Chapter 5

Istep into the dark belly of the abandoned warehouse Annalise sent me to. The air is thick with mold. Apprehension settles in my collarbones.

I agreed to Annalise's request because I had to; she gave me no choice.

But now I'm here, I'm beginning to wonder whether jail might be better. Because the place I'm about to go to – in my head – to get to where I'm willing to flay the truth from her prisoner's lips, is somewhere I vowed I'd never go again.

Never.

In the shadows, darkness clings to the skeletal remains of the storage containers. The only light is the sickly pallor that seeps through the grimy skylights above.

I am glad of the dark.

I need the dark.

In my pockets, my hands tremble. Not from the chill that seeps into my bones, but from the gnawing knowledge that Nova would hate what I'm about to do.

She would be appalled.

She would tell me to walk away, no matter what the cost.

Or she'd kill Annalise for putting me in this position.

Fucking Sam; if he'd stayed, maybe?—

No, it's not Sam's fault. It's mine. I did this once before. I tortured the people who killed my family, and I thought I'd gotten away with it. Not deep inside, not down in the pit of my soul, but with the Bureau.

Turns out, they knew all along.

"Luther?"

Nico's voice surprises me, and yet it doesn't. I turn to see him stalking out of the shadows. His body looks different – as if he's either just returned from a shift or just about to. His eyes flash, and a growl rattles in his throat.

Just about to, I'd wager.

"She brought you here, too," I mutter.

Nico nods, and rubs the back of his neck. "She didn't tell me why, just that I was to meet you here, and that I shouldn't let you leave until the job is done. What's going on? What job?"

I tut and shake my head. I don't know if Nico could stop me if he really wanted to. I suspect he could. "Looks like Annalise thought I might need an assistant." I look him up and down, then roll my eyes.

"Assistant for what?"

I ignore the question, and keep walking. As I move deeper into the bowels of the warehouse, my breath fogs the air. Every step feels heavier, and Nico's presence doesn't help.

I don't need an audience for what I'm about to do.

"Luther?" He tugs on my arm.

I snatch it away and close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

When I open them again, I push back my shoulders and nod. Resolve hardens deep in my gut like cooling lava. What I'm about to do is abhorrent, yes, but necessary.

It's necessary.

For Mack and for everyone else, it's necessary.

As we round a corner, I spot what I've been looking for; a curtain of clear plastic sheeting, shielding something from view.

"Luther…" Nico steps in front of me. His muscles are convulsing beneath his skin. He looks as if he's trying hard to hold back a shift, and I wonder what it is about this place that's making him need it so badly.

"Annalise found someone who knows where the scepter is. She wants me to…" I pause, searching for a word that isn't torture, "extract the information from him."

Nico frowns. His jaw tenses. He sighs a little, but then nods at me. Clearly, he knows what it means when Annalise asks for something. "Tell me what you need me to do."

"I need you to stay quiet, and catch him if he tries to run. That's it." I start walking. With my back to him, I add, "And I need you to stop me if I go too far."

"How do I know what too far looks like?"

"It looks like me losing my shit and killing the guy instead of getting the intel we need." My features darken. I can feel it, and I see the fear congeal in Nico's eyes.

"All right," he says. "I'll stop you. You have my word."

"You also need to stop me if I pussy out and try to end this whole thing," I whisper. "I don't know what this will do to me, but?—"

Nico ducks to meet my gaze. I'm surprised when looking into his strange, hellish eyes makes me feel better instead of worse. "I've got you," he says. "I know how this goes."

"I'm sure you do," I reply darkly. Because fuck knows what the Bureau have had him doing for them all these months.

Turning away, facing the curtain, I brace myself. Then I stride forward.

* * *

When I push through the clear plastic screen, its edges stick to my skin. The sheeting separates behind me with a soft rustle then settles.

In the center of the room, illuminated by a too-bright lamp, sits an old man. He looks frail; skinny arms, skinny legs. Gray hair. Unkempt beard.

He's been bound to a chair that seems too large for him, and he's wearing a blindfold, dirty dark sweat pants, and a loose white shirt. A strange combination of clothes. But who am I to judge? Mack is the fashionable one in the group. My main criteria for picking clothes is whether they accentuate my shoulders and come in black.

I walk over to the lamp and turn it off.

The man on the chair turns his head toward the sound. His jaw twitches, and he looks like he's about to smile. If he's relieved to have company, he's soon going to change his mind about that.

Moving closer, I pull up a stool and sit opposite him, our knees almost touching. Then I flick a flame into my palm and nod for Nico to take off the man's blindfold.

At first, he stares only at the flame. He blinks hard, then squints, then his eyes focus on me.

"My name's Luther."

"Am I supposed to introduce myself?" he rasps.

"I'd like that," I tell him, balancing one leg on top of the other, ankle resting on my knee.

"Paul," he replies, giving his shoulders a wriggle to see how firm his bonds are.

"I'm told you're immune to the Bureau's interrogation spells." I rub my chin. Behind Paul, Nico frowns.

Paul doesn't reply.

"Which means, unfortunately for you, I'm here to break you down in other ways."