Her gaze stayed locked on the dark screen long after it went dead, as if she could force it to come back, to give her something else—another explanation, another version of what she had just seen that made more sense than the one currently settling in her chest.
Behind her, she could feel Kidd watching her.
Not pushing.
Not interrupting.
Just… there.
Waiting.
"That's not what it looks like."
Her voice came out quieter than she intended, but steady enough to sound like she believed it.
Almost.
Kidd didn't answer right away.
When he did, his tone was controlled, but there was no softness in it.
"Then what does it look like?"
She turned toward him sharply, something in her expression tightening, defensive before she even fully processed why.
"It looks like someone who knows he's being watched," she said, stepping away from the table as if distance would help her think more clearly. "It looks like someone choosing his words carefully."
"It looks like someone cooperating."
The word landed between them again.
Heavier this time.
Ithilien's jaw clenched.
"He wouldn't just help them," she snapped. "You don't know him."
Kidd's gaze didn't waver.
"And you don't know what he walked into."
That hit.
Harder than she expected.
For a second, she didn't respond, the argument catching somewhere between instinct and doubt, because part of her—small, unwelcome, impossible to silence—had already asked that question.
What if he had a reason?
What if he thought he could control it?
What if—
"No," she said again, more firmly this time, shaking her head once as if she could physically push the thought away. "He's buying time. That's what he does. He gets close, he figures things out, and then he gets out."
Kidd stepped closer now.
Not aggressively.
But enough to close the distance between them, enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes.
"And if he can't get out?" he asked quietly.
Her breath caught.
She hated that question.
Hated the way it settled in her chest, heavy and cold, because it forced her to consider something she wasn't ready to face.
"He will," she said.
It sounded less certain this time.
Kidd noticed.
Of course he did.
"And if he doesn't?" he pressed, his voice still calm, but sharper now, more insistent. "If he's already part of this—"
"He's not."
This time it wasn't just defensive.
It was anger.
Real, sharp, immediate.
"He's not one of them," she continued, her voice dropping lower, steadier, but edged with something dangerous. "He's my brother."
Kidd held her gaze.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The tension between them shifted, no longer just about Marco, no longer just about the recording. It pulled in everything else that had been building between them—the arguments, the distance, the things neither of them had said out loud yet.
"I'm not saying he is," Kidd said finally, quieter now, but no less firm. "I'm saying you might not like what he's doing."
Ithilien let out a sharp breath, turning away from him, her hand dragging briefly through her hair as she tried to regain control of something that felt like it was slipping too fast.
"I don't need you to tell me how to think about my own brother."
"I'm not telling you how to think," he replied. "I'm telling you what we're walking into."
She laughed under her breath, but there was no humor in it.
"Right. Because you always know exactly what you're walking into."
Kidd didn't take the bait.
That only made it worse.
She turned back toward him, her eyes sharper now, her frustration no longer contained.
"You saw one recording," she said. "One. And suddenly you've decided he's what—working with them? Helping them?"
"I've decided he's not helpless," Kidd said.
That stopped her.
Not because she agreed.
But because she understood what he meant.
And that was worse.
Before she could respond, a voice cut in from the doorway.
"Kidd."
They both turned.
Zane stood there, his expression tighter than before, his attention flicking briefly between them before settling on Kidd.
"There's no sign of him anywhere else," he said. "No fresh blood, no restraints, nothing. Whatever happened, it didn't happen here."
The words landed like a final piece clicking into place.
Kidd straightened slightly.
"So this is just a drop point," he said.
"Yeah."
A beat.
"And he's not here."
Ithilien felt something in her chest tighten painfully.
Not here.
Too late.
Or—
too early.
She stepped past Kidd without thinking, moving back toward the corridor, toward the direction they had come from, her senses already stretching outward again, searching, grasping for anything that might still be left behind.
"There has to be something," she said under her breath. "He wouldn't just—"
She stopped.
Mid-step.
Her body went completely still.
Kidd saw it immediately.
"Ithilien?"
She didn't answer.
Her head tilted slightly, her focus shifting inward, deeper, past the lingering scent of blood and chemicals, past the stale air of the building, reaching for something else.
Something fresh.
Her breath slowed.
Then—
hitched.
"Kidd…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper now.
Different.
Not panicked.
Not yet.
But close.
He moved toward her instantly.
"What is it?"
She turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting his.
And for the first time since they had entered the building—
there was no anger there.
Only something sharp.
Clear.
And deeply, unmistakably wrong.
"The scent…"
A pause.
She swallowed.
"It's not old."
Kidd's expression changed.
Subtle.
But immediate.
"What do you mean?"
Ithilien inhaled again, deeper this time, ignoring everything else, isolating it, pulling it apart layer by layer until there was no doubt left.
Marco.
Not from the recording.
Not from the trail outside.
Here.
Now.
Her heart started to pound.
"He's close," she said, her voice tightening despite herself. "Too close."
A beat.
And then, quieter—
as the realization fully settled in:
"He's still moving."