Will Trent Angie -

"He's not dead," she said, her voice a dry rasp. "Before you ask. Just… reconsidering his life choices."

He could have lied. A small, neat lie that would have made this easier. But Will Trent didn't do small, neat lies. He did hard truths that got stuck in his throat. will trent angie

"I'm not walking," he said. "I'm staying right here. But I'm not going to help you destroy yourself anymore, Angie. Not tonight. Not ever again." "He's not dead," she said, her voice a dry rasp

Angie’s hand dropped. For a second, the mask slipped—not the tough-girl mask, but the one underneath. The one that was just a scared, broken kid from the Home who never learned how to be loved without being hurt first. A small, neat lie that would have made this easier

"Lenny." She took a long, slow swallow from the bottle. "He found out I was working a CI in the Bluff. Said I was 'making him look soft.' Got a little hands-on to prove he wasn't."

"Then walk," she whispered. "I double-dog dare you."

He didn't move. He reached over, took the bottle from her, and set it aside. Then he took her raw, bloody knuckles in his hands—his large, careful hands that could pick a lock or cradle a newborn—and held them.